The world has undoubtedly registered huge leaps and advancements not only in the development of basic infrastructure and industries but also technology wise. I remember during those days when owning a cell phone catapulted you to celebrity status and of course one could only marvel at such gadgetry. The story is not the same today, cell phones are almost a basic necessity and I wouldn’t be surprised if the era of disposable communication gadgets rears its head soon. Children have never been this spoilt for entertainment choice; from computer games to audiovisual sources.
These confirm what I have always suspected -am growing old. We didn’t need the internet or TVs to keep us entertained. One was just happy to be in school. If someone stepped on your toes or ratted on you, you didn’t take immediate action but “preserved” him for the closing day where a real duel was to be organized. And believe me when I say the fighters were really motivated. Losing wasn’t an option coz one become the subject of ridicule which only ceased when he redeemed himself in the next fight. If these bouts taught us anything it was to choose our opponents wisely and winning at all costs, lessons that has been really valuable so far.
I should probably not mention the disk part. If your memory serves you correctly you’ll know am not talking about that circular plate we used to serve nyoyo. This was some objects usually unpleasant or with a pungent smell that serious offenders were ordered to carry around to act as deterrent to some boys who might have been thinking of pissing the gods. Noise making and of course mother tongue speaking guaranteed you this honor. Friends and foe alike would trick each other just to make sure the punishment afterwards did not befall them alone. After all nobody likes to die alone. Rumors heard it that some schools used dead cow horns. Grotesque, you might say.
Even though I caught just a few years of the Nyayo free milk era I still count myself lucky to have been in school during those days that important men went to school. Everything was in limited measures be it books, the milk themselves and most valuable of all-lockers. This was a precious commodity that if you missed you would most likely find yourself in hard logs improvised to keep off the mountain of dust.
Did I mention that ten bob was enough to buy some fair-weather friends at least while it lasted. These were some hard mandazis that were prepared using maize flour. In my school we called them ‘akuon akuon’ .They were so delicious that most friendships were made or broken at this stands. One piece made sure you were indebted and gave the giver a license to any class football team, talent notwithstanding.
School was not this rosy-it wasn’t just about making fighters using clay or eating ‘akuon akuon’. Equally synonymous with school was tears. The teachers believed that truancy could only be gotten rid of by viboko. Inflicting pain they thought guaranteed them reverence. If they were to be feared then the big boys and the prefects were to be dodged at all costs. To be in lower primary was a sin. I remember picking leaves and sweeping every morning under the tightest of supervisions .I wouldn’t talk about the cost of failure in exams because am sure you remember that only too well. There was of course the forbidden topic of girls so I won’t talk about it lest my class teacher hear about it .the letters were intercepted with so much finesse that if the government could just harness this potential maybe ,just maybe al shabaab would have been history.
The silver lining is that however hard life pushed us, we pushed back. However tough the masters were we found away to make ‘gettas’. For those who didn’t go to real schools, gettas were those inner clothing, books that one wore to reduce the pain inflicted on the butt. That we wiped our tears and played football obviously showed our resilience. Am I the only one who is nostalgic about the good primary days, the perseverance, the raw optimism, the unwavering belief that if he can, so can we?
Of course am not saying that we solve all our difference at the boxing arena, to be clear lest Kibunja and co label me a warmonger.
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