Teachers’ Strike

So everyone seems to assume that just because teachers were on strike, they were in bed sleeping. Well, they were not. At least the ones I know were not.

To them, teaching is a calling . Whether people think lowly of the profession, whether the government decides to treat them as lesser people, whether no kid growing up today wants to be a teacher, it still remains a great vocation. (OK, slight exaggeration. There are kids who want to be teachers when they grow up. My six year old sister is one.)

I was and still am raised my two high school teachers. They met in campus (I always smile at the idea of meeting my lifelong partner in campus. Clearly I did not pick that particular gene).

Every day, mum and dad leave the house to go give their all in school. Every day, they come back with interesting stories. Other times it is loads of papers to mark. Once upon a time, I spilt a glass of water on some papers dad had left on the table. I do not even want to imagine what dad told his students; all I know is that I did not even get punished for it.

Mum is the listener; the teacher counsellor. She wants to help and she always helps in whatever way. Mum bonds with her students. So much so that she has been maid of honour at a former student’s wedding.

Dad is the funny man. Once he taught me geography during some holiday tuition sessions. He is the guy who will teach about rotation and revolution of the earth and demonstrate it. Yeah, in this case, he assumes the role of the earth. He spins while at the same time going round in a circle. Get the picture? I would say I laughed at the demonstration like the rest, but I really did not. Inside, I was thinking ‘Oh God, dad is embarrassing me’.

Well, when I come to think about it, it is not always about me. I bet none of the students in that form one class ever forgot about revolution and rotation. He made it fun.

Through all this, I have always known that teaching requires sacrifice. Even when you are transferred to a school you did not want; even when you have to work with students who do not seem interested. The joy comes when you bump into them in future, full grown men and women, successful citizens, who still remember you.

Somehow, a teacher always remains a teacher to me. That teacher who took me home the day I puked all over the classroom floor. The teacher who ensured I could write and gave me the confidence to do so. The teacher who made a bet with me, that he would do something for me if I passed my exams.

A teacher remains a teacher to other people too. Many people do not even know my dad’s name. He’s simply ‘Mwalimu’. I may never be a teacher apart from the Sunday school teaching I do, but I appreciate teachers. I never thanked them enough though, maybe someday I will.

I celebrated when the government agreed to hike the teachers’ salaries. Not because I had something to gain from it. Maybe I wanted the kids out of the house soon. Whatever I wanted aside, the teachers deserve every coin. Even when you think that they already have enough from the tuition fees and all, they deserve the raise.

By the way, the teachers I am talking about woke up every day to go to school. Even with the strike, things had to be kept in check you know. Now that’s dedication.

Kenya Love

Of Naivety, Innocence and Keys

I tend to think I am too naïve for my age. You may find yourself thinking the same when you do something that lands you in trouble. At some point in my life, I used to think naive and innocent were synonymous but now more than ever I am sure they are not. I always blog for some reason, but this time I will not say exactly why I am doing this tonight. All I know is that an act that you do every day can rewrite your life story.
Like the key you give out innocently to your fellow university student so that they can try it on their door. If you are a student in a Kenyan public university like me, you know that the key to your room can open a million other hostel doors (ok, that is a slight exaggeration, but hey, an exaggerated fact). A key has led me to blogging in the middle of the night. That tiny key can make you spend a night in police custody. Especially in this age where laptops have outnumbered flash disks in universities and are always exchanging hands illegally in broad daylight, that little key can open up many other big doors, bigger than you intended.
Why do university doors share keys in the first place? Why should I suffer because someone opened a door with my key? Why are we engineered to heap blame on the first person who seems most likely to have stolen your laptop? Truth be told, if mine disappeared in that room I have called home away from home for three years, the first person I would think to ask would be my roommate. The next thing would be to recount all my steps and interactions and just wish the clock turned back and I got the opportunity to watch the culprit make away with my computer.
A friend once told me that the worst question I can ask myself always begins with a ‘what if I did…’ I try as much as possible to avoid such thoughts. Loopholes, keyholes, naivety and innocence have come together to teach me a few things, that thinking too much sometimes is not a bad thing. Plus stuff does not only happen on TV, it can happen right where you are. After all is said and done, worry has never helped anybody. Like worrying about opening my door one day and finding my laptop gone. Worrying and not doing anything about it is even worse. A good example of doing something about it is buying an antigen (something I had no idea existed before I got to campus. And I am not talking about the one that summons antibodies in you. If you do not know of this particular one, find out).
In the end, truth is never relative. Whether I am innocent according to the law but actually guilty in truth, someday, the truth will out. I may believe someone I love has not done something wrong just because they say so. That is love, trust and hope, because without this, I do not see what else is left to live for. But only one person is sure of their innocence.
John 8:32 Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.
Moi University

Diary Entry

(Too bad I abandoned my diary for this place. Here goes…)

I am trying really hard to love a place, to go about my day without complaining but a myriad of things get in the way.

I wake up, the doors are all locked except the main one, for a week now.

Moi University

The Library…In My Head

I am in the library. Why? I have a number of reasons.

One, I felt it would give me a sense of achievement to walk up to this place from the comfort of my room and do some substantial studying in a studious environment. Could I have done the same or even more back in that room? Only God knows.