By Pascal Mwandambo
Since Christmas and New Year celebrations have ebbed, there has been little merrymaking in my neighbourhood, though Mavumbi town intermittently bursts into life when visitors arrive and dwellers trudge back from the villages.
I had my fair share of celebrations during Christmas festivities, but things weren’t as good on New Year as my little angel Nectar fell sick suddenly.
But thank God for his mercies; she came back to good shape after two days. Nothing can be as stressful as nursing a sick child, especially if you’re not sure what exactly the problem is.
However, our school community broke into celebration when the KCSE results were announced.
Even though we have been doing fairly well over the years, this time round our performance was the best ever; three quarters of the candidates qualified for university.
One of the students who sweetly surprised us was Kadenge. He fell ill during the exams and did two of them at Mavumbi Referral Hospital.
The soft spoken young man was among the eleven students who scored grade A, including Chemistry which yours truly teaches, as well as English.
My colleague Marashi, who teaches Literature and English, has since been riding on cloud nine, confiding to all who cared that it was her prayers that worked the miracle.
Though I must admit that I’ve never heard Marashi praying for anybody, I decided not to let anyone’s ego come between us and our glaring success.
In any case, people will readily associate with a success story even if they contributed nothing towards it, but will run away from failure like the plague.
So after branding our school bus with placards proclaiming our victory and making numerous demonstrations around Mavumbi town and its environs, we settled back in the staffroom and held a brief meeting; the gist being the sterling performance and how we should maintain the tempo.
After deliberations we decided to hold a party which would culminate in prayers by pastor Matuta, who runs a church in the neighbourhood.
As usual Marashi and yours truly led the party arrangements.
Getting a goat was not a big deal. Mavumbi slaughterhouse was busier with livestock than even during Christmas.
As we loaded the stubborn animal onto the pickup truck, Napoleon called to say he was doing some unspecified business in the outskirts of town and would join us later.
All went well and Obote was in very high spirits, though his subject History performed poorly.
Anyway, we were busy munching goat ribs when our deputy rode in on a hired motorcycle.
We all turned to look his way. He dragged a chair and sat next to his boss. Obote did not move an inch and kept munching his food.
Marashi, Napoleon’s nemesis, winked at me and I winked back. My fears were confirmed. That was a subtle signal that she was not willing to serve our “deputy headmaster” food.
Napoleon, who was obviously in a state of intoxication, walked over and served himself in defiant mood.
Without warning, he began extolling his virtues and administrative acumen that had contributed to our sterling performance. Never mind the fact that he was promoted just four months to the national examinations.
He looked in Marashi’s direction and warned “disgruntled teachers” who did not respect legitimate authority, saying they would not be allowed to compromise education standards in the institution.
I am cork sure had Obote not been there, a war would have broken out between Marashi and Napoleon.
Yet we let him ramble on until he ran out of something to say, astonished at the calm composure that Marashi assumed as the jabs and undercuts went her direction unabated.
I do not know what was going on in Obote’s mind, but I am sure something was coming up for the duo when the dust settled. Obote is one administrator you cannot take lightly.
He knows how to bite and blow with equal zeal.
