Here is a story I always remember that keeps me going. When I was in Elementary school(read lower primary,im just trynna sophiscate things one bit)I had a tough time finding out what I really was good at.I dubbled in Maths and gave up when I realized cracking tough arithmetic just did not sail my boat.I put more interest in Science,it was Science back then...but I realized I wasnt good in cooking theories about red blood cells getting eaten by the HIV virus(is it the RBC that get chomped away by the virus anyway?) then I tried GHC,yes I did GHC in my years breaking my teeth.GHC was a bore to my soul,I couldnt figure why we had to explain diffrent types of rocks and what caused their existence.To me rocks mattered little like it does to Gor Mahia adherents.They actually qualify to be adherents.I tried Home science to but I figured I was not a pretty boy and my preference was still girls and women a piece.I tried excelling in sports but gave up when some older boy hit my head with a Sprite basketball from his thunderous nduki.I passed out from the knock if you are wondering.I saw stars the minute it made impact and then darkness that resembled the Devils homecoming.Then I figured if I wasnt gonna amount to much id rather be a geek and get me info.The key word here is READ.The first novel I ever read on this sojourn of finding my niche was The River and the source.I cleared the book in a record two days.And so my reading thirst started.I devoured every book I could lay my hands on.I read R.L Stines series of the Goosebumps franchise,I read them all.I read all the book in the Ladybird series.. the sleeping beauties,Rumpenzells..Snow Whites...and I finished them all.At this point it was sufficient to say I had officially become weird.My peers considered me a geek of the literature world.I always had a novel in hand.And when I had read all the Hardy Boys,Nancy Drew,Sweet Valley franchises I scaled towards the Mills and boons books.My book thirst suddenly started becoming a worry to my mom who felt I was becoming lucklustre in school work.The more she cautioned the more I drifted.I read the Mark Twains of then.All Charles Dickens books until I believed I could create something similar.So I borrowed a few of their ideas and started scribbling away.When I wrote I didnt struggle to pen,words just flowed like I was a Wizard doing his thing with his hand.I was in class 4 then.The transformation became evident in my English grade and by extension Kiswahili.I would flop in the rest of the subjects but ace straight As in the languages sector.I was darn clueless in Mathematics n matters science.However I felt insecure about my newfound passion.Teachers would taunt me that in this world I didnt stand with thorough knowledge of only the Languages.When I fikad class 7 I changed schools.I was moved to a boarding School in Homa Bay.The school was called Fr.Scheffer Boys situated smuck middle of Governor Kideros backyard in Shaggz.The School was well known for its Maths performance.They had the rare chance of bragging about accolades won Nation wide on matters Mathematics.I was in a diffrent enviroment where nobody gave a shit if you were the Tolstoy of English.Their unwritten motto was Excel in Maths or....Excel! No two ways about it.Maths heads here were treated like royalty.They were made to believe they were personal tokens from God himself to crack the hardest of Maths puzzles.They haf their moment and even got the chance to Teach other jerks like me who couldnt for the life of it grab BODMAS.Yes they administered like teachers this Students.It made me hate myself for not really grasping the Maths language.They would give us assignments in class and go ahead and mark them with utter precision.They would teach stuff I couldnt just grasp in the worst broken English I had ever heard.They would fuse English and Dholuo and direct translate it to make sentences.The phrase Sentence structure was non-existent here.The only Teacher I got along with here was my English Teacher.He loved my English,especially my compositions.He would pin them and read them out to the rest of the class.I didnt last here long.I got expelled after I engaged myself in the worst atrocity in the Schools History by making a grand escape and going home.I was expelled immeadietly.Catholic Schools have never been my cup of tea.The next school I went to was a high cost boarding school in Homa Bay town just a few metres from the shores of Lake Victoria.When I went they were just starting out and had just churned the sixth bunch of candidates.They had quite the name in English performance.St Peters Cape View Academy was the name of this institution manned by a fiery don,Mr Peter Ongoro.Here is where I really broke my bones in English.The man Ongoro was an adent English fanatic.He would find fault in the slightest ulteration of English words.He did not take mispronounciation lightly.It was punishable by several strokes of his reknowned Kiboko.He was a short plump guy who made us go over the sentence The Quick Brown Fox Jumped over The Lazy Dogs in continous pros.He would wake us at 5 in the a.m to go teach us English.His School held the record for Best English performance in the Whole of Nyanza region.The schools commanderring of the Queens Language was unchallenged and unfrazzelled.Its a record the school holds to this day,I done checked with my records.Its still shining in English.Last year they were ranked 21 nationally.That should tell you something.The rest of the subjects were taught but not mentioned in the same breadth as Mr Ongoro English.He was reverred in the region.Sometimes on lazy afternoons he would walk up to a window on an English lesson and listen to what other Teachers were passing on.Then he would interject from his window position on the slightest Mis-pronunciation of any English word.I loved him and decided to study him like a really enthusiastic Dog would follow its master holding a T-bone.However in his Schedule he always had to be away in April for annual English Teachers Summit that used to happen in Mombasa.Once when he away,they brought in a tall,dark bloke with a ragged chin to fill in for him.He called himself Sherrif,and so it came we christened him Mr.Sherriff.He had a scruffy voice that reminded me of Goofy and a funny wardrobe change.Now in this school,the rule was a composition everyday EVERYDAY! The compositions would then be distributed amongst the English Teachers but the chunk of it would remain under the don himself.He did the rotation such that at the end of the swapping he would mark your composition like three times in a term.And if he went through your work you would have a sore bottom to sit on if you didnt understand the whole fuss of Sentence structure and punctuation marks.He had little patience for such punitive mistakes as he reffered to them.So this one time he went for his annual conference and left us under the tutilage of Mr.Sherrif.Mr Sherriff read my work once and he immeadietly liked me.He praised my immense creativity in coming up with fictitious stories.I could tell he liked them from the grades he awarded me.He noticed the writer in me.So it became routine that after every essay written mine would get the highest accolades.Then it would be read to the whole class who would gasp at how flawless the writing was.He would bring me novels from his personal stash and ask me to read them to better my imagination.He taught me how to sieze the moment and own my writing.He drummed into me the importance of laying a stratedgy even if words just came so effortlessly to me.He taught me the art of scouring the most Un-utilized tool in the art of Creative writing.The English Dictionary he told me was the dearest thing a self respecting student of the art of writing can ever posses.I became his favourite Student.And doubled this by topping all English examinations.My grasp of English endeared me to him and I would put in that extra hour to go for English consultations.Under his pupilage I routinely topped Joint examinations we did with other top seed schools in the region.And it is to him I am entitely grateful.
Posted on: Tue, 09 Sep 2014 18:20:02 +0000
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