The tale that was never was

**CHAPTER 3

"Wake up! You'll be late for school again," said my mother as she called for Odu and Kris to get ready for school. It was a bright Monday morning. The local vendor selling maandazi and shortcakes hadn't even started the fire on his jiko.

Odu put on his light blue shirt over his red house T-shirt and zipped his grey shorts. He then sat on the sofa set, which had beautiful covers made by the women's group his mother attended weekly, almost like a cult.

Kris, on the other hand, needed Odu's help. He didn't know how to put on his tie or tuck in his shirt. Odu had to demonstrate, standing in front of him. Soon, they were set and ready for breakfast.

At the table, Odu quickly poured two extra cups of tea to cool it down, as they were running out of time. They ate boiled eggs, arrowroots, and sweet potatoes. Their mother didn't let them snack on shortcakes, so she forbade it.

"Let me catch you eating those filthy sweet cakes by the roadside, and I'll teach you a lesson!" she warned.

"We won't!" we said in chorus as I hurriedly ate the last piece of tuber on my plate.

"Let's go! We're running late! Mr. Omo will cane us again if we arrive late like last time."

"I won't be caned! I'm in a lower class, remember?"

"Oh right, but I'm so late! Goodbye, Mother, I'm off. Remind Father to sign my football training sheet today. I don't want to miss the game like last holiday."

"I will. Grab your brother's hand and don't go playing with your friends! I'm watching you!"

Odu opened the door with a medium-sized backpack, almost bulging with all the books the teachers kept giving them. Kris, on the other hand, was just carrying two books. They hadn't started learning anything hard yet, like algebra or composition writing.

Passing the California Pub on the way to school, a hub for teenage boys and workaholic fathers and mothers, sometimes frequenting the spot when they hosted international football matches, Odu checked the time on his sports watch, a present from his father. It was six-thirty. Waiting for his brother to catch up, he looked at a poster by the pub that read, "Reggae Jam Festival this Saturday by Mega Sound."

"I'll tell Mother you were standing at California again."

"Don't tell on me, and I'll buy you ice cream on our way back."

"You promised that last time."

"I'll deliver this time, I promise."

"Let's pass the Ng'ei Two road."

"Why?"

"Because I want to buy kaimati for break time."

"Okay, let's hurry up; you know they make us line up and wait."

They passed through the neighborhood, alongside other school-going kids, running past some ruggedly dressed street urchins playing with cards. They had been warned not to play with them.

**Crang! Crang!**

Looking at my wristwatch, I saw it was 6:45 AM. I glanced at my brother, who was still in lower primary school and exempted from being punished for being late. Not for me, though. I would be made a prime example for the rest of the students. Peeking through the school fence, I saw the teacher on duty, Mrs. Opiyo, and the school head boy standing guard at the gate. They looked like they were guarding the school from latecomers and bad kleptomaniacs.

However, I had a plan all along. There was a broken fence hedge I had made my secret passage a while back, when the school bully—a tall, muscular teenager now in Class Seven—started picking on me. He hadn't been able to graduate to the next class, being slow to read, and none of his classmates wanted to help him with his studies. But today, I had a plan to get to class and dodge the teacher on duty and the class monitor, who had been eyeing me for months to give me punishment—a puny punishment, if I may add.

"Hey, let's play a game," I said to Kris.

"What game?"

"You start running to your class, and I'll do the same. Whoever gets to class first gets the other's daily allowance."

"You're on!" cried my brother.

"Okay, I'll give you a head start since you can't even beat me with my legs injured."

"Keep talking."

"On your marks, get set… Go!"

He ran like his allowance depended on it, and I didn't even flinch. I had to give him the impression that I was really into the competition. But I was really waiting for the coast to clear. I started to dash to the secret passage, crashing into dead twigs and thorns. I remembered my mother had warned me to keep my uniform intact.

Now, I was negotiating between the fence and my uniform, checking if the field was clear, and then I started running faster and faster towards my class. I had a bet to win, remember? My brother's class was near the field, so I had to pass by there just to flex and show him who the fastest of us was. Just as I was about to turn towards his classroom, I saw my class monitor standing by the door.

"What are you doing at the lower primary level?" he asked.

"I have my little brother's allowance; I need to give it to him."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"Okay, where is he then?"

"Kris, where are you?" I called out.

"He's at the toilet at the moment," a deskmate said.

"Okay then, tell him to meet me when the lessons are done."

"Cool," the whole class responded in chorus. Lower primary students can be a handful sometimes.

"Why are you carrying your bag?" asked my classmate.

"It's my bag."

"I know it's your bag, but why are you with it? What's inside?"

"None of your business," I said.

"Okay, follow me to the teacher on duty."

"I know you sneaked in today like you always do. Do you ever use the school gate?"

"Yes, when I'm going home," I responded jokingly.

"Let's see if you're still funny when you see the teacher on duty."

"Where are you coming from?" asked the teacher on duty, looking at me, noticing that I was still carrying my bag.

At our school, latecomers had to put their bags down and go collect trash, cut tall grass with slashers, or, worst of all, wash the toilets.

"I have packed lunch, ma'am. I can't leave it unguarded. Someone might steal my lunch."

"Are you calling me a thief?"

"No, not you. I'm saying the students who come to collect their bags after doing their punishment."

"You rude student! Who taught you manners?"

I held my tongue. I didn't want to talk back since I was caught in a dilemma. If I put the bag down, I risked being found out as a mule (a person used by thugs to carry firearms and narcotics). But if I was rude, I would face the teacher's wrath. I gave her the meanest look I could muster to provoke her.

**Wham!** A slap on the face hit me hard.

"Go and collect rubbish on the field till lunchtime, and then meet me at the staffroom."

"Is that all?" I was really testing her. I wanted to buy as much time as I could. I didn't want to go to class with a gun in my bag, let alone some heavy cash—bundles of cash that I hadn't seen in my lifetime. Maybe I will after I get wealthy.