A LANKY BOY named Kazungu sits in front of me in class. I can’t figure out how he keeps his shirt sparkling white the whole week. He keeps peering over his shoulder like he is scared I might harm him.
Kazungu’s father is an assistant minister. It’s the reason Bumbles goes all soft when talking to him. He is dropped off at school each morning in a shiny black car. His uniform looks like he just picked it off the shelf at the PERFECT UNIFORM FITTERS. Maybe he has a new set for every day of the month.
Kazungu always has money, which he uses to treat his friends at the school shop. Other than a girl called Lillian, who sits next to him and makes no secret of her dislike for him, the other students in Standard 5A act like lapdogs around him. They laugh at what he says even when it isn’t funny.
Me, I think Kazungu is daft and covers it up with his money.
WE ARE IN HISTORY CLASS, the last class of the day. Bumbles has been droning on and on about an explorer called David Livingstone and his faithful porters. No one is listening to Bumbles anymore, because it’s Friday and our minds are already tuned to the coming weekend. But the final bell just won’t ring.
Kazungu lifts his hand to catch the teacher’s attention, and I’m thinking the show-off probably wants everybody to know how good he is in history.
“Yes, Kazungu,” Bumbles says.
“Some money is missing from my bag.”
“What? How much?” Bumbles puts on a solemn face.
“Twenty shillings,” Kazungu says.
I’m wondering how anyone could have a whole twenty shillings in school.
“You are certain the money was in your bag?” Bumbles asks. His eyes are already peering in my direction.
Kazungu nods.
“Does anyone know anything about Kazungu’s money?”
“No!” we all chorus, and still Bumbles’s eyes do not leave me.
“Maybe he should learn to take better care of his money,” Lillian says in her soft, measured tone, taking Bumbles and everyone else by surprise. Lillian is the brightest student in our class.
“For the last time, does anyone know anything about the lost money?” Still Bumbles eyes me.
“Why would anyone come to school with so much money? How would we even know if he had it in the first place?” Lillian again interjects.
“If you go on like that, I’ll mark you down for detention, Lillian,” Bumbles warns. Just then, the last bell goes.
I would never take anyone’s money because that’s stealing. I wouldn’t even know what to do with twenty shillings if I had it. But who is going to believe me? Who else but the interloper would do such a terrible thing? I’m thinking out all these thoughts when my eyes fall on Lillian. She is smiling at me, and the look on her face tells me she knows I’d never do such a thing. It means the world to me.
CHAPTER FOUR
***
I REALLY LOOK FORWARD TO the weekends. Now that I have changed schools, Saturdays and Sundays are even more valuable. It’s the only time I get to hang out with Dado and the gang. Of course, we can still meet in the evening after school, like today, but that’s only for a short time before Mama sends for me.
Odush’s eyes trail me as I approach the old Zephyr car. Dado is sitting on the hood with Mose next to him. I’ve been contemplating telling them about Kazungu’s lost money and how Bumbles acts like I stole it. But maybe it’s not such a good idea. Dado would most probably sympathize, but I know Odush would make fun of me.
“That’s another pair of shoes you are wearing,” Odush stares at my shoes.
“This is the same old pair I’ve always worn. I polished them in the morning,” I lie and kick out at the dust, to show it is no big deal. All the while, I’m praying my shoes don’t get scratched. Mama would kill me if they did.
“Who can’t see those shoes are fresh from Bata? And I can see you are also wearing an undershirt,” Odush sneers.
“And what’s wrong with wearing an undershirt?”
“What is it with you people? It’s like you have never seen new shoes or an undershirt before,” Dado interjects.
“He’s showing off when just the other day he had only one pair of old, torn school shoes. But now his father is a . . .” Odush continues, but I’m having no more of it.
I go for him and it is only because Dado steps in between us that I don’t punch him.
I’m never wearing any of this new stuff again. I don’t care if I don’t look the part, as Mama would have it. After all, I didn’t ask Baba to go and become a manager, and no one asked me if I wanted to change schools.
I miss St. Josephs and its roughly cast walls, its dusty compound. I miss the ball games, the roasted groundnuts sold by the woman in a blue flowing dress and a big silver cross dangling from her neck. I miss the games at break, with no stern-faced prefects calling for calm and order. The sim-sim balls, the roasted maize, the not-too-ripe mangoes sprinkled with ground pepper, sold through the gaps in the school fence. But now I am in Hill School and not St. Josephs, where Cleophus the bell ringer used a metal rod to hammer away at an old metal rim dangling from a tree to signal the end of break, and students with soiled collars, dusty shoes, and socks that never stayed up dashed about like wildebeests in the Mara.
Hill School—as our Headie always reminds us—is about or-der and disc-i-pline, and anyone who can’t handle that can leave.
But that’s easier said than done. It is difficult when you have to cross over from Railway Estate to Hill School. It’s like two different countries, where people speak different languages and you have to switch tongues each time you cross over from one to the other. One moment you are standing in an orderly queue at Hill School, speaking in hushed tones and saying “washroom” instead of “toilet” and “please” and “thank you” to people you should be telling to go jump under a train. The next moment you are with friends, tearing across the estate using words that would make Bumbles’s face turn pink, screaming at the top of your voice and generally having a great time.
Sometimes I slip and say things the way I shouldn’t, and when it happens at Hill School everyone looks at me like I crawled out of a sewer.
It’s confusing.
It’s hard.
What makes it harder, though, is when I’m in the estate with my friends and they think I’m showing off.
“Lumush?” I hear Apondi shout even before she appears at the far end of Block 1. “Your mum wants you this very moment.”
“Coming,” I shout back. If it wasn’t that I needed to get away from Odush, I wouldn’t respond so fast. I hurry after Apondi to find Mama waiting at our front door.
“I need two packets of milk from Mama Nandwa’s kiosk,” she hands me a five-shilling note. She doesn’t say anything else but her look spurs me off like a starter gun.
I already have Mama’s milk when I spot Njish approaching Mama Nandwa’s kiosk.
“Sasa,” I greet her but she does not respond. I know she’s come from church because she is all dressed up. I think about telling her that Mama urgently needs the milk I’m carrying, but realize it’s not a good idea. It’s the first time I’ve seen her since I moved from St. Josephs.
Njish used to sit in front of me in class at St. Josephs. My eyes would never leave her cornrowed hair. It was like she knew, because she would abruptly turn around to find me staring. But then how was I to avoid looking at someone I liked a lot? Someone who was right in front of me? Each time our eyes met, I would feel like I’d been caught cheating on an exam. But that didn’t stop me. Her, she would just roll her big round eyes and smile.
Njish was fond of passing me notes with neat, painted hearts. I would grab them from under the desk and shove them into my pocket, too scared to read them in class. I would read them afterwards. Once, I dropped one of the notes before I could pocket it and our teacher, Wamalwa, picked it up.
“Now, who wrote this note?” “Teacher Focus”—for that was Wamalwa’s nickname—raised it for all to see.
The whole cl
ass was silent.
“I’ll ask again. Who wrote this note?”
Still silence.
“Lumumba? I know you have something to do with this note because I found it next to your desk. But because I’m not sure, I will punish the whole class. And as for you, Wanjiru, you better concentrate on your studies instead of passing notes to boys.”
Njish’s full name is Wanjiru, but she loves being called Njish.
Now Njish’s eyes are directed heavenward and her hands are planted firmly on her hips. “You have been avoiding me since you moved to that hopeless school,” she tilts her head to the side.
“No!” I shake my head.
“Tell me, do you have a girlfriend in that school? The truth, Lumush, tell me the truth.”
I shake my head and try to maintain a serious look, but I can feel the edges of my mouth curve out into a smile.
“You are lying. I know you are.”
I force the smile away and fish out my most serious look, and that seems to satisfy Njish.
“Promise you will not have another girlfriend except me?”
“I promise.”
“Cross your heart.”
“Cross my heart.”
“Even when those useless girls of Hill School throw themselves at you, promise you will tell them you are not interested,” Njish says, and I almost burst out laughing because I’m as scared as hell of those Hill School girls who are always rolling their eyes and sniffing the air like everything stinks. Except for Lillian, who I think is nice. But I’d be crazy to tell Njish about how Lillian stood up for me.
“Promise, Lumush, promise?”
“I promise.”
Assured I’m safe from those evil girls in Hill School, Njish hurries off to wherever it is she is headed for.
CHAPTER FIVE
***
MONDAY MORNING, and Bumbles is still eyeing me like I murdered someone.
Tuesday, and still the suspicious look.
On Wednesday, Kazungu announces he has found his money in one of the pockets of his backpack.
“It’s only fair he apologizes to everyone,” Lillian furrows her brow and stares in Kazungu’s direction.
“That won’t be necessary,” Bumbles says. “No one was accused of taking Kazungu’s money.”
Oh! Really? With the looks I’ve had to endure, nobody accused anyone?
I stare in Bumbles’s direction and he looks away.
“Has nobody ever told you it is rude to stare?” he says when he looks up and finds me still watching him.
Now see who is talking, I want to tell him, but I still do not speak. I just keep the thought safe in my head, far away from people like Bumbles. I’m getting good at keeping things in my head. I think them out, without voicing them. I have silent conversations no one else can hear. Later in the day I can talk to Dado and the others about most of the things, and we can have a good laugh.
That’s how I keep out of trouble at Hill School.
A SQUINT-EYED PREFECT with Jumbo ears just won’t let me be. Neat gold ribbons cut across the sleeve of his jacket. They are symbols of his authority. He has the power to stop, search, and confiscate. He always stops me, not because there is anything wrong but because he can. When he is in a foul mood—which is almost all the time—he looks me up and down and finds one fault or the other. If it isn’t my tie, then it’s my socks that are not right, or my shoes are not polished. I’m sure that, even if I were to walk straight out of the uniform shop in River Road with brand-new everything, the guy would still find something wrong.
Soon enough, I discover his weakness. The next time he stops me I stare straight into his squinting eyes, and he quickly looks away.
I guess I’m dismissed.
JUMBO EARS CORNERS ME near the school shop and snatches my warm mandazi. He already has about half a dozen mandazis in a khaki packet, most probably confiscated from the other students.
The next time he stops me, I spit all over my mandazi and make to hand it to him.
He clucks and waves me away.
Jumbo Ears is not the only weirdo in Hill School. There is this boy called Maanzo who has huge Popeye arms that threaten to burst right out of his sleeves and acts like he stepped right out of a comic book. He walks with jerky steps like any moment his limbs will come loose at the joints.
“And who are you?” he asks when he first corners me next to the locker rooms.
“Nonsense!” he shouts, when I whisper out my name. “You are not Lumumba. You are a ‘mono.’ And do you know what a mono is?”
I shake my head, and Popeye arms is only too willing to educate me.
“A mono is a gibbon, with a long curved tail which is invisible to all monos but visible to seniors like me. And it is up to me as a senior to see to it that this creature is brought back to human culture through medulla-striking.”
I’m still struggling to understand what it’s all about, when I receive a sharp rap to the head, probably to bring me back to human culture. From then on I look out for this lunatic and stay out of his way.
WITH ALL ITS WEIRDOS, bullies, and show-offs, there are still some great guys in Hill School, like Rashid.
Rashid is the biggest boy in our school. He makes Jumbo Ears—who is much taller than the rest of us—look like a toddler. The difference, though, is that, unlike JE, Rashid never gets in anyone’s way. For a guy his size, his handshake is gentle and he always has a smile on his face. You feel comfortable around this giant, who barely speaks.
Rush, as everyone knows him, minds his own business. Despite his awesome size, he never tries to push anyone around. He has a beard that we all find hilarious because it comprises only a few hairs that dot his chocolate-brown chin. He loves to pinch it and smile.
He prefers the back row during morning parade, but is still visible from the front. I’ve never once seen a prefect or teacher raise their voice at Rush or punish him. Perhaps the need never arises. But me, I think they are all intimidated by the guy’s size. At least the prefects are.
One morning during break, as I’m heading for the locker rooms, I see Rush go down like someone has chopped off his legs from under him. He tumbles awkwardly to the ground and begins to kick and tremble as though something urgently needs to exit his body.
A crowd of students soon gathers around Rush.
“Everyone move back,” Jumbo Ears asserts his authority and bulldozes through. He kneels down and presses Rush to the ground, trying to restrain his kicking and trembling.
“Don’t do that,” I push him aside, surprising even myself. “You don’t do that when someone is having a seizure unless there is something around them that might hurt them,” I echo what I once heard Baba say.
I wait a moment for Rush to calm before I roll him to his side to clear his airways. After he regains his senses, I help him up and lead him through the staring crowd of students.
Rush flashes out a weak smile as I help him to his desk. There and then I can tell we will be friends.
And who doesn’t need a friend like Rush in a place like Hill School?
AFTER YESTERDAY’S INCIDENT, I can’t wait to get back to school. I haven’t forgotten the admiring looks I received from my classmates as I took care of Rush.
I arrive at school early and gingerly walk up to Jumbo Ears who is standing at the gate. Though I know he has had it in for me since I joined Hill School, I have a feeling yesterday’s events made things worse, when I showed him up by taking charge during Rush’s seizure.
Jumbo Ears shoves his hand into my backpack and almost immediately pulls it back out. His inspection seems quicker than usual. He gestures me away, and though I’m surprised I sling my bag onto my back and start to walk away.
“I want you in the PR this very moment,” Jumbo Ears suddenly swivels, snaps his fingers, and points at me.
Wait a minute. The guy just inspected my bag and dismissed me. What is it now? I’m still wading through these thoughts when he follows up in a grating tone:
“You heard what I said, Lumumba, I want you in the prefects’ room”; this time he is more specific and it surprises me he even knows my name. I walk up the gravel drive and cut across the quadrangle, all the while trying to figure out what awaits me.
Tucked between the school shop and the locker rooms, the PR, as everyone knows it, is out of bounds except through invitation by a prefect. I’ve heard lots of scary stories about the place.
I’m about to turn the brass knob of the door to the PR when I’m pushed right into the dimly lit room. I stumble forward, almost losing my balance.
“Now give me that bag,” Jumbo Ears, who must have been following closely, yanks at my backpack and sends me sprawling on the floor.
“But you already checked my bag,” I protest.
“You stay down and shut up,” he shouts and empties the contents of my bag onto the floor. He bends down and makes a show of searching through the pile of books. “Aha! I knew it was you all along.” He straightens up, brandishing a magnifying glass. “And you thought you would never be caught,” he waves it in my face.
“That thing wasn’t in my bag.”
“Now you are accusing me of lying?”
“No. But I have no idea how that thing got there,” I shout, and I can feel tears welling up in my eyes.
“You heard the Headie announce at the parade that the biology lab was losing equipment every day. Wait until he hears that you are the one stealing from the lab.” Jumbo Ears waves the magnifying glass in my face, and then he is suddenly staring past me.
“That’s enough,” I hear someone say in a steady voice, and I turn around to find Rush standing behind me with his hands in his pockets. “I know you planted that thing in Lumumba’s bag and I’m ready to swear before the Headie that I saw you do it,” Rush says.
Jumbo Ears hangs his head and fixes his eyes on the floor. “Why are you interfering in what does not concern you?”
“Because Lumumba is my friend.”
Rush turns to me and says, “Now gather your stuff and let’s get out of this place.”
I could hug him for that.
Playing a Dangerous Game Page 2
