Rukuriri Primary School Alumini

May Mr Munyi's soul rest in eternal peace....

RIP our dear teacher

Happy New Year 2025. May prosperity and Success be our daily encounter this year. God bless you all.

My first day at Eregi was traumatic. I have severally tried to push it to the sub-concious but it keeps rebelling all the time. It just never stops exalting itself over my conscious. You know what it feels to literally shed tears as an adult and not just when you are alone in some secluded place but right in front of a gathering of over three hundred people. Right?

Well it was on 18th September 2007 and I had just arrived at Eregi Teachers College, all the way from the Coast; unaccompanied by any relative or friend. The farthest I had previously travelled was Nairobi and I couldn't help feeling a complete stranger realizing how far I was from home. To make matters worse, I didn't even have a cellphone.

The admission letter said I should alight at Chavakali Market which I did after taking a Matatu from Kisumu. I was lucky enough to see the College bus. Its plate number; KUV---. Well, I don’t remember any of the digits; numbers simply refused to get romantic with me. Don’t ask my high school Math grade because I never had a satisfying in*******se with digits. But that was high school.

Forgive how old and funny looking the bus was. I reckoned it must have been newly refurbished after a more than fifty year stay in an automobile museum in I do not know where but my instincts told me it must have been some place abroad, probably Motown, Michigan-USA. I quietly went in and waited it to take me to my destination where I will be prepared to become what I didn’t like right from my time at high school. But things have now changed in a very profound way, I have to admit this from the outset or else the story I am going to tell will make no sense. (You know Chinua Achebe and his A Man of the People, sorry if you do not).

After what seemed like a decade the driver came. Several young men and women came in with their backpacks hanged on their backs. They saw me and they started shouting something like ‘Fasso, Fasso, Fasso…!” I didn’t give a damn because I knew every part of the world had its fare share of crazy people and I was sure Chavakali wasn’t lucky to have been spared. Why should it anyway?

The bus took off passing several small markets which I later came to know as Lusala, Chandumba, Mwima and Shisejeri. I soon realised that we were about to arrive because it wasn’t supposed to be too far: 7Km from Chavakali, the admission letter read. I was seated at the right side of the bus, when I started seeing well-kept pitches and manicured lawns on the other side of a fence, it registered to me that I had finally arrived at my destination. We soon made our grand entry, and got a little shocked when we were first greeted by some old looking structures that looked like classrooms of a local primary school. Anyway wasn't I going to be trained to become a teacher of a primary school? I suspected this must be part of the practical aspect-you can't really become a good primary teacher when they train you in a place that does not look like one. Who knew whether I was correct or not? However this reminded me that a brief history of the college in my admission letter had intimated that the establishment came to existence way back in 1948. It was understandable. The austere look of the place could therefore be forgiven without any apologies.

I saw several more well-trimmed pitches and lawns which were also very clean from litter and dried leaves in spite of the fact that the place was full of large green plants. “The college groundsmen and groundswomen must be a very hardworking lot.” I complimented. Little did I know I was just about to become one of them.

We headed right straight to a hall that had a shed standing opposite it which sheltered more of those interesting relics of automobiles, in fact some even looking older that you could mistake them for Noah’s Ark. There outside Nyaga Hall, was a quite large gathering of a people some lined up headed into the hall while carrying their suitcases and metal boxes.

“Ensure you are in the right queue. I said Nairobi region here, Coast and North Eastern next, followed by Central, Eastern, Western, Rift Valley and finally Nyanza in that order,” Shouted a tough talking woman holding a microphone, whom I later came to meet during the day as someone like ‘Admission Coordinator’ sort of. I later would know her as one of the tutors and a matron of a very influential and life defining Union at the college.

“You will not be admitted if you do not have the following items: 12 notebooks, a ream of foolscaps and another of printing paper. You also need to pay KSh 24,500 for first term fees. Parents, you should also ensure your child has enough personal effects to last them for a whole term” she barked once again.

That is when it dawned on me that I needed to act immediately or else I will not get admitted. I left my bag right where I was, outside the hall and hurriedly got into the bus which was making a turn towards the gate.

I had only about KSh 600 in cash and a cheque worth KSh 30,000 which I well secured in my pocket on my shirt. Other than life and my dignity, it was the only other valuable item in my possession, and as such, had to be kept near the heart.

I alighted at Chavakali and bought the note books. The money wasn’t enough to buy the reams so I had no choice but go back and plead with the authorities to admit me but give me some time to buy them. After an hour another less interesting piece of engineering bearing the college colours came; a KAC---. Let us not talk about the story of numbers. Numbers simply refused to make friends with me. I didn’t want to hurt myself loving them back when I was still young and didn’t want to die soon. I went into the bus and found tens of other young men and women who also crazily shouted the same supposed funny joke; “ Fasso, Fasso, Fasso” which was nothing but stupid piece of crap to me. I discerned that these must be young fellows who had refused to outgrow their former high school selves or had some bouts of hangovers of such. I ignored them and kept quiet.

We arrived at the Airport adjacent to King’atai where I alighted. I quickly located my bag which contained the rest of my belongings and headed straight to the queue meant for students from Coast and North Eastern Regions. After a short while it was my turn. Their work was easy with me because they had only a few items to check as my stuff only included the new notebooks I had just bought, a few clothes and a faded beddings, a few personal effects and two textbooks: one for Science and the other Social Studies: Science Matters and Our Lives today for Std 7 and 6 respectively, which a head teacher friend, the Late Mr. Albert Mwamboko who was also a former student of Eregi had lent me some few days back home.

“Gentleman we cannot admit you with these. You must produce a ream of foolscaps and another of printing papers. Go and buy them before it is too late. Besides, have you come with fees?” asked a polite man whom I think was Mr. Onduso, my would be Music tutor.

“Sorry sir, I do not have any money to buy the reams. I only have a KSh 30, 000 cheque for my fees.” I implored.

“Well, please explain that to that officer over there.” He replied pointing at a slightly short and slightly balded, friendly but firm looking man adorned in a suit, whom I would later come to meet as the Dean of students; Mr. Arthur Achola. I headed straight to him and he advised me to speak to the woman running the show whom I previously saw directing students and parents on where to queue on the microphone.

I went to her. She advised me to write a letter to her through the principal, deputy principal and the dean of students requesting to deposit my cheque with the bursar and pay the compulsory minimum college fees of KSh 24,500 and be given the balance in cash to buy the items I was lacking. This seemed to be an interesting idea to me and I really thanked God for it. She kindly gave me two foolscaps for doing the letter. I went back to where my bag was, put into writing the best English the late Mr. Rodgers Makotsi taught me and took the letter to her.

She took it and started reading it. No sooner had her eyes settled on the foolscap than her face began changing with rage! I knew my goose was cooked.

“Didn’t they teach you how to write formal letters with multiple addresses at high school?" Shouted the woman at the top of her lungs.

Everything virtually came to a standstill at the hall as all eyes were now directed on the clown of me, some laughing at how a stupid piece of s**t I was. I picked the piece of foolscap which was thrown to me and headed back to where my bag was. I have always been brave and therefore still composed. I took my time to ask a few strangers how I should write the letter but unfortunately they were all clueless like myself. I had no otherwise but write something different from the previous and took it to her.

“You don’t seem to understand anything! Get out of my sight!” She shouted again and dismissed me throwing away the foolscap.

I lost it. I went and sat on a tyre and leaned on a tree that was growing through the middle space of the tyre. I do not know whether that tree still stands at the Airport, only those who came to Eregi after me can tell. I wept so very bitterly. There was no place on earth I had found hostile than this one. I kept looking at the buildings nearby in the middle of my sobs which I later learnt were the Learning Resource Centre, the canteen, ladies hostels and staff quarters and hated the whole place like hell. What the hell brought me here? I couldn’t stop regret coming. I had never travelled for a whole night before and here even before I even got a chance to rest I am in strange lands being severely tortured. Tears and mucus kept dripping ceaselessly on my visage till my handkerchief got fully soaked.

It was the cocktail of being very tired, stress from the overnight travel and having painfully cried for a long period of time that worked the tricked-I soon grew sleepy. In no time I was lost in sleep on the grass.

I was awoken later at almost 5 pm by the same woman on loudspeakers when she was passing announcements; “Parents you should start leaving now, we don’t have any accommodation for you! No student will be allowed in our hostels if they do not have an admission number. So ensure you are admitted. Parents, please begin leaving it is already getting late!”

Poor Andrew Mshambala Wamvua was here, lost in a small world of his own while surrounded by hate and malice. I didn’t know where I was going to sleep that night. I said my prayers, looked for another foolscap, wrote another letter and took it to her. She looked at it and without saying anything she signed it and directed me to the bursar’s office to deposit the cheque and be given the money to purchase the reams.

I thanked God. Things took a completely new turn and also moved quite fast at the same time. I found some students lined up at the accounts office. One of them was called Lilian Orata, the first student to know in Eregi. I remember her telling me that she came from Mumias district. I paid the money and went back to Nyaga Hall, bought the reams which were being sold by some Indian vendors and was soon admitted. What a sigh of relief? I headed to Orion Men-they told me that was my hostel’s name.

Soon morning run, TP, picking area and other painful stuff came around but weren’t as tough as what I experienced at Nyaga Hall in day one. But there was this TP partner Gladys Kerubo Abunda who made me mad at some point because one Mr. Juma Odhiambo alias Kapombe would not approve my TP documents if my partner’s document weren’t in order. I lined up with her but we would be turned away for many small mistakes found in her documents and couldn’t stand it. But this stillwasnt anything compared to what I experienced at Nyaga Hall. Not even one rude marshal by the name Opeli Amunga who descended on me one morning during the early morning run with her bully-like tendencies. She couldn’t pe*****te me because I was already hardened by the day one experience at King’atai.

Studies went on well, they were tough as usual since P1 was and I guess still is a continuation of high school. I met a few good friends and a few more sadists and psychopaths in the name of marshals and councilors. Some were even tutors and college workers in the name of security guards and cooks. Councilors were the feared lot, they regarded themselves as demigods and expected the ordinary masses like myself to treat them as such. They were at complete liberty to make you kneel down or sit on the floor at the Main Council Office popularly abbreviated as MCO, the way they pleased. For some flimsy reasons, they would make you write several letters of apology through a whole college protocal from you class secretary, the dorm father/mother, the overall class secretary, the council secretary, the deputy senior student, the senior student, the assistant dean of students, the dean of students, the deputy principal and finally the principal, when it was obvious that those letters would never reach them. It was even said that at times they could literally make you wash the hogs. And by the time you are through with them and coming back from reporting your performance the white creatures are dirty again from their usual interactions with dirt. Therefore, you are left with no option but give them the deserved bath once again, otherwise it would be interpreted that you refused to do the punishment. It was also increasingly common being told to relocate the entire dumpsite. I remember finding a friend of mine: M***a Omar Sudi a fellow Coasterian carrying tonnes of garbage like a truck while sobbing when one Francis Oteba, the general cleanliness officer (GCO) made him do so for allegedly flouting the rules.

All in all I had some good times and as well as sad ones at Eregi. I witnessed death of a colleague Meshack Odhiambo (RIP) at R. Yalla when there was no water in college. I saw tribal politics being played that culminated to ethnic based elections to the Students Union. I witnessed the triumph as well as the defeat of GWA (the great western alliance) which led to fights among members of the opposing sides among other things.

The PTE came. Since I was in C2 and taking science subjects I sat for it at the very Nyaga Hall where all the sad and unfortunate events of my first day in Eregi took place. Soon I was through with the last exam paper. I came out of the Hall, went straight to the very tyre which I sat on on my first day as I was crying bitterly after having been tormented by the admission officer. I leaned on the same tree and looked around, my hands held on my face, felt the atmosphere of hate once again and thanked God for the far I have come; that He has managed to make me sail through safely.

As I was going back home the following day after clearing with the authorities I found her car parked near the gate: the car belonging to the woman who tormented me on my first day: a Suzuki. I stole a quick glance of it and headed out of the gates feeling free like the former slaves from British farms in the US on their arrival at Freetown.

Later on while teaching at one of the private schools in Mombasa a former close friend of mine at Eregi; Permenus Sammy called me that he had come to Mombasa and was at the Kenya Ferry. I was very glad to see him once again. We went to the beach, swam and enjoyed the little the world had to offer, came back to my house, prepared lunch, ate and escorted him to the Kenya Ferry.

Weeks later Permenus calls me, giving me congratulations for my remarkable performance in PTE. I was the overall best performing student and he, the second with 9 and 11 points respectively-the only students to score distinction in the PTE 2009. I was elated like someone flying in Cloud 9 for the first time.

Soon the day of graduation came. I went to Eregi early enough for rehearsals. But before the rehearsals there was a CU mini-rally. I attended it and guess who was sermonising? Your guess is as good as mine. But what shocked me most is her remarks in the middle of her sermon: “We should even thank God for having an Eregi student score a Distinction with 9 points in last year’s PTE, this is a miracle, it is a wonderful doing of the Lord! Praise the Lord”

I almost lost it. I felt like shouting back at her and remind her of how she had humiliated me on my first day at Eregi. How she made me hate the place like hell. How she made me cry. But I thanked God for the composure. I have since forgiven her unconditionally though I never had a chance to meet her because she never taught me.

They gave me a bike as a present for my graduation; and you know what kind it was? The ordinary ones that village folks in the former Western Province used as Boda Boda before motor bikes came to being. I didn’t like it. It stayed there for almost a year when Madam Elvirah Sh*tohi the Dean of Curriculum called me about it. She even asked if I liked it or not since it was like I had forgotten it. Madam Sh*tohi was one of the administrators I admired and had a very high regard of. But I had to lie to her at least not to hurt her feelings. I told her that it was indeed a good gift given to me by the esteemed Board of Management after a thoughtful advice from I do not know who. I promised to go and pick it when I go back for my academic certificate which I did some weeks later.

You think I came with it to Coast, right? No, you are mistaken, I could not pay for its transport not because i could not afford but leave alone the thought of coming with that kind of bike to the Coast where guys have a penchant for stylish rides. I took it to my sister’s farm in Eldoret because she had requested it on the day I graduated. This is my sister whose husband wrote me the KSh 30,000 cheque. That was the reason I could not sell it to a buddy of mine one Peter Ekhuya alias Junior the library attendant at Eregi who had persistently begged me through several phone calls that he sends me KSh 2k and let the bike be his. Junior had previously helped me a lot with my final clearance because I had lost a library book but he accepted a replacement with another book which was of a different level-form two in the place of a form one Home science textbook. I hope he forgave my refusal to let him have the bike.

EREGI KIPENZI!! Folks call it.

Wisdom is very expensive