A True African Tale

In the twilight years of their productive life, deep in the hovels
of mwabogonko village during the grim epoch decorated with famine and
hopelessness, a tiny child was brought to bear. Defying all odds of
despair, helplessness, destitution, and myriad virulence, the tiny boy
whose mom idolized and crowned as Bogonko was well equipped to sail to
the apex of academic life. For his parents, the entire family, and even
the village to dream of such a possibility was just beyond bizarre. All
in the while, enthusiasm and determination was brewing, never to
cease.

It came to pass that one bright afternoon Bogonko was sitting with a
fellow teacher in a tiny staff-room at a small school called Bombaba
Secondary school where he was teaching as a U.T. (untrained teacher)
when an idea of proceeding for further studies in the U.S.A. lit up.
With zero savings and meager salary, to think of such a possibility was
pure lunacy. Lunatic indeed that there was hardly any cash to spare for
application fee and other processing expenses in order to liven the
mission he was about to endure. As the dialogue between the two
confidants proceeded, a large dark figure arrived at the door.

"Good afternoon teachers?" he saluted with a benevolent smile and then
sat leisurely on a chair next to Bogonko, facing a wooden window that
was ajar. He had somewhat engorged eyes, stout physique, a flat nose,
refractive head, and an athletic gait. "Hello Mr. Akita, how was town?"
responded Mr. Carema, Mr. Bogonko's confidant. "It is generally fine.
We attended head- teachers' meeting that lasted approximately one hour.
The meeting was chaired by the DEO (District Education Officer) to
discuss the next circular for all Kisii secondary schools athletic
competition. I do have a pro forma if you care to look at it." He
hastily sprung up and walked down the corridor into his office to
retrieve the pro forma.

Within a few moments he stormed back into the golden cubicle,
conventionally called staff-room. He browsed through the "Xeroxed"
pink, four-paper bundle that appeared to have been lying in a cow shade
for weeks. Cow-dung like splatter ruled the majority of the printed
surface. "Here, peruse it and give me some feed back tomorrow. It is
imperative that everything is handled according to the protocol." He
announced as he handed the pro forma to Mr. Bogonko and immediately
exited the room. Mr. Akita had a double personality. On the one hand he
was gregarious and had a great sense of humor. On the other hand he was
callous, mean spirited, and naturally dubious.

Bombaba Secondary School was a fledgling parent-owned school that was
holed in a clan called Bomajoge in Kisii district. The parents
entrusted the operation and management of the school with the board of
governors who were supposed to oversee the head-teachers'
administrative and functional activities. The head-teacher, who was
appointed by the board of governors was also the secretary to the
board. Within the academic realm, he was supposed to design the class
schedule with the help of the deputy head-teacher and ensure adequate
staffing as well as supplies. In the event of a tumultuous situation
within the school premises, arising from either squabbling among
teachers or gross mal adaptive behavior among students, the
head-teacher was the smoother.

On the financial aspect, the head-teacher was primarily responsible for
collecting outstanding school fees when due. When need be, the deputy
head-teacher would help with the collection of the school fees -- but
he was, however, not answerable to the board in the event of accounts
mismatch or misappropriation of finances as it too often occurred to be
the case. When students had major outstanding balances, they were
supposed to be suspended from school until such a time that their
accounts were in good standing. All teachers were supposed to assist in
this exercise.

All the while, Mr. Bogonko was hustling his papers through the US
embassy to get his visa approved. And it did. That tiny, hopeless boy
whose mother passed on long before his circumcision, now lives
comfortably in the USA. In retrospect, it was a miraculous hike onto "a
city on the hill." Indeed will and determination can dig tunnels
through mountain ranges!