22/10/2024
~ Note 1 of 10 - My teachers and the power of good teachers.
I am living my childhood dream. When I was growing up all I wanted to be was a high school teacher teaching English and Literature as well as an author. As a child who grew up through turbulent times of losing both my parents, I was faced by the realities that my teachers were the sole reason I stayed in school and did well.
When I lost my mother at 8 years in 1997 I was in class 3. At that time, I was in a boarding school surrounded by girls my age, teachers and the Franciscan sisters of Asumbi (God bless this congregation of sisters). What I did not know is that in 1998, exactly after mom passed dad would follow, in 1999 a younger brother would depart and in the year 2000 my grandfather would as well. Therefore, my childhood years were spent in deep grief. I was a really lonely child and for some reason every evening I would be found crying uncontrollably. Sobbing in my bed until I slept off became a norm and the other little girls would sometimes huddle around me and cry with me.
During those days, the sisters who were essentially my teachers soon realized how tough my evenings were and my love for storybooks. Therefore they took it upon themselves to look out for me. I remember one particular evening I was called from evening preps to the headmistress office (Sr. Antonina Musula may God rest her soul in eternal peace). When I got to her office my tiny self stood by the door shivering in the evening cold without a sweater. She stood up from her chair and carried me in a hug (I was so tiny).
She then inquired why I had no sweater and upon finding out I had washed the only piece I had, took off her own sweater and covered me as I sat on a sofa in her office.
She then poured some hot tea in a tiny cup and gave me some mandazi. Soon we were joined by another younger sister in the order (she had no veil). After the tea, the school driver brought in a green paper bag full of story books and unpacked them on the table. My eyes lit up and without being told I was drawn to the pile on the table. Sister watched me as I opened the story books one by one. She then turned to me and told me 'Anne all these story books are yours to read take two and when you finish bring them back and take another two'. That is how I ended up with a whole library of storybooks. The evening also ended with me clad in a pair of new school uniforms and an extra pair for change. The following day, I was also treated to a full box of shopping.
Giving me story books to read introduced me to a different world that brought me comfort, confidence and inspiration that built my resilience to survive childhood grief. In the evenings, I would be found reading my storybooks, telling my class stories I have read and writing my own stories. I had days I still broke down and cried but those days were fewer and soon they came to an end.
Photo courtesy State House Girls,Nairobi.
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