(Very Very Long Post Alert! Probably misuse of Facebook but...) Now when the attention of the entire globe is focused on the soccer festival currently underway in Brazil is an opportune moment to recollect football as was played in Sidok Primary School where the son of man schooled many years ago. I watched the other day as a player was hit bang on the head by a rather powerful shot which sent him to the ground where he stayed a little dazed for a couple of seconds. This reminded me of the first and only time that I have ever blacked out (if you don’t count my campus graduation night when my brother Samuel Ochieng and his cousing Chris Budo ensured that I drunk more beer than I had drunk in all my campus drinking days). I have always loved football since way back, and it was the only sport I participated in in primary school. I spent countless hours chasing polythene balls with the likes of Victor Ajumbo in and out of school. In my younger days when I was too small to join the school’s team, I always watched the team practice in the school’s field. On the fateful day in 1996, a group of students were doing their evening practice match, featuring a couple of former students of the school, including my eldest brother Victor Ogutu. I had positioned myself behind one of the goal posts where I had a vintage view of the proceedings, but also doubled as a ball boy, running off to collect the ball whenever it bounced off the pitch. (One of the goal posts was barely 20 meters from the school’s fence, so when a powerful shot was not stopped by the goalkeeper, the ball would go outside the fence. Passersby who saw the ball would kick it back to the compound, but there are those who saw it as a rare chance to acquire a proper football, so once in a while we encountered the odd fellow who ran off with the ball.) It had been an ordinary evening but it almost turned tragic. Victor was a striker for his team and one of his shots which went past the goal keeper caught me completely off guard. It was too fast for me to duck, so the ball hit me square on the head. I passed out and fell to the ground when I remained out cold for several minutes, only to wake up with all manner of people fanning me with smelly t-shirts. I became the butt of all manner of jokes for a couple of days, but I learnt to keep a safe distance from the goal post, and never to stand directly behind the goalie. Playing soccer in Sidok was not for the faint hearted. If the teachers deemed you talented enough they dragged you from the classroom to the fields to practice with the rest of the team. Many boys who were good in soccer and who loved the game would feign injuries to avoid the practice sessions, but their tricks were of little use. If you are wondering why those who were good in soccer would avoid the soccer fields then you probably have not meant Mr. Steven Mbinga. Steve Mbinga joined the teaching staff at Sidok in 1996 fresh from Bondo Teachers College (now I hear it has become a university). He had not by then been employed by the Teachers Service Commission, so he was on retainer by the school’s board. (We called them Prokonyas, a corruption of the Luo word “Konyo” which means to help, since they helped with the teaching.) His lack of formal employment by the TSC, and no doubt the small wages he earned, did not dampen his spirits. He was by far the most dedicated teacher at the time, second only to Ouma Ogango, the Head Teacher whom I have written of previously. Mbinga came from a village some 8 or so kilometers from the school but he arrived there before anyone else. He had a bicycle which stood out from among all the teachers’ bicycles in the school. It was built for serious riding, and at night – it had two of those dynamo-powered bicycle headlights which enabled him to ride to school in the darkest hours. His presence in the soccer fields also brought darkness to the players. He also loved soccer, and he was, alongside Mr. Ouma, the coach for the school team. The trouble with practicing under Steve Mbinga and Mr. Ouma started with the fact that the school did not have the luxury of different coloured uniforms which we could wear to distinguish one team from the other. To distinguish the teams, therefore, one side had to play without shirts, yaani bare-chested. It didn’t matter that the weather was freezing cold. As if playing bare-chested was not bad enough, Steve Mbinga taught soccer tactics with the same philosophy he used while teaching in class – the philosophy of the cane. He would play for one of the teams but all the while he had a very slender cane with him. (Those who were caned in school know how much more painful a slender cane is in comparison to a thick one.) Mbinga always had the cane with him and whenever you did a foolish move, lost possession, made a pass that did not connect or did anything that he didn’t think Romario would do, he abandoned his position in the field, ran to you and rained a couple smacks in your back, whether it was dressed or bare. The agony did not end in the practice sessions. If you made it to the final squad that represented the school in the sports’ day your troubles were tripled. Mr. Ouma would subject you to all manner of insults if you were not good enough in the field. Rather than guide the players the way I see premier league coaches do on the sidelines, Mr. Ouma insulted you, and he did it so loud that everyone on and off the pitch would hear him. In one such instance, a not-so-talented player called Mbes pulled a rather ludicrous move. Mr. Ouma was so incensed by the move that he yelled from the top of his voice saying “Mbes, okanichiem!!!” – that is dholuo for “Mbes, you will not eat!!!” You see, all players were entitled to a meal prepared by some parents and select girls of the school during sports day. The meal was served only to players, and many of them really looked forward to having a bite (and glucose) after a long day running after the balls, or in athletics. The rest of us who had not taken part in the sports would mill around the make-shift kitchen hoping that one of the players would invite us to share their dish. Eating during sports day was such a big deal that Mr. Ouma thought that the worst punishment would be to deny a player a dish! (Mr. Ouma once gave me an opportunity to play for the school team as a substitute, deep in the second half, but I could not keep up with the game. Although I had a few skills, I lacked the size and endurance that was needed to face the much bigger boys who played for the other schools. I must have played for only 10 minutes but I have never been more relieved than when I was called off the pitch!) Back to the agony of those who played in our soccer field… If you played for an opposing team then you had to deal with Gogo K’Owala. Gogo K’Owala is a character and a half – a formidable force in all spheres of life in Uranga, and I am still looking for the right words to describe him. He is what those who know more English than I do would call a larger-than-life character. And he was literally large as well. He was one of the parents of the school at the time and one of his sons – Oluoch – was my classmate. Although he was hardly educated, he took a keen interest in matters education. He was in the school’s management committee – the same committee that rode their bicycles some 42 kilometres to and from Siaya District Headquarters when Mr. Okoth Aling’o who had been headmaster was due to be replaced by someone the school’s community did not approve. Gogo and his colleagues in the committee rode to the District Education Office, caused chaos here and there, and in the end, Mr. Ouma who had been Okoth Aling’os Deputy was promoted to head the school. He made a living from a quarry on the outskirts of Uranga where he dug up and knocked rocks into bricks and kokoto for the few who did not do mud houses. There was no dynamite and no fancy tools – it was just his two arms and his tindo. He also rode one of the most unique bicycles in the centre – while Steve Mbinga’s bike had all manner of fancy gadgetry, Gogo’s was stripped down to the bare minimum – the wheels, chain, pedals, and frame. No mudguard. No extras. The only ‘extra’ it had was the bell whose ring was so sharp and distinct you would hear it from miles away. Because of the nature and intensity of his work, Gogo singlehandedly (or is it single-stomachedly?) consumed a whole birika of tea and a loaf of bread upon arrival from the quarry. This was immediately before he settled down for his lunch. He always wore shorts, except when he was attending important functions like school committee meetings. Because he wore shorts at work, sharp pebbles breaking off the rocks he crushed would crush into his shin, causing wounds that never seemed to heal. When a wound in one foot healed, another started on the other foot. As such, he always had a kitambaa of sorts on either of his feet, wrapped around a wound to keep away flies. Gogo was the man who led the parents and children of the school in rewarding the pupils who excelled in academics – with a clap like no other. A clap that you have to see to appreciate. Like every typical rural school, Sidok could not afford material or monetary gifts for pupils who did well in the exams but Gogo K’Owala’s clap did for the children much more than material gifts. Every closing day of every school term the entire Sidok Community – teachers, parents and pupils – would gather in the shade of a huge mango tree that grew in the compound. After a short speech from the headmaster reporting on general issues of interest to the parents (none of us listened), the class teacher for each class would summon to the front of the gathering the three top pupils in his/her respective class, going by that term’s examinations. The three (or more if there was a tie) would then be given a most hearty and memorable clap by the school, led by Gogo. In some closing days the Good Samaritan Ministries (GSM) – a local church with ties in America – would reward top pupils with such gifts as crayons (for lower primary kids), school uniform sets, books, pens and Oxford Geometrical Sets, but these were erratic. Gogo’s clap was a constant. He did it 8 times every closing day, three times every year, for 8 years while I was there, but each time was unique, more exciting than the previous, and he sent everyone to their knees in laughter. Sometimes he would simply stand but before he reached the front to lead the clap, the whole gathering would be down in laughter and he would walk back to his seat, mission accomplished. The pupils would file away from the front, content that their efforts had been appreciated. Gogo was also a very generous man. In 1997 when I was in class 6, he did an unprecedented act of generosity in support of education in Sidok. He commissioned a local carpenter to construct a desk for the best pupil in class 6 – who happened to be yours truly. That year I not only got hearty claps from the school, but I got a desk of my own for the following academic year. In 1998 he commissioned another desk for the best pupil in class 7 which I also won. This was a much improved design, and I spent class 8 as the only child in the school, and perhaps Siaya District, to use a desk with lockable drawers to store books. Of course my desk-mate Linda got to share in the privilege I could go on and on about Gogo K’Owala, but as I pointed out earlier, he is a man who cannot sufficiently be described here. There is a lot more I could write, such as his involvement with KANU – then the much-hated opposition party – in the 1997 general elections where he was a point man for Edwin Yinda who was seeking the Alego Usonga parliamentary seat (who, needless to say, lost miserably, and only won the seat in the 2007 elections when he contested in the right party.) Moving back to football in Sidok…. Gogo was equally a man of mystery, and there was silent rumour that he visited an ajuoga. I began by saying that soccer players from teams that played against Sidok had to face Gogo K’Owala. He was a big soccer fan and he never missed any of our games. You know when they say that Howard Webb is the Most Valuable Player for Man-U, Gogo K’Owala was our most valuable non-player. Whenever a striker had snaked his way through our defenders and was left only with our goalkeeper, Gogo would yell the words “Ara go woko!!!” from the top of his voice and true to his word, the shot would wander way out of goal. For those who do not share an ancestry with Divock Origi, the phrase “Ara go woko” means “Haya, sasa piga nje!!!” He yelled the same words when an opponent was taking a penalty against us, and in 80% of the cases, the shot would be wide, even when taken by the Ronaldos of the respective teams. No one knew how he did it, but it worked. Indeed a sports’ day was not a sports’ day without Gogo’s antics. The suspicion, shared silently by a few members of the Uranga community, that Gogo K’Owala was perhaps an occasional client to witchdoctors, was soon to put me in what we excitedly referred to as “hot soup” in our primary school English compositions. Back in 1994, from the first term of class 3 the son of man was blessed to be the top pupil in his class. I was able to maintain this position till class 8 (1999) when something unexpected happened, or I was made to believe it happened. I had always been top and Gogo’s son Oluoch was either second or third, depending on which position his competitor, Florence, took. In the second term of class 8 we did some internal exam (one of 300, maybe 400, we did that year) and as was customary, the results were posted in the staff room notice board late one evening. At the start of the evening prep I heard someone say that they had seen the results, and that Oluoch had topped the class. This sent me into a delirium. This is a feat which no one had achieved since 1994, and here I was, beaten when I was so close to the end of the journey. In my panic, and lack of wisdom, I whispered to a friend something to the effect that it was suspect that Oluoch had beaten me only a few days after he had gone off school at night, for a few days... A few days before the results came out, Gogo K’Owala had come to the school one night, around 9pm and left with his son who did not return until after two days - perhaps he had been taken to an ajuoga? (Although Sidok was a day school, class 7 and 8 pupils had a boarding system which is the stuff for another piece.) My thoughtless and reckless words found their way to Oluoch’s ears and boy, was he angry! He threatened to report me to the teachers the following day and then my fears became real. Those who studied at Sidok like George Anyanga and Elvis Okoth can attest that this meant the end of the world for me. I spent the entire evening on my knees begging Owala for forgiveness. Ultimately I prevailed upon him, made him understand that I was remorseful, and that such careless words, spoken from the mouth rather than the heart, should not break our friendship which we had cultivated right from class one. He accepted my apology, and my relief was beyond bounds. (Perhaps he was more inclined to forgive me because we had been partners in crime in a rather sorry incident the previous term.) Of course when we all saw the results the following day we discovered that it was all hot air - there had been no changes to the status quo, which remained till we finished class 8. Owala and I remain good friends to date. His father Gogo and I are also good friends.
Posted on: Tue, 24 Jun 2014 07:18:00 +0000
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