Bye My Pastor

My dear pastor, Raphael Kenga Sokota to be precise, and the entire Calvary Baptist church family;

I am going back to school today. In fact I am on my way now. The holiday was abnormally long, that you may possibly have forgotten where I school, or even the fact that I am still a student. Worry not, I will remind you.

In Rift Valley, a few kilometers past Eldoret town, there is a public university. It is called Moi. You may be surprised why I mentioned the name of a former president. Cool. This is not a person, it is an institution named after him- I dont even know why. The main campus of that university is where I am heading to.

In 2011, the institution sent me a letter through my former high school. It was called 'calling letter'. I was told if I go there, I would spend some four years then come back home with a degree. I agreed and went.

Unfortunately, my university did not keep its promise. It kept on sending me home, calling me back, until I got bored. Four years are not over and I have had six breaks so far. They call them holidays. I wonder how holy those days are.

The most recent one began in mid October last year. Moi told me to come back home briefly then when I left, it forgot that I had not completed my studies yet. I have stayed at home for over eight months now. I forgot everything that I learnt for the past three academic years, but that does not concern you pastor, I will sort myself.

Concerning our church, It is definite that you, in my absence, must look for a replacement. A guitarist that will fit into my shoes, do his/her magic to produce the lowest musical sound, "Duuu! Tu-du-duuu.. Tu-duuu!"

I know the pianists are available in plenty. In fact I retired from playing the piano because so many other youths had already trained to near perfection, though not to my level. As for the bass guitar, I dont know, but I have left a void. I spent a lot of time convincing brothers and sisters-in-Christ to learn how to play the guitar but they all refused, claiming that it is tiresome and painful to the fingers, which is very true.

Have you now understood why you may be forced to hire a skilled guitarist every Sunday and especially when the band wins a contract of performing in a ceremony? If you think I am joking, wait and compare the quality of yesterday's music to that which you will hear next Sunday.

For the past two weeks, I have been showing Kitsao how to switch on the laptop, play music, type documents and shut it down. You wont have much trouble on that. As for the newly acquired mixer, Alfred is quite conversant with its operation- he always watched every time I touched a button. He will be responsible as the operator and in case he encounters a problem, he has my phone numbers.

The bride-to-be, Miss Peris Katana, whose wedding ceremony is scheduled to take place on 20th December, is also aware of my departure and she is not happy. If you get time, cool her down. Yesterday I appointed Walter Kazungu to take over my responsibilities. He will be the patron. I trust in his abilities so the petboys will not complain.

Mathias Randu will act as the youth choir master untill I come back. His voice is almost like mine. He is also aware that for a song to sound melodious, he must categorize the singers' voices into atleast four- soprano, alto, tenor and bass.
What else have I forgotten? Oooh... Yes! In the second Sunday of every month, I am usually the first preacher and program facilitator in third Sundays. You will forgive me because I forgot to hand over these roles to someone else. But dont blame me much, I am also a human being. Maybe I give you a suggestion. Just appoint Pendo (Gye Peshy).
All the announcements have always been made by myself because you, the church, gave me that duty. Thank you. Now that I am going, my assistants, Peterson and Alfred will take over. Even the chairman Mr. Bundi can do it.
Let me just stop there, but not without appreciating you. Thank you for the farewell you organized in my absence and implemented in my presence. I received a couple of presents from brethren that day, especially coins and notes. Let me just say it- the total amount was slightly above Ksh. 1,700. You are great people, God bless you abundantly!
Once I get to campus tomorrow morning, I shall always remember the many memorable moments we shared during my holiday. I will always pray to God that all of us stay alive and well until our next reunion- I dont know when!

Byeeeee....!!!

Exactly what brings success?

This boy comes from a poor background in my village. He thanks the free primary education, a certain previous government initiative, otherwise he would not have known what 3+2 equals to.

Charo, 18, is a bright boy who speaks my native language. He is counting days before sitting for his KCSE examination this year, beginning October- thanks to the scholarship bursaries and support from relatives that have pushed him through in his local high school.

However, this aspiring nurse admits to undergo a little psychological unrest and this is where my interest was baited.

Charo believes in his abilities. His aim is to get a mean grade of 'A' plain if his dream of becoming a medic has to come true. This, according to him, would not disturb him if he were 'somewhere else'.

He thinks his school might betray him. According to statistics, the highest grade the institution has ever produced is B plain and that was 2007. Should history repeat itself, then he will be forced to give up on nursing and probably opt for another degree programme.

Charo blames no one for this but the situation. As he struggles in his small school, others are 'relaxed' in larger institutions such as Starehe, Mangu, Alliance, among others, where an 'A' is almost guaranteed for each candidate registered under their names. At one point in life, I also found myself in such fears.

When I was in form four in 2009, at St. Georges High School, the top ten students based on merit from the first term's examination results in each form were given a motivational present by the then principal, Mr. Vitallis Majeni. It was called 'achievers' trip'. The 40 of us were taken for an academic tour to Starehe Boys Center and School in Nairobi, in order to learn what makes its students always perform better than us.

According to me, the objective of the tour was never met. The only lesson I learnt from it was that I was inferior to them. I reaped an element of cowardice and complete eradication of my prior confidence. I kept wondering if, with just a few months remaining, I was going to be ready enough to compete with the boys I had just interacted with in a common national examination.

Starehe is among many schools in Kenya whose major aim is to manufacture more grade A's than any other school so as to be ranked the best in the country. Principals and subject teachers will do anything in their powers to achieve this. For this reason, Charo considers students in such schools as almost guaranteed the highest possible grades, unlike him, and he is not happy about it.

The result of this is an education system that drifts from the expected purpose of imparting competitive knowledge to students. They are now taught how to pass exams. At the end, they become 'bright on paper'. Holders of glittering certificates but bearers of empty brains. People who cannot relate the education they have with common logic and realities of life. They know the correct answers to Physics or Geography questions but no not understand why those answers are correct.

The real effect will be felt in future, especially if this scenario diffuses into universities and colleges. With the emergence of numerous institutions of higher learning, both private and public, negative competition may start to show up. The country may therefore be preparing for an era of professionals with less competence than expected.

Back to the high school thing, the question that one may easily ask is, "Are schools up to providing quality education to students or generating maximum grade A's in order to attain supremacy?" However, my question is different, with reference to Charo' imaginations. Should a student's success be determined by his/her effort or the institution?

Practical or Absent?

The aim of any institution of higher learning is to train individuals, impart them with the required practical skills that would enable them work in their respective fields of specialization thereafter with utmost competence. This objective cuts across universities, colleges, polytechnics, among others, in a bid to maintain a continuous transition among professional working classes from generation to generation and even improve the same. Moi University, being one of the high ranking public universities in the country, is not an exception, or at least should not be an exception.

I study Bachelor of Science in Media Science, a degree programme which, according to the faculty, is designed to produce competent media professionals to work in the print and the electronic media industry. A course that is tailored to produce graduates who can work in the field and also be effective managers of media institutions; a course that has been developed and designed to meet increased demand for personnel with specialized skills and knowledge in the various aspects of the media industry. Teaching methods, still according to the faculty, consist of lectures, seminars, practicals using equipment commonly used in the media industry, written assignments, project work, field visits, individual reading, research, problem solving and practical attachment. Is this description not enough to make a potential ECD teacher push for a course change in favour of this one? Trust me, it happened!

When I first heard that my third year’s second semester would include at least one practical course, I almost pronounced the end of theoretical training. I knew I would now not only sit down and listen to lengthy narratives but also do something with a hand involvement for MES 322 - Video and Radio Production. How I had been longing for such a moment when I would proudly participate in such activities! Despite all the sweet-sounding descriptions attached to my programme, the only things whose existence I can never doubt are lectures and written assignments. For the past three years of study, I surely have gone through plenty of them – I am grateful for that.

Talking about practical teaching using equipment commonly used in the media, I would say that maybe the course is still undergoing revision and reshaping to include this aspect in the future. Sincerely, I have never gone through such a vital experience. One day, Ronald McAgak and I decided to give it a test. Agak happens to be one of my classmates from lake-side. Ooh I had not said it; he quitted ECD and joined media in 2011! So we walked into our department office and asked for a camera. There was nothing to surprise any of us because what we heard was something we expected. They didn’t have films and it would take time for them to be located and dust-wiped because it was long since they were last used. This further justified my suspicion that my programme description is merely meant for publicity, to attract more potential students.

I had mentioned something about MES 322, that ‘practical’ course! Well, Miss Ruth Simam is the lecturer who was assigned the task of taking us through video and radio production. Of course it would look more awkward if it was also going to be theoretically taught, with the presence of such courses as Media production, Radio &T.V production and Radio &T.V communication in the same semester, all which are taught through narratives!

Beside MES 322, Simam was also assigned two other courses to take us through, apart from the ‘countless’ others she lectures to the first, second and fourth years. The lady deserves to be credited. She did her best in making sure that we get to know that there is a course called MES 322. She also mentioned about Adobe Premere, which is a software collection of editing programs for video, audio, images e.t.c. I remember her trying to install this software in some of the publishing lab computers, although none of them accepted it. How then were we supposed to do the practicals if the computers are not even used to such programs? Nothing serious transpired thereafter, although I recall her giving group assignments for project work, that’s all!

The only course that was meant to be a practical one therefore translated into being an ‘absent’ one. But it is better than the Magazine Publishing one, whose lecturer could not even see the essence of it being assigned four hours in a week. For him, three hours per semester was all he needed and he was done! I don’t know whether this one can be better than the Research Methods, the course whose facilitator would spend an hour trying to make us understand the importance of the course itself! I also know about another one, Media Production. The lecturer began by confessing his reluctance to give out notes. At the end of the day, he had given out the highest number of hand-outs! Still there is something called Subject Indexing and Thesaurus whatever! I don’t even know what to say about that. I will talk about it next time.

Those examples are enough; I am now preparing to start a 7-month long holiday before resuming for my final year of study. I will always pray that in that fourth year, the number of practical courses will probably exceed the number of absent ones.

Naisubiri Siku Hiyo

Iwapo kuna siku ya hivi karibuni ninayoingojea kwa hamu na ghamu katika chuo hiki, si nyengine bali ni tarehe sita mwezi ujao wa Septemba.  Tukio ambalo ninalitarajia kwa matamanio makubwa, linaloufanya moyo wangu ukose subira, ni lile la uchaguzi.

Siku hiyo kulingana na ninavyoitabiria, itakuwa muhimu na iliyosheheni shughuli chungu nzima. Nikiwa miongoni mwa maelfu ya wanagenzi wa chuo hiki cha Moi bewa kuu, nitaahirisha shughuli zote ambazo ningepania kuzitekeleza siku hiyo hata kama ni kwa muda tu, ili kuitumia fursa hiyo kuwachagua viongozi wapya watakaoshikilia nafasi mbali mbali katika uongozi wa muungano wa wanafunzi.

Sababu kadhaa zinanishawishi na kuifanya shughuli hiyo ya uchaguzi kuwa yenye umuhimu mkubwa katika maisha yangu kama mwanafunzi wa chuo hiki. Kwanza ni haki ya kidemokrasia. Ikiwa kilio changu cha chini kwa chini kila uchao, cha kutaka haki nyenginezo za msingi kama vile maisha bora kitaendelea kugonga mgongo wa kobe, basi hii nina uhakika wa kuifurahia kwani ni haki isiyohitaji kilio kuipata. Hakuna ajuaye, pengine nitakayemchagua siku hiyo ndiye mkombozi aliyetabiriwa na Yohana mbatizaji na manabii wa kale kwamba atakuja kuniondolea masaibu ya muda.

Pili ni kwamba ninahitaji kutawalwa na kiongozi ninayemuenzi, niliyemkabidhi mamlaka mwenyewe kupitia kura yangu. Iwapo nitaamua kulipa kisogo zoezi la uchaguzi, uamuzi huo usio wa busara hautakuwa na manufaa yoyote kwangu, ila utafananishwa na kujitemea mate usoni mwangu mwenyewe. Nishiriki au nisishiriki, viongozi sharti watachaguliwa na kuanza kazi mara moja. Hapo ndipo nitakapojigundua kumbe mimi ni mtu ‘hivi hivi’, jambo ambalo siku zote nitaishi kujutia hasa viongozi hao watakapoanza kwenda fyongo na kutoyashughulikia maslahi yangu kikamilifu, kinyume na matarajio yangu. Hata ikiwa watafanya vizuri, pia sitakuwa na chochote cha kujivunia kwa ajili yao, nikizingatia kwamba sikuhusika kivyovyote katika kuwachagua.

Kwa mantiki hiyo basi siwezi kamwe kukosa kuivaa mzima mzima shughuli hiyo ijayo ya kukata na shoka. Ikiwa sababu zote hizo hazitoshi, naweka nadhiri ya kuziongeza wakati mwengine. Cha msingi ni kwamba naisubiri siku hiyo kama nilivyoisubiri ile ya tarehe nne mwezi Machi mwaka huu. Swala la iwapo zoezi zima litaendeshwa kwa njia ya kielektroniki au la; kwa foleni au kupitia mtandao; kwa muda mrefu au mfupi; hayo si majukumu yangu. Nina imani na maafisa wa tume huru ya uchaguzi wanaotazamiwa kutajwa hivi karibuni kwamba watalivalia njuga swala zima na kuandaa uchaguzi wa aina yake. Ninachoomba mimi ni uchaguzi uwe wa haki na uwazi jinsi ule wa uraisi ulivyodaiwa kuwa.

Kwa sasa nimeamua kutia masikio nta na kuzifanya zipite juu ya hewa, tetesi kwamba mikutano ya kikabila imeanza kushuhudiwa yenye malengo ya kusimamisha wagombea kwa misingi ya kikabila. Ninachofahamu fika ni kwamba kiongozi yeyote atakayechaguliwa lazima atatoka katika kabila fulani lolote lile. Hivyo basi, nimejifunza tangu utotoni kutojisumbua na wasiwasi wa aina yoyote wa kikabila, kijinsia au kimaeneo kwani binadamu wote ni sawa mbele za Mungu na yeyote anaweza kutunukiwa zawadi ya uongozi. Isitoshe, ninaotaka ni uongozi bora na utapatikana tu ikiwa viongozi watakuwa bora. Je, si wale wa kabila fulani ndio wanaojua ni mtu yupi wao aliye bora?

Hatimaye ninaelekeza dua kwa mwengezi Mungu azidi kunineemesha neema ndogo-ndogo na neema kubwa-kubwa, niweze kuendelea kupumua kwa pumzi yake mwenyewe hadi siku hiyo ya tarehe sita. Pia nawaombea baraka viongozi wote wanaoondoka mamlakani na kheri njema maishani mwao pindi watakapostaafu rasmi. Waendeleze talanta zao za uongozi walizoonyesha wakiwa madarakani kwa muda huo mrefu mno kulingana na katiba ya uongozi. Lakini zaidi ya yote mie nitazidi kushikilia tisti msimamo wangu wa kuisubiri siku hiyo!

Bitten With Me!

9th December, 2012. This was on Sunday, a couple of months into my long holiday. I was at the middle of my university education, having completed the second year of study for a degree in Bachelor of Science, Media Science. I had left Moi University’s main campus early October that year and was still counting up to four more months before travelling back to Eldoret for the 2013/14 academic year.

She tried calling me once before sending a text message. She knew I would hardly answer her call, even if she redialed 100 times. Not because we were in bad terms or that being a Sabbath day, I would probably be listening to a sermon at Calvary Baptist Church. Our services usually end before 3pm, but now it was around sunset and the environment I was in could not permit a telephone conversation. It was noisy!

My schedule was tight. But that could not prevent me from cheering up for my team. It was another tough derby between the two local rivals, Manchester United and Manchester City, at the latter’s Etihad Stadium. Inside a local video room at the outskirts of Kakanjuni sub-town, I cannot exclusively say whether I was sited or upstanding. You do not maintain a similar position while watching such a do-or-die clash! Especially at the dying extra minutes of the final half and no side is trailing the other. Wayne Rooney had already scored a brace for the visitors in the first half but Yaya Toure’s and Pablo Zabaleta’s strikes took the game to an entertaining 2-2 level with less than four minutes remaining. Now that is enough to guess the kind of noise and anxiety the long distance spectators were involved in at that moment.

I quickly opened the ‘1 message received’ which read, “Nimeshuka hapa stage.” I did not take that to be important, at least for a minute. I then pressed the reply button and speedily typed, “Bado dakika mbiri game igome.” I sent it and refocused my whole attention back to the big screen.

Soon, a free-kick was awarded to Manchester United and I knew that would probably be the last event before the referee brings the English Premier League match into a close. The Netherlands International placed the ball where the referee had suggested and moved a few strides backwards and slightly to the right. He was, as usual, going to take it with his left foot. The former Arsenal captain brilliantly lifted the ball straight passed the barrier of strong boys, who slightly deflected it, tackling their own helpless goalkeeper into the back of the net!

Ooh Gosh! Looks like I am giving a match report here! Anyway, that is how it ended, a 3-2 victory in favor of The Red Devils.

As I excitedly walked out of the video house some minutes after 6pm, I was a little nervous about a couple of issues in my mind. First was my ‘want-to-meet-me caller’. I knew I had kept her waiting, which was not due to my fault anyway. I was not the referee to be able to end the match earlier than that. After all, I had sneaked out of church, primarily because of the match, not to meet a ‘stranger’.

Strolling down the then crowded Kakanjuni road towards the stage, I did not find it necessary to ask my caller whether she was still there or not. Ideally, one who is desperate to meet you will not make any attempt of moving elsewhere before your arrival. I had that in mind.

It was now getting dark. The sun was almost resting into the West. From the East towards which I was walking, the moon was almost taking over the reign. However, I knew it would take a little while before its light could be completely relied on. This posed another challenge in my head. I hate meeting strangers whose faces are immersed in the dark, who I may not quickly recognize. Another basic concern was about whom else was probably accompanying her. “If they are two or three, it will be a different story altogether. They may request to be sent home in a motorbike! Do I have the courage to let them know about my doomed financial status? Or do I just joke around that they need a slight walking exercise after resting on a vehicle seat all the way from Malindi town?”

Before I even finished thinking, I suspected a short, slim, brown lady in a glittering dress approaching me. But because I was on a road that could lead anywhere, I was never going to be absolutely certain that she was the one. I quickly made up my mind, stood still and pretended to be doing something serious on my phone. “If she is the one, she will definitely stop here. If not, she will pass and go!” I told myself. She neither passed nor went. She stopped. Since I was now done with my phone, I looked at her and said, “Vidze?” This is how a teenage from my Giriama community would open up a greeting session with an age mate.

After realizing that all was well and that she just wanted to see me and know how I had been faring for the past three or four months apart, the mission was over. Of course there was absolutely nothing special about her intention. My close acquaintances understand me as a friend of the people, a representative of their other friends. Seeing me is therefore almost equal to meeting with all the rest. That was all. Now she wanted to go to her mother. She did not say that, I just guessed. The 7 O’clock Citizen news was ongoing; she would not walk home alone at that time. I know how she fears darkness or even just night hours. Unfortunately, there was no way I was going to suggest an alternative transport means, other than her legs. You don’t tell somebody to hire a motorbike or so, you just give them the fare!

Those days, my church was involved in a serious session of preparations ahead of a major event. 15^th December 2012 was not going to be just like any other Saturday in the calendar diary of Sister Claris Rehema, the pastor’s last-born daughter. In as much as the Sunday school children would still want her teaching services, it was no longer going to be so. The youth committee which she was currently chairing was also not at ease. She would proceed and shamelessly make a vow amid exchanging rings with a man in front of a congregation that would extend beyond the limits of the walls of the church building. The two would then immediately become husband and wife, upon declaration by the priest or bishop. As for me, I was going to be on the front line, leading the pet boys and maids through all their processions. Claris had chosen me to be the patron. With no reason to say no, I accepted to take up the responsibility of organizing for and on behalf of the boys and girls expected to be dressed like angels and dancing in unique patterns! In fact, I had just sneaked out of the church to avoid an after-service sitting that would have prevented me from watching one of the biggest matches of the English Premier League.

So there I was, with my caller. I had planned to pass by the bride’s home after the match, at least to get one or two updates about the issues discussed in the meeting where I was absent without apology. It was almost mandatory to see her before she slept because she had already dropped a hint on me that she would travel the following day, at day-break! But now my caller needed attention too. An escort was surely going to be inevitable. But she lives a few kilometers away, on the opposite direction from where the pastor’s home is located. This would make it difficult to take her home then walk back to the bride. Yes, it would be hard; but that is what I finally resolved to do.

Along the way, there was a warm session of chatting. I shared with her how the wedding preparations were greatly involving my time and effort. She, in turn, encouraged me to move on so as to make the ceremony a success. She also did not hesitate to talk about what she had been doing in the far North Coast since taking leave of her village for months.

Kirrrrr… kirrrrr… kirrrrr… She stopped, opened her handbag and took out the ringing phone. Our dialogue paused for a moment as she answered her call. We had already covered almost half of the distance. I don’t normally eavesdrop whenever someone is talking to another, especially over the phone, but the nature of her replies forced me to be a little keen. She was mentioning the exact place where we had reached and the fact that she was on foot. I later understood that it was her brothers calling from home, asking for where she was. According to their estimates, which were correct anyway, she was expected to have arrived home by then. That was not my problem. I did not even know that the family knew she was coming. I said ‘fine’ and revived our previous dialogue.

Just a few minutes before 8pm, we took the second-last corner, almost close to her destination. Our walking speed had been extremely sluggish, right from the beginning and had never been steady. Sometimes it decelerated to almost zero, especially as the journey was slowly coming to an end. We had reached the climax of storytelling and it seemed that we would soon be forced to suspend some issues until some other time. She could now smell her family members, who had all along been awaiting her arrival.

Suddenly, something strange befell us, almost uncalled for. “What the hell is biting me?” That was not supposed to be the next sentence expected from her mouth. In fact it was my turn to speak, not hers. She just chose to interrupt. What stunned me most is the fact that she shouted while jumping a few strides away, as if avoiding some pieces of burning charcoal.

The moon was now brightly shining, but you still needed an alternative source of light to be able to see the finer details of anything. I wanted to know what was biting my caller. The broad shade cast from the huge cashewnut tree adjacent to her local church made it almost impossible to see what could possibly bite someone from the ground. I quickly took out my phone, pressed any button and lowered it down towards where the biting-object probably was, where she had jumped away from.

That is the point when I wished the whole thing was a dream so that I can wake up and smile. Behold it was a snake! Yes, the biting-object was a snake. Upon seeing it, she made another important statement, “so that snake has bitten me!” I said, “Yes, it has bitten you,” as I confirmed from the small quantity of blood that had already formed a drop-like structure on her right foot. She had surely been bitten in my presence; bitten with me!