By Pascal Mwandambo
I was busy trying to address a freak accident in the chemistry lab where a Form 2 student had suffered a serious acid burn, when my colleague Napoleon came rushing in waving a piece of paper in the air.
At first I thought probably it was one of the many borrowing sprees and he wanted me to be a guarantor, something I will never do.
I no longer guarantee fellows who keep defaulting on their loan repayments, putting my little property at risk of being attached.
However, it turned out that it was a different story – actually a success story, at least for him.
To cut a long story short, my employer had promoted Napoleon to a deputy head teacher.
From now on he would be second in command after Obote in Mavumbi Boys pecking order.
I am sure Marashi, my English language colleague, was cursing inwardly since she had been salivating for that promotion. It had now eluded her.
Marashi is very ambitious. She is barely the head of the languages department and now wants to climb on everyone’s head.
Maybe the day she becomes the principal, the skies will come down.
I hardly have anything positive to say about Napoleon because of his professional shenanigans. One thing, he has turned the agriculture workshop into his personal property and does what he wants, including hosting very weird relatives in the school facility.
Nevertheless, I gathered energy to congratulate him, though I did not see anything of value or substance he could offer.
I swore inwardly that he will not lord it over me. Lanes must be respected.
I know patience pays, but Napoleon does not. That is unless he is forced to, probably with a gun to his head.
As head of Science, I am in a more powerful position than the likes of Mr Makofia, who teaches religion and history.
“I am dusting my old suit ready to address my first staff meeting next week,” Napoleon announced rather to himself, folding the promotion letter carefully as if it was a cheque of great value.
I can’t remember the last time I spotted Napoleon wearing a suit, but what I know for certain is that Marashi will boycott that meeting.
You know Obote has been away for official duty, elevating Napoleon to the top, at least momentarily.
Still wearing a wide smile, he announced that we should arrange for a party to celebrate his achievement, which I know Marashi will also boycott despite being very good at cooking and eating.
I am told that at his prime age Napoleon has never married, but now claims to be engaged.
But then, with such a promotion, I too sincerely believe he needs a semblance of a wife in his life.
In fact, as we were talking, his illiterate finance sent him an SMS congratulating him for “being promoted to glory”!
I told him that before he concludes arrangements for the party, he should pay my five thousand shillings which he borrowed three months ago.
“My good friend, you know I have just been promoted and my pay is yet to be adjusted upwards. Let’s wait till greener pastures come. Patience pays, you know,” he reassured.
I know patience pays, but Napoleon does not. That is unless he is forced to, probably with a gun to his head.
So I know how to catch him at the party.
But for now let him savour his achievement and wait for the surprise.
