Stories from the banking hall

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  People out here are angry, really angry. I know this is no way to start a story, but relax it's heading somewhere, I promise. It's a chilly morning and I'm at a bank waiting for my turn to be served, service yao ilikuwa imeanza kusumbua from Monday, but hey, that's a story for another time. I could feel like I was a bit out of place, you know? because the last time I remember I was in a bank was many years ago, when I was on campus, paying for my fees. Mzazi aliniamia bana, alijua ningepata guts, temptations za kukula fee ingekam, ningejua venye ningeilipa. So where was I?  Oh yes, there is this guy who is seated like 2 or three seats away from me, bigger and older than me from the looks of it, looks like a business man, or in lay man terms jamaa wa madeals. After a few minutes waiting, he starts getting impatient, and frustrated so he starts complaining, why is the service taking so long, can't they go a little faster, and so on and so forth.  I'm seated ther...
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Scrummy.

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The dread I was feeling at that very point in time, it was nerve wrecking. I was at a crossroad deciding whether I should knock and go in and face the music or call it quits with education. Fate has a cruel sense of humor, and I think it got tired of me dilly dallying so before I got a chance to make a decision, he saw me and called out.


“Wewe ndio aisking?”

“Ingia.”

“Very good.”

 “Unasema unataka kukua nani ukiwa mkubwa?”


“Neurosurgeon mwalimu.”


“Hio iko na letter ngapi za alphabet?”


Mr Ogolla was our deputy principal, plus doubling up as the discipline master. His famous Mr Green was a plumbing pipe fitter with cement on the bore and a stroke from that came could give the one unfortunate enough to be on its receiving end a stroke. Its on good authority that I heard that he once stopped a school strike from happening due to everyone's fear of being the sacrificial monkey to be hanged. 

Back to neurologist manenos. Hio siku tulikuwa tunapigiana hekaya pale class na my mates, Lewis, luchera, stano, and not forgetting, mukchu. Unfortunately the class prefect, Oluchina, had seen our fun, gotten jealous and out of envy, surrendered our names as peace destroyers aka noisemakers. I was first in the list and so first on the entrance to hell. 

I replied, knowing war was coming to me whether I liked it or not.

“Iko na letter tisa mwalimu.”


“Wewe!”

“kumbe akili imejaaa tu ugali ya dining hall,”

“andika hapa uhesabu.”


“Wan tuu thirii fo faiv...”

“Twelofu.”

“Nî twelofu mwalimu.”


“Hayaa enda chini.”


I knew resisting was futile at this point and would in turn result in the number of canes to be increased tremendously so I did as I was told as I waited for what was to come as the condemned waits upon their dreaded fate. 

Thwack! 

Thwack! 

Thwack! 

Thwack!

His instrument of punishment, the famous Mr Green, rained down mercilessly over my sitting apparatus over and over again until I lost count. Mr Ogolla, the deputy principal, continued on without seizing, without breaking a sweat, and the pain, heeeh, don't get me started on the pain I felt at that very moment.

As for my friends was the last time any of those four were my deskmates ever. Now that was like how fire is to gold. From then onward, no amount of caning could snap me. I was the kausha as they say, until I met Scrummy.

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Is a pleasure to keep you as my reader entertained. Peace✌️

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