Class 4, in a school somewhere.

 

Mr. Gakuha always got into class before me after lunch once. Nothing new. That guy kept time, He was never a minute late. Like all humans who are bound by their habits, Mr. Gakuha was no exception. He used to sit on a student's desk at the farthest corner of the class, closely watching guys and girls who used to enter the class one by one like during the time of Safina. 

The Safina of Noah, 

not this one of Jimmy Wanjigi.

I used to feel like Tripple H after eating a plate of rice and beans. For those who have no idea who Triple H is, I feel sorry for you, I really do. you missed out when WWE was WWE Now back to what I was saying. So I walked in with my shirt's buttons opened up to my múkonyo. Múkonyo is a belly button. 

I think as a language, Kikuyu needs to change because it doesn't sound like the name of something on a human body. 

That shirt was not tucked in and my tie was tied around my head like I was Tarzan. Isitoshe, I had a bottle of water in my right hand. Triple H used to take a gulp of water, (piga tama la maji) and then splash it. Hayaa, on that fateful day, I decided to act out what I had seen Triple H do several times over. I entered the class, climbed the desk took a mouthful, looked right, left, and right again at my fans, and then splashed it out. 

My hands lifted up like I had beaten The Undertaker 

in the Royal Ramble.

In my excitement, I had forgotten one crucial detail that could have saved me from the embarrassment, and the worst that was to come. It had slipped my mind that Mr. Gakuha was never late, and most importantly, he used to sit on a student's desk at the farthest corner of the class. Sadly, our beloved mathematics teacher was caught in that hali ya sintofahamu (confusion). 

My God! 

The silence that followed was deafening, which prompted me to check out what had triggered such a reaction. My classmate's eyes directed me to Mr. Gakuha's shirt had stopped the water from my mouth from moving any further. Yaani, it stood between water from my mouth and its destination, you could say it had acted as a shield. What I am simply trying to say is, that my mathematics teacher, Mr. Gakuha was drenched around the chest area. 

He just stood up and went out of class. He came back minutes later with a t-shirt on and taught the entire double lesson like nothing had happened. My classmates kept looking at me with the; man your goose is already cooked look. 

Credible news reaching me or what the swahilis say, nduru za kuaminika reported that my mother was asked by three different teachers to report to school the following day for her to say if I was still interested in education or if I wanted to continue with wrestling. If things could not have gotten any worse, I was asked if I could replay that scene for her to see for herself. 

I told myself, 

“can never be me!" 

That is to say, afadhali waninyonge baas. No amount of coercion could make me do that in front of the owner of my life. I am convinced till now this is one of the reasons she sent me to boarding school next year