My high school girlfriend is now a primary school teacher. Which means her head and weave are now tight buddies. And that everyone, from her pupils to her village mates call her madam (She is in Luhya land so make that matam). But I am sure no pupil shakes in terror when they fail her assignments because they way I remember her, she couldn’t even lift a finger to hurt a fly. Neither does she punish those pupils who will see her walking through the gate, a heavy handbag dangling and threatening to break her fragile elbow, and not run to help her carry it.
If you schooled in shags you probably know how this things were done, right? You are in assembly and you spot any of the teachers walking through the gate carrying things that look heavy, you run and help. Or if it is a bicycle, you run and push it for them. Failure to do that, your ass will be ravaged so bad and you would do nothing about it. Back then the hullabaloo named children’s rights were useless. Your teacher would beat you, and if you dare report them to your parent, your mother especially, she will demand to know why you were beaten. Then she will beat you again because chances were high she will conclude the teacher was right. So you suffered in silence.
Back then teachers were gods. There jurisdiction crossed beyond the school’s gate and fence. They would punish you anywhere and anyhow they wanted. And mistakes were what they said mistakes were. You spot new and more expensive shoes than your deputy? That was punishable. You recited your rights to the teacher on duty? That too was punishable. How dare you know more than they do?
Any way, what was I saying? Oh, my girlfriend.
Now, I went to a mixed secondary school. Which means there was no drought for any of us. And in high school the idea of love being blind was laughable. No one fell in love hopelessly. You were the hottest guy in school? Then you rolled with the hottest girl in school. That was nature. Everyone knew their position and embraced it. So naturally (hehee) I was that guy. I dated quite a few girls before I finally settled for this new comer who was as hot as they come. She had long dark and plaited hair. Her skin tone was light. Her smile was terrific. And everything else about her, including her boobs which looked like mlima wa zayuni (Now will be the right time to let you know that hawkers and preachers are not allowed in here) were on point. She made the otherwise ugly school uniform look sexy. And to top it all, she was in form four and I was in form three.
So as soon as she landed, every guy, including male teachers, who thought was the hottest plotted his attack. I was among them. So one evening after preps, I walked to her and launched my manifestos which she found hard to disagree with. Soon we were an item. And things got pretty serious for that one year we were dating. Then the inevitable happened, she did her KCSE and left. Just like that. In my school, when that happened, you were referred to as a widower. Or a widow if its your boyfriend who left.
I think that’s the only time in my life that I really felt uchungu wa mapenzi. Coping without my girl became such an uphill task. My heart literally ached. So I did my research and found out where her home was. It was quite distance from school but I was a man in love and I seriously wanted to see her. So I would try my best and go to see her but we had one big problem, neither of us had a phone. So she knew I would come, but she had no idea what time. I remember there was a day I went to see her, and because I couldn’t risk going to her home, I waited in some thicket near their house under a tree. Then all of a sudden, it started raining. Believe you me I did not move an inch. Somehow I felt she would show up and miss me if I moved.
So I let the rain pour on me. It soaked me. And the sad part is that I did not get to see her on that day. I crawled back to school in the dark heartbroken and made a resolution to move on. And to move on, I had to find now a form three girl whom I would render a widow the following year how I left.
Now that was some serious love, I tell you. I do not remember ever again, the last time I let myself soak in rain ati I am waiting for a girl to show up. And I am writing this now because I know this Valentine many are going to be rendered widows and widowers because of cost cutting. But the widows will be many. But do not despair because we also have what we call temporary widows and widowers. For example.
Being in a mixed high school meant that everyone had their girlfriend(s) or boyfriend(s), except for the cursed few. The cursed and those who were not pretenders in the CU. But occasionally, a school bus from a girl’s school would pull in front of our administration block and a horde of beautiful girls in white socks would stream out of it for a symposium or any other thing. When that happened, all our respective girlfriends would be dumped for that day. We will hook up with the girls from the visiting school and our regular girls would huddle in corners and sneer at us, stretching their lips to Kapenguria but we wouldn’t give a damn. The few who were smart dint care a bit because they knew at the end of the day, we would go back to them.
One time during a District Games time, girls from particular girls’ school had to spend the night in our school. In the girls dormitory (as if that was not obvious), and I am telling you the thick fence and a series of watchmen standing between the girls’ and boys’ hostels did nothing to stop us from crossing over that night. It was complete bedlam. Some of the visiting girls became pregnant that night, I am sure, and some of our boys had do battle STD s thereafter, again I am sure. But it was more unfortunate for the girls because, I am assuming if there were some who got pregnant, they had a difficult time telling who was responsible. I am pretty sure there are men bringing up children who do not belong to them. Because that night, all you had to establish was that the girl you were rocking with was not from your school, otherwise, things like face beauty and all that was non-issue. And our poor regular girls had to listen to all that brouhaha in silence.
So to the impending widows of Valentine’s Day, take heart my sister. No situation is permanent. Now, I beg to stop my random rambling and figure out how I am going to temporarily render someone’s daughter a widow, at least for Valentine Day, without making the situation permanent for either of us.