Sh*t, real sh*t

Nothing ever prepares you for the moment that you find sh*t in your desk, especially when you’re 13. Sorry for the graphics on this Wednesday morning but then again, am I really sorry? Hmm, I don’t think so. I’m the one who had the pleasure of bumping into the crasness of stool sample that morning. For the record, no I was not a lab technician then. I’m still not one and I doubt I’ll ever be one.

 

Before we get into that, I have something to say. Thank you for reading. Really, thank you. You guys also give me feedback and it’s humbling until it’s almost embarrassing. At some point in time, when I allow myself to be more vulnerable on this platform, I’ll explain to you guys how in my teens and early twenties, I thought that I could probably be a writer, but as I settled into my 20’s, it reached a point where I had accepted that writing would be one of those dreams that I’d die with. I had made peace with that fact. Writing and playing the guitar. (Guitar is a story for another day) For me to have revived this blog and to have you guys read it, it’s like, in Steve’s words, maji baridi kwa the soul. When I omoka, I’ll buy you guys something nice. Promise.

 

Back to the matter (literally) at hand.

 

There’s something heartwarming about bumping into primary school mates especially if your primary school experience was great. If like me you struggle with initial conversations, the clurrb is a great place to bump into people you haven’t seen in a long time. It’s already noisy so more often than not, the interaction has to be brief. It also limits the time for someone to realize wow, she’s still quiet and boring. Most likely, the both of you have taken some happy juice, so you’re just happy to see each other.

 “Oh my gosh, Elizabeth Litali?”

“Haha yeah, hi *Edwin Mwamba”

You always remember your primary school mates by their two names.

“Wow, I didn’t think you’d recognize me, kwani I haven’t changed much”

“No haha, you still have the same face. It’s so nice to see you”

“It’s so nice to see you too, my goodness. What do you do now?”

“I sell cakes” (and I’m now … you know … a writer. Okay, you don’t say that out loud, you feel shy) and you? What do you do?”

“I’m in tech. I should get your number, I’m always eating cakes”

“Yeah sure, I should also get your number, I’m always using tech haha” *crickets*

Then you exchange contacts and never talk again, but it still felt so nice to see and recognize someone from your childhood. I remember my primary school days with a lot of nostalgia. Apart from a lot of homework, I mostly enjoyed my time there. Our school had a lot of visa na visanga.

 

At the beginning of this year, I received an Instagram DM  from one of my former primary school classmates (Hi Steff) with a link to a WhatsApp group for our school year. Umm, immediately yes. I joined the group when it was still a bit new so there was a lot of reminiscing going on, especially about the visa and visanga. Fun times. As I'm there laughing at other people recount their escapades, ala, kumbe my time was coming.

“Btw who’s desk was sh*t on?”

It was mine people. It was mine. And in case you’re wondering whether it’s because we used to study in fields so that a bird would take a dump in my desk, you’re wrong. Even then, a bird would have to open the desk with its beak and then conduct its business, which seems like a lot of work for a bird born in nature. Such bad manners sounds like what a monkey would do, but no, it wasn't the monkeys. Also, we didn’t have our desks in the field, we had them in classrooms.

 

It’s 2007, I’m in class eight, spending a lot of my time doing things that class eight girls do. Reading, having a boyfriend in the next class, having friends, going to Nakumatt Junction on the weekends (to just walk around), complaining about a lot of homework but still doing the homework, you know, just typical class eight girl things. At some point in time, pranks have become a thing in our class. Fake fart spray is the in thing and one time, my desk falls victim to that, but after a few hours of airing it, the smell is gone. I’m irritated, but it’s nothing to stop my life. One day, I find dead kumbekumbes in my desk, this time it’s just not my desk. We’re kadhaa. Maybe we mention this to our class teacher, or we don’t, I forget. I don’t even mention it to my folks at home because I don’t want the drama of them coming to school, I figure that this is something that will be handled by the teacher.

Then one morning, I get to class early as usual, before assembly time. There’s a few people in class, doing class eight people things, mostly reading. Then as I open my desk, OH MY GOODNESS! THERE. IT. IS!

I scream

“SH*T!”

Then my classmates look at me, so I scream again

“REAL SH*T”

It’s there, smeared all over my books, and then on the side, a nice gift of a dirty piece of tissue and a dirty handkerchief is left. Btw I’m really sorry if you’re eating or drinking something at this time. But then again, am I really sorry? Hmm... Anyway(z), I instantly shut the desk then go to the window to process what I’ve just seen. Kupunga hewa. (Hi *Minah.) This time, my classmates have also come to bear witness of the surprise left in my desk. There's commotion now. So after catching some air, I go to look for the teacher on duty and find him charazaing some boys in the stair case corner. Teachers were always charazaing boys in that school. I say to him that I need you to come and see something. He asks what it is and I just tell him to come. This time I look visibly annoyed. So he follows me and once he opens the desk, he immediately slums it shut. Nothing could prepare anyone for such a sight.

Then the questions from the teacher begin, who did this? I don’t know. When did you find it? Just now. Oh my goodness. Are all your books messed up? I think so.  We need to have this desk taken to the field (hehe) as we figure out how this happened and who did it. Okay. For today, sit with a friend as we figure this out. Okay, but can I call my mum? Just give us some time to figure out how this happened and who did it then you can call your mum. Okay. Could it have been a scorned ex-boyfriend? No, I don’t have a boyfriend or an ex (a lie, because dating those days was a criminal offense) Are you having problems with anybody in the school? Not that I know of. Are you having problems with any girl because of a boy? Haha no. Okay, has someone asked you to be their girlfriend and you have refused? You know what, come to think of it, there’s someone who asked, I refused, and they seemed to take it badly, they even stopped talking to me. Okay what’s his name? I tell them, they write it down.

For the whole day, it’s a pandemonium. That’s all everybody is talking about, I’m in and out of the principal’s office, being asked the same questions. The school turns into a police station, people being questioned everywhere. Major suspects as well as minor suspects. Mostly it was boys. Nobody comes clean and nobody snitches either. At some point, we were even called for an assembly to address the matter. The drama! Whoever did it won’t pass their K.C.P.E unless they come clean, our headmistress threatens. She was/is lunje haha

Despite all of this, there was one item that was 'unfortunately' giving away the suspect. Remember the OJ Simpson trial, if the glove doesn’t fit, you must acquit, us guys had our glove in form of the handkerchief. It was a very unique and expensive looking handkerchief, the owner had to be from a certain tax bracket so that was a big giveaway. If the handkerchief doesn’t match, you must acquit haha. On that day, no suspect was charged with the crime.

 

The following day, my folks came to school, made noise, I was asked if I was okay, if I needed a break from school, I didn’t. Back then, school was the only place you were guaranteed to see your boyfriend vizuri, so no I wasn’t going to take a break from school. Apologies to me and my folks were made and the school got me a new desk from their workshop and new books from their bookshop lol. I remember I was only angry for just a while but more than anything, the overwhelming feeling was that of inconvenience.

 

If we were in the States, I could have stated that I suffered from emotional distress, we  could’ve sued and gotten compensation. Ama we could have even settled. A quick one wakilis, can I still sue? How can we lenga the statute of limitations? Lol I’m kidding. Hmm, but am I really?

 

Remember how the headmistress had threatened failure on the culprit? Just before K.C.P.E, the culprit came to me, confessed and apologized. I accepted the apology. He was quite remorseful.

But since then, I've never said no to any man who's asked me to be their girlfriend, lest I find poop at our house haha. I'm REALLY kidding.

I used to tell people this story all the time, especially in high school. Also during those “tell us something that people don’t know about you” moments. Those awkward questions. So in the WhatsApp group when guys were like whose desk had been pooped in, I remembered this story haha. (Heh, 'I’ve suffered in this world for 19 years')

Shourourt to my class of ’07 Makini people. When is the reunion? :)

 

Also, I ‘fixed’ the comment section. Now anybody can comment, even anonymously. You have to stan women in tech.