Haron Wachira

By Haron Wachira 

Neither Mika nor any of his schoolmates, the whole crowd of 10 boys and girls, wore a watch, so they did not know exactly what time it was. But they all knew the time they had to get to their respective classes: 7 am sharp. If the bell rang and you weren’t in class, you knew that punishment lay in wait. As sure as the danger signaled by the growl of a lion.

That is why they were running. Mika’s small frame wasn’t an even match with the others in the fast-moving pack. He was the youngest, the smallest, and the thinnest in the speeding train. But in the morning run to Maita, the school Karito ruled with an iron fist, neither age nor size mitigated adverse consequences of lateness. Lateness was indiscipline. Lateness demonstrated laziness. Lateness made pupils bad performers…. It had to be punished, Karito preached frequently to pupils who had long understood the message.

Mika panted along, trying to match the steps of the boy in front of him, and kept his eyes on the ground to avoid hitting the toes of his bare feet against a pebble. To keep his mind busy he observed, pondered… just now over whether any of the boys’ arid-looking, black legs had ever encountered a moisturizing lotion, and noted the different way the girls’ behinds swayed, their long, green dresses wafting irresolutely this way and that way above the rapidly shifting ground below, as if they too, like Mika, were struggling to keep pace with the moving pack. But Mika was not anxious. His mother had woken him up and made the usual fuss of “checking him out” as he washed his face. Mika always objected to especially the oiling of his face and legs, because other boys teased him that his legs were as smooth as a girl’s. But she was swift and strong and playful, always outwitting Mika. 

After she had fed him breakfast, Mika’s mother had said, “Out now, Mika, remember to find me at the shop after school, ok?” She said that every day. Outside, Mika’s grandfather was also up and about, very slowly and deliberately sliding out the thick, wooden shafts that closed in the cows in their shed. It was milking time, way before the time that the school bell rang. A fierce array of orange arrows announced the coming from the East of a sunshine-filled day. And the view of Mt. Kenya was clear. Shortly, clouds would obscure the beautiful display of white snow over the mountain’s grand rocks. 

“Good morning, Grandpa,” Mika greeted him. Grandpa paused from his slow work. He lived out the adage that he constantly preached — to Mika and any younger person, which was most people in the village — to do only one thing at a time. 

“God bless you, little boy,” Grandpa answered cheerfully, and Mika prepared to chorus alongside (quietly, though) what was coming next. “Be good in school today.” 

“Yes, Grandpa,” Mika said out loud, speeding out of the family compound to join the gang of schoolmates that just happened to be by the gate. Above him, the clouds were running also, but in the opposite direction, the breeze that carried them smarting Mika’s cheeks. The boy at the head of the little crowd increased the pace. It was Karangi, the school’s athletics champion. He ran the 100 yards, then 220 yards, and also jumped the pole vault. His sister, Jessi, who was also in the group, was a classmate of Mika’s, although she was significantly bigger and older. She too was a star runner, the school’s girl champion in the same races that his brother ran. Mika began to fall behind. He had to get his mind off everything else and try to concentrate on running. But that was not possible. He could not fail to notice how the huge trees and lush green bushes approached, and then flew backward, as the pack ran on. He could not help but feel the pinches underneath the soles of his feet as he came into contact with the cold pebbles… 

But, try as he may, Mika kept falling behind the pack.

That’s how he got to see the little bundle. He knew instantly that money huddled inside the ruffled up, green kerchief that lay artlessly at the edge of the road, where the matching green of the grass met the rugged pebbles that threatened to hurt Mika’s toes. He edged himself towards the edge of the road. Bending low, as if he was removing a small rock from in between his toes, Mika picked up the green kerchief and slid it into his shorts’ left pocket as he rose up. In another instant, he was back on the trot, laboring harder to catch up with the troop. His mind wanted to but found it difficult counting the violent thumps of his heart, and the rapid gasps for air that he made with his mouth. 

“What was that about?” he heard Jessi ask as he caught up with the group. 

“Mhh?” Mika responded, alarmed, wondering how much she had seen. He panted out visibly, buying time. 

“I said, ‘why had you stopped?’’” Jessi repeated, and Mika got relieved. They were running side by side now, like buddies, behind the others. 

“I… I am… okay now,” he said. After the herd had passed the school gate, Mika stopped running and tried to catch his breath.  The little crowd that was now scattered in different directions to different classes did not notice. 

The breeze had quietened down, and the bright morning sun had taken over command of the sky, chasing away the cold that had tortured Mika’s cheeks while the run had been on. It had shed off some of its fierce, orange arrows and donned a mild, golden radiance that made the clouds shining on the eastern skyline. Mika would have enjoyed the moment had it not been that he felt so hot from the running… 

“Hurry up, Mika. The bell will ring any minute now.” It was Jessi, again. Mika feigned tiredness, bending a little forward to communicate that he had to slow down.

At last, his body regained its normal equilibrium, and he noticed that the headmaster’s office was ajar. It was a newly- constructed block – the first to have a cement floor.

Mika strolled towards the door and knocked. The door gave in to the pressure of his little fingers, revealing that the headmaster’s secretary had not yet come in. Mika remembered why. It was still too early. Perhaps the headmaster was inside his office. Mika had a good reason to be here, he thought, so he emboldened himself and sauntered in, pausing to knock at the inner door. No answer. Mika knocked again, knowing all too well what to expect. What was he to do now? If he was seen by the head prefect, or the teacher on duty, coming out of the headmaster’s office, he would have to explain himself. He had hidden the matter of the little bundle from the other schoolmates. Could he now trust the head prefect?

No, Mika answered himself instantly. Inside him, he heard his mother’s caution clearly: People behave strangely around cash. Mika had seen that often at the shop during coffee and tea payout dates. Sometimes when his mother had to sell late into the evening and Mika waited to walk home with her, she told him to carry home the pouch that housed the day’s sales because no one would suspect a little boy had the money… And the teacher on duty? It depends on who that would be. Augustino was a smoker. Mika’s mother said smokers always needed extra money. 

Teacher Wanjira could be trusted, Mika thought suddenly. When Mika had been in standard one, the first class to be required to speak only in English, she had noticed him struggling with himself as he tried to figure out how to ask for permission to go out to the toilet, and had called him over to the front of the class and asked him quietly as if she’d read his mind, “Would you like to run out to the toilet, Mika?” and he had nodded vigorously. When he had returned and was safely behind his desk, she had told the whole class, without singling him out, “When you want to go to the toilet you should ask, ‘Teacher, may I go for a short call.’ Mika memorized the phrase all the way home, then, to try it out, teased his mother, ‘Mummy, may I go for a short call?” And she had answered him in perfect English, just like Teacher Wanjira, “Yes, you may” but added ‘my boy’ at the end, laughing, loud and proud. Mika and Teacher Wanjira became friends from then on. She was still his class teacher, and Mika now regretted he had not gone on straight to class instead of stopping by the Headmaster’s office. But, no, it would not have helped. She would not be in class till after the parade, and the bundle of money had felt to Mika as if it might burn his thigh if he kept it in his pocket any longer. 

The bell rang while Mika still contemplated his options. He jumped in panic, turning around and starting a dash out of the office… “Come on boy, stop!” Fright froze Mika to a standstill. Coldwater ran through his stomach. His heart threatened to whiz out. Then he realized it was the headmaster, Ka…, no… Mr. Ireri. Karito was a nickname, out of bounds in official use. 

“What is your name, boy?” said Mr. Ireri said very calmly after Mika managed to turn around. 

“My name is Mika, sir. I am in Standard six.” 

“Very well, Mika.” Mr. Ireri said softly. He was a diminutive man. He did not need to bend low to speak to Mika. “Now tell me, boy, what were you doing inside my office?” 

“I… I had come to bring this,” Mika said, feeling bolder after he saw Mr. Ireri’s eyes had shown a keen interest in the green bundle that Mika pulled out of his picket. 

“I saw it by the roadside on the way to school.” 

Karito took the crumpled-up bundle from Mika and looked at it. 

“Come on inside, Mika,” Mr. Ireri said, leading the way, past an array of filing cabinets that stood at attention along the wall to their right. Mika followed. His feet now felt cold touching the newly-cemented floor. 

“Sit down, boy…” Karito said, motioning Mika to a seat. Meanwhile, the now very gentle father figure, not the iron-fisted general that ruled the Maita school community, ambled gently around his desk and sat down. Mika hoisted himself into the chair and sat facing the headmaster, his little feet suspended above the cold floor.

“Do you know what is inside?” 

“Yes, sir. I think… money, sir….” 

“You said, ‘I think.’ Haven’t you looked?” 

“No, Sir.” 

“So how do you know it is money that is inside, boy?” 

As he spoke, Mr. Ireri was untying the green bundle, very slowly, as if he needed to remember exactly how it had been tied. Mika did not know how else to explain it, so he just blurted out the truth as plainly as he could, “I know how women wrap money, sir.” 

“You do?” Mr. Ireri asked, stunned. 

“Yes, Sir,” Mika said confidently. “Sometimes I help my mother at the shop.” 

“Oh, I see,” Mr. Ireri said. “You are Mama Mika’s boy?… of course,” said the headmaster, as if he had made a huge scientific discovery. “That’s your name!” Then, have now confirmed that it was indeed money that was wrapped up in the green kerchief, Mr. Ireri said to Mika, “Now tell me, Mika. Who else knows that you found this money?” 

“No one else, Sir.” 

“How come?” He looked up intently at the small boy. “Were you all alone when you found it?” 

“No sir. There were other boys and girls. I bent down like I was removing a pebble from in between my toes. I did not tell anyone.” He wanted to add that Jessi had been curious… but realized it would only complicate things. 

Mr. Ireri looked at Mika studiously, opened his mouth a little, and then closed it as if he was undecided how to further engage the little fellow on such a mighty subject. At last, he patted Mika at the back of his shoulders. “Well, done, boy. You have done the right thing.” Mika knew that. His grandfather would say the same thing. 

Mr. Ireri escorted Mika all the way to his class – clearly to save him from being punished for lateness. “Now, listen carefully, Boy,” Mr. Ireri said to Mika. “If other pupils ask you why I brought you to class, tell them you had brought to my office some lost money you found. Okay?” 

“Yes, sir,” Mika replied promptly, although he did not understand the wisdom of this injunction. “But don’t describe the wrapping.” 

“Yes, sir.” Karito gazed at him steadfastly, as if to make sure Mika had understood. Mika repeated, “I will not tell anyone about the green kerchief, sir.” 

As soon as the parade bell rang, other pupils were all over Mika, as they walked from class to the parade ground, asking him what had gone on between him and Mwalimu Karito. He told them, “I went to his office to hand in some money I found on the road.”

“How much was the money, Mika?” One of the older boys asked. Mika said he did not count, and the boy retorted, “Liar.” Mika felt a bit afraid but the boy did not pursue the matter further. 

At the school parade, Mr. Ireri made the announcement, adding that pupils were to tell this to all their parents. 

“Okay, boys and girls,” came the familiar call from Mr. Ireri that transitioned the talk about Mika’s find to the business of the school, “The school motto!” 

The school chorused: “In Maita, we, belong. We are brave and strong but we don’t fight. We help. We serve. We compete fairly. We win with our performance and our character. Maita ho, ho, ho… the home of the true winners.” 

Jessi approached and walked alongside Mika on the way back to class from the parade. The look on her face was harsh. “You found that money that time when I asked you what was wrong, didn’t you?” It was an accusation. Mika found himself getting angry. What did it have to do with her? 

“Didn’t you, Mika? And then you lied to me!” 

“Lied?” he shouted back, shocked at the accusation. 

“Yes, lied. To me!” She was pointing aggressively at herself as she spoke. 

Anger boiled up in Mika. He could not control himself, and he said carelessly, “So, what? Why, was it your money?” 

“You lied to me, that’s what!”

“No I didn’t,” Mika said defensively. 

“You did!” This time she grabbed him by the side of his shirt and shook him sideways. Instinctively, Mika brought his small hands down hard on hers and she let go, groaning in pain. He dashed off quickly, got inside the class, and sat at his desk. She would come after him, he knew. She was bigger. And angry. And faster. Well, he thought, I will just be innovative… His hand instinctively gripped a ballpoint pen, the lid out… 

Divinely, however, Mika saw Teacher Wanjira walking rapidly towards the entrance, and he knew he was safe, for now. Jessi glared at him as she passed by his desk to hers, and throughout the lesson, he could feel her anger behind him, and it made him concoct a graphic theatre of his prospects after Teacher Wanjira’s exit from class. 

During break-time, Mika hid amidst a group of boys that played secretly with a spinning cone. The game was forbidden, and Mika would not normally have been associated with those who broke school rules. But he knew that such were good to be within times of danger.

Jessi walked slowly and deliberately towards the boys. Mika feared, almost ran, then decided to brave it out. If he fought her back bravely, his friends would join in on his side. Or would they? She came as close as she could and glared at him, then said slowly but so only he could hear, “Better find another way home tonight.” 

A boy swung his deliberately flayed rope at the cone, deliberately flinging it towards Jessi – to frighten a girl. The cone spun and whined dangerously. Jessi jumped, squealing fearfully, and the boys laughed jubilantly. Another boy returned the spinning cone – again towards her… She fled, but looked back and waved an angry finger at Mika. 

The owner of the money was found that same day after the message had been spread in the village by the kids who went home for lunch. That was good because it was also the closing day, Mika thought. Mr. Ireri made out a big drama over Mika’s find that afternoon at the end-of-term parade. 

“Step forward, Mika,” said Mr. Ireri. Mika’s knees wobbled as he moved in response. Inside his chest, his heart pounded erratically. He thought it was so loud people could hear it. But Mr. Ireri was very calm and deliberate. He had prepared for Mika to climb up to a table, a raised “platform”, to be visible by all at the parade. Then Mr. Ireri announced, “Mika here stands out as an example of how we want boys and girls to behave. I am very proud to announce that he found a lot of money lost by the roadside and brought it to school. Mika, I have asked the owner of the money to personally thank you for your kind action.” 

A plumb woman walked out of Mr. Ireri’s office and headed towards him. Mika wanted to step down from the table to shake her hand, but Mr. Ireri made him stay put. The woman stretched up her chubby hand to shake Mika’s trembling one. “I am also proud to announce that when school opens in January, Mika will be the next Head Prefect,” said Mr. Ireri. Mika’s mouth opened wide. Many pupils clapped. Mika was sure that Jessi was not clapping.

When the end of the parade had scattered the school to various destinations Mr. Ireri asked Mika and the lady, Mama Mokami, to come along with him to the office. “This boy is Mama Mika’s – the lady who sells the shop,” Mr. Ireri explained to the lady. 

“I know the family, Mwalimu. Do you know me, Mika?” 

“Yes, Mama Mokami,” Mika said, himself amazed. 

Mr. Ireri now proceeded to a locked drawer at the corner of his office, opened it, and pulled out the money. It was a dark brown chest that must have been there since time immemorial. It didn’t look like it could be trusted to contain anything of value. “Four hundred and sixty shillings,” he said, handing over the bundle to Mama Mokami, “and the green wrapping, as you described it.” 

The woman first accepted the bundle, untied it, and looked inside. Then she turned to Mika and embraced him… “Oh, Mika, you don’t know what you have done for me… Thank you. Thank you. I had lost all of my year’s tea bonus payment.”

Mika had known it was a lot of money, but now he realized it was a lot more. Whenever his mother came home with the cash from the tea bonus that is when they bought big things, like a cow or made a major restock of their shop. 

The school compound was quiet as Mika walked out of the headmaster’s office… Even his heart had quietened down now. And he had acquired a spring in his step. And a smile on his face. It felt very good to have done well. 

Then he saw her, and his heart fell. She sat on a patch of grass almost directly opposite the office – waiting for Mika. His step changed to a fast walk towards home. Clearly, she wasn’t expecting him out so soon, because she rose up rather suddenly to give chase. Mika saw a group that was walking in the direction of his home and joined it. Soon Jessi caught up with them and also joined the group, threatening him subtly with her eyes. But he knew she would not attack him while in the group. He pretended not to notice. 

The sky was blue, and a cool breeze whirled in the air. But the walk home was wearisome, stressful. All kinds of thoughts invaded Mika. He got his ballpoint pen out from his bag and nursed it. It didn’t comfort him. He tried to walk faster, to be at the head of the group, and noticed Jessi did the same. He knew he could not outrun her, so he retreated back. He considered creating a fracas, then realized he would be the one to look like a fool… The only good thing was that every step he made was getting him closer to home. 

“Head prefect, uh?” she said to him sarcastically, again slowly, without intending for others to hear. But they did. Mika ignored her. 

They were now approaching the gate to Mika’s compound, and he had to figure out a way of jumping off from the group and into the compound faster than Jessi could respond. He knew she knew that as well, and her move would be as fast as a cheetah’s. Then what would she do? Surely she could not attack him outside his home. Or would she? 

Then an idea set in… The gate was about a hundred yards away, but the boundary to the farm began right where they were now. She was waiting to make her move at the gate but he could do it right now – and he did. 

He dashed off from the group, jumped a drainage trench that had been dug by a dozer, and headed into his grandfather’s Napier grass field. But before he got in, Jessi was right behind him, breathing fire. She pushed Mika hard from behind. As he tried to run, his foot got caught up in the thick brush and he fell head down into the thick prickly grass. Its sharp hairs poked him in many places and set Mika on a different kind of fire than the one that Jessi had been breathing out behind him. 

Then she grabbed at a pile of Napier leaves, rubbed them on his neck, and spanked him on his legs with the pricky leaves. Mika screamed involuntarily. In a desperate move, he shoved off his attacker and freed himself. He grabbed his own bunch of leaves and threw them at Jessi’s face. Then he remembered he had a sharp biro in his other hand and he sprang forward towards Jessi. The surprise that showed on her was evident, but neither Mika nor the pupils that had stood to watch the fight could tell whether it came from Mika’s courage in fighting the big girl or from the sting caused by the biro on her arm. 

Mika ran off and disappeared deep into the Napier garden. 

The first person Mika saw upon arriving home was his younger sister, Laura. She normally woke up later in the morning and came home from school at lunchtime, so they only met in the evening. She was outside the kitchen, an independent, mud-walled room that stood adjacent to the main house, preparing the containers that would be needed for the evening milking routine. She paused as he approached and stared at him curiously, clearly noting his grass-stained shorts, and his swollen legs and grumpy looks.

Mika did not want to talk. He passed right by her, glaring at her…intending to intimidate Laura into silence. Laura made her own conclusions, shook her head slowly, then smiling, returned to her washing… “Boys!” she said, shaking her head. 

Mika was content to see the matter end, anyway. He stumbled past her into the main house, changed, and came out. He would have sponged himself to eliminate the marks on his legs and neck, but with Laura right beside him, that would reactivate the conversation. Instead, therefore, he sauntered past her to his grandma’s house. She always had something Mika could eat. 

Seeing Mika’s approach, she piled up a mukimo lump into a large bowl and handed it to Mika with a doting smile. He sat down on a low stool that was there for him, always, and ate up the maize, beans, and potato mash in silence. Then, as she handed him a hot cup of the well-sugared tea that Mika loved, Grandma ventured, almost surreptitiously, “And whom have you been fighting today, Mika?”

To his and her surprise, Mika responded with a gush of tears, which he now desperately tried to wipe out with his hands. Grandma placed the tea down on the floor, next to Mika, then stood up and moved her own stool next to his. The emotion that had been building up in him now boiled over. He cried unashamedly. 

Grandma held him close to her until he quieted down. “Tell Grandma if you want to, child. Was it a bigger boy that bullied my small Mika?” 

Mika shook his head but remained silent for a bit. Then, at last, he confessed, “It was a girl, Grandma. A girl!” 

“Big or small, Mika?” 

“Bigger than me. But that won’t matter, Grandma. Everybody will laugh at me for getting thrashed by a girl.” 

“Why did she beat you up, Mika?” 

“I… I don’t know…Grandma..” he had momentarily forgotten the day’s build-up to the attack. 

“You don’t know… She…” “No… Ah, Grandma… I remember now. She was envious because I found a pile of money on the road and I didn’t tell her about it.” 

“You found a pile of money?”

“Yes, Grandma. On the way to school.”

“And what did you do with it, Mika?”

He told her. His face lit up as he narrated the commendations he got from Mr. Karito, and how he had been hoisted up on the table and Mama Mokami had come from Karito’s office to greet him, and that he had been made the head prefect. Grandma was cheering him on with nods and a big smile. 

Grandpa walked in now, his tall and great frame towering above Mika. Grandma rose up and carried herself and her seat at her usual place. Normally Mika would have risen to greet Grandpa, and he would have helped with the routine of removing dead leaves and tiny insects from Grandpa’s coat and hat. Today he stayed put.

For a greeting, Grandpa rubbed Mika’s head fondly with the work-seasoned palm of his right hand, then, after removing his coat and hat, reached up above Mika to place his coffee pruning shears at a shelf that held other tools. Mika did not lookup. He knew what else lay there:  the curved knife that trimmed the tea plants;  the wheel spanner for fixing the ox-carts wheel;  the file that sharpened the small saw with which grandpa cut down the coffee plants when it was time to renew the stems. 

Grandpa sat down at last and reached out to receive his big cup of hot tea from Grandma. He sipped on it cautiously, but his eyes were on Mika… 

“Mika just got a beating for doing the right thing,” Grandma explained. “Tell Grandpa about it, Mika.” 

Mika did, but only up to the point where he handed the green bundle to the headmaster, and that the owner of the money was found that same day. 

“And you got a beating for that?” said Grandpa. Mika’s tears welled up inside again. 

“It was an envious girl that attacked him… Kinara’s girl – the runner. Envy,” Grandma explained. 

When Grandpa finished his tea, he rose up, reached out for his hat, and then took Mika’s hand. “Come and help me with the cows, young man.” 

It was the first time he had ever called Mika “young man” and he said it respectfully as if he was talking to a buddy. They walked towards the fields to bring the cows over for milking. The green of the grass, the setting sun, and the cool, evening breeze made it a serene walk. The field surface was not even, because Grandpa had it dug from time to time to plant potatoes and maize, and then seeded it with grass the next season. 

In happier days, Mika would be jumping all the little mounds of soil that jutted out from the ground in every direction. Today, however, he was content to have his small hand in Grandpa’s bigger one. They were all alone in the field, witnessed only by the cows with immense udders. 

Grandpa sat down on one of the bigger mounds and invited Mika to come close to him. Then he took off his hat and brought Mika’s hand to a bald spot above his ear. It was a scar from an old wound. Hair had not grown back on the spot. Mika had seen it but had never thought about it, or heard Grandpa talk about it. “I got that for doing the right thing,” Grandpa said conspiratorially. 

“What?” Mika’s interest grew fever high. 

“A man threw a spear at me after a judgment I delivered in a land dispute.”

Mika knew that his grandpa had been a village elder, a judge. Everyone talked about his great dedication and fairness. Positive talk. Nobody said it was a dangerous job. 

“Grandpa,” Mika said thoughtfully, confused. “So, doing the right thing can get you into trouble?” 

“Sometimes…not all the time.” He looked pensively sideways as if in deep thought, then added, “They Killed the Lord Jesus for doing the right thing – being good and merciful and just.” Mika had never thought of that. It seemed there were many things he had never thought about. 

“And we should always do the right thing?” It was a rhetorical question. Mika knew the answer. 

“Yes, young man. Always do the right thing.” 

“And if it gets you into trouble?” 

“You weather the storm, Mika, then…” 

“Weather the storm?” 

“It means you just go through the difficulty. A storm finds you. You stay put as best as you can until it goes away. Then you continue with your life.” 

Mika did not understand, but he trusted Grandpa… He always knew. A cow mowed impatiently. Clearly, the animals could also tell time, perhaps from the beautiful rays of the setting sun. And the evening breeze. And the urge to offload the weight they carried in their udders. 

“Come on, now, Mika. Let’s get these cows over to the dairy,” Grandpa said, rising. 

Mika whistled and the cows responded. They knew his call. They came slowly towards Grandpa and Mika, swaying their great udders as they headed towards home. There were no bulls in the herd, so Mika could not compare how differently the girls moved from the way boys did. But he knew from memory. 

---

Adhering steadfastly to biblical principles and personal values can pose challenges, especially when faced with opposition. However, these principles serve as a solid foundation for success, even in the workplace. Explore the inspiring narrative “Finishing Well” for a poignant illustration of this truth.