WHO CARES?

1


Who Cares?
By
Andrew Nyongesa
These people hate us so much. I think it is because we are a minority in this country. Why should they dish out such grades as a reward our efforts? One hundred and eighty of us labored in vain after four years in school? Lee, Allah forbid; hundreds of thousands of shillings paid by our parents, thousands of books bought: the set books, dictionaries, Higher Flier Series in all subjects, geometrical sets and many other requirements. Allah, here I am with no barua as my parents call it. Any way, I am not the only one that has done it, most of my cousins have cheated and some have succeeded… yes…some have…
Ludifya contrived her way out at Al Shukri Sec. School. She had an affair with a senior police officer at the armoury. To appreciate her love, he day after day opened exam scripts the day before exam day and send her the questions via Whatsapp. She could take the questions to Mr. Abdirahman and other male teachers (I mean male teachers because most of them behave like asses in presence of a beautiful girl) who revised with her. Ludfiya could then carry the answers to the exam room and just write like a queen, ha ha, like a queen and she got a B- and ended up at Kenya Medical Training College. When I called her two years later, I was shocked to be told that she had changed courses thrice. She had failed exam after exam, who cares? One has to survive any way. And that reminds me of a doctor in Nambale or West Pokot? There among gurales, (where all exam leakage comes from). He gave a patient an injection and he got paralyzed, no, he died…no… the one in Nambale gave children injections and got completely paralyzed. The other in West Pokot gave a baby measles' injection and it died on the spot. What does one expect of a student that gets the full exam days beforehand, revises with teachers and is enrolled in a medical college? What does one expect of a medical student that cheats her way to graduation by love and money? Who cares? In a society like ours, cry-babies become soldiers and soldiers become janitors. Teachers become boda boda riders and supposed secretaries and clerks turn out as teachers because they have mastered the art of survival, wallahi. Rumour goes that when Alshabaab boys invaded a campus, some police officers literary abandoned their positions and ran for safety like tots. One hundred and forty eight students were butchered in the cold blood. Are these not the cry babies I have talked about? Did they join the force because they deserved or because they could cheat their way? My nephew, Abdow Nurrow got D+ in that Moi era when there was no Whatsapp (but I know he copied from kocho kocho- nonsense, I know what they do) and ended up in the special branch, where they arrest Alshabaab. Just imagine, all that work, where they do lots of work that need what teacher Owour use to call "Jinius", wallahi. He says they do a lot of work to maintain sechurity of the country, giving bolice all information. Ha ha, but why the many terrorist attacks? In our county, thirty six adhon teachers shot. From bus, twas, from bus, twas- brains pour on the ground. And Abdow did not know. Bolice didn't know but wallahi, I knew it. I called teacher Olang and Owour not to go by that bus. I swear, I Qamar Nurrow knows better than special branch- ha, ha, what do you expect of D+ fellow- after using kocho kocho? And now he has a degree in criminologic? Or criminology? I am not sure, but who cares?
Sometimes I feel my teachers are better qualified than my principal, Mrs. Zuhura. There is a day I felt ill and sought her permission to go out for medical check-up. She gave me a permission shit and I was a bit embarrassed to read it: Qamar, sick, permitted to went home to take needle. As much as I am not a very bright student, "jinius" as teacher Owour likes saying, I was shocked that my principal could write that. How did such a fellow find herself in the principal's office? Is it just because she's a woman or of our tribe? Girls say that she got D+ at form four (of course after using kocho kocho as they are accustomed to) and paid her way through colleges. She taught us English and it was interesting to hear sentences like are you understanding me? Are you hearing me? You cannot be able to reply? I have seen you in town last week. When we began studying set texts, she could order us to read on our own and then come to class with a guide book and dictate notes from the beginning of the lesson to the end. Any questions from students were treasonable offences to conceal her poor mastery of the story. We got fed up and locked her out of the class. We demanded that Mr. Wafula teaches us English, no wonder she hated the teacher and interdicted him over his speech on parade against cheating. The teacher was a good speaker and we thought he was reciting a poem:
"Form ones,
You walk in exam rooms
With notebooks
Like pressmen taking news.
Look here squirrels,
I will tear your scripts
Like tissue paper
And award you zero!

Form threes,
You swagger in exam rooms,
With mobile phones
Like Safaricom dealers,
Look here traders,
I'll have you crush your phones,
Like mad men
And award you Y!
Form fours,
You trudge in exam rooms
With textbooks
Like book vendors
In the city.
Look here vendors,
I'll have you empty all your shelves
And award you a Y!"
Mrs. Zuhura framed charges of incitement against the teacher and had him interdicted but that teacher was good, wallahi. We only had results in his subject and guess what I got: B+. Good grade in English but Y in Maths, Chemistry, IRE and History. Oh, my God, my four years have gone down the drain. That teacher always advised us to avoid cheating for the sake of our religious and moral values. He could say that a Y meant we were low-life thieves and no employer would trust a thief. But we could not listen; now see what has befallen us. My illiterate parents sent me this morning to collect barua. I am on the way back home. When I arrive, the first thing father will ask is, "Let me see barua!" My father is illiterate but he knows the magic a good certificate can perform to transform the life of a child. As I sit on this bus, I am so downcast. I am overwhelmed by hopelessness and despair. I do not know what I will tell him.
It is hot, pally. As I gaze through the windscreen, I see vibrations of radiations; I can see the whirlwinds carry the sand here and there…those are the realities of life today. I am for Mr. Wafula and Mrs. Zuhura. Who cares? Seated next to me is Ahmed Derrow of Alfukuran Sec. School. He too got a Y. Of the one hundred and forty seven candidates in the school, only one got the results. The government claims that there was cheating in our schools, an allegation I strongly dismiss. I Qamar Nurrow did not cheat. I only tried to solve a problem according to the principles of survival. As Charles Darwin observed, only the fittest creatures can survive in the world. My Principal used to emphasize that the end will always justify the means. In a society such as ours, the rich will forever be honoured without questioning the means by which they acquired the wealth. Look at our members of parliament, governors…president… we only elect the rich regardless of the means they used to acquire the wealth and cases they have in court. Is it called Vague…or Hague? Who cares? We should be go-getters and everyone from Mandera to Mombasa, thieves to nobles will cheer us. Who cares how you get it? Think of the devolution of eating: a fifteen Million gate in Embia or Embu County? Who cares… a hundred- and- ten thousand wheelbarrow in Bengeme or Bangama county? ... A casosogenic wheel barrow? Veeeery first class…kind from Sydney… Who cares? A two million Face Book account…a first class governor's website in Kirinya or Kirinyaga…who cares even for those gurale names? And in that ministry headed by the competent, beautiful minister, a pen is bought at eight thousand seven hundred, a vibrator at thirty K and laptop at two million. Who cares, we are independent and we should enjoy our wealth. Teacher Osman say, "Watch your main chance." But the choices we make affect us as teacher Wafula use to say. Look at our frustrated teachers, poorly paid and barely surviving. Look at our weak security, the police even take bribes and let criminals go. And with unqualified fellows like Abdow, how can we defeat the terrorist? Look at the high unemployment, funds meant for investment in industries and Agriculture go in individual pockets. Look at our bad name abroad. We have embarrassed our brother Obama. One Kaffir American described us as idiots who only know how to steal, make love and complain of being segregated by whites. Haha… even shetani speaks some facts! But who cares? Like animals, we are just interested in our survival rather than success. I Qamar Nurrow choose survival as well. I don't want to suffer isolation and madness like Mr. Wafula. But I like his ideas…ha…ha… he speaks truth.
Cheating is everywhere. You may judge me. But it is plain truth. Our principal told us that even university students cheat. And they become professionals. Who cares? I cannot believe that someone can cram all those books and survive a nervous breakdown or permanent brain damage. Teacher Wafula was a bit mad. No wife at thirty five? Mad man. And he couldn't fit in our school. Chased away. Other teachers proved him wrong. They cheated. And that is why we made a good deal. All a hundred and eighty nine of us contributed four thousand shillings with clear knowledge that our supervisors and teachers were human beings who needed money to survive. And in our country they say, "One eateth where he worketh". It was simple: two hundred k at the armoury where exams are kept, two hundred k for invigilators and one hundred k for the supervisor (to see and not see). The rest was to grease the elbows of our teachers, who labour the whole year round for pea nuts- especially this year when they sang, "fifty to sixty" and ran round the roads for a full month for salary increase of four thousand shillings but ended up missing their September salaries. Four teachers committed suicide…haha…the first hails from the president's backyard at Nyandarii or Nyanyandarua? Who cares? Such poor fellows cannot refuse a tip however religious they may be. They would summon us during the nights to lead us through questions. I wondered why in mathematics, for instance, all the answers were the same. Mr. Mubeyi just completed all the sums with one answer in brackets:
(Proceed to the answer).
As we all know, a student cannot be better than her teacher, especially the one at our Mtukufu Girls' Sec. School. We respect our teachers and submit to their guidance. I therefore did not miss a punctuation mark. I wrote all the workings on sheets of paper we call kocho kocho, and transferred them on the answer sheet. I had reference materials in the exam room. I called them bullets. Bullet one had brief notes on form one syllabus, bullet two, notes from form two syllabus…all the way to form four.
My job was quite simple in the exam room: stare at the supervisor until he turns the other way (not that his threats meant anything) but he did not want us to be what I can call "so obvious". Had he not eaten his potato? But we did not have to run riot. As soon as he showed me the back, I would whip out my bullet and copy verbatim. On my left calf under my trousers (we religious girls cover our legs in pants and wear a skirt on top) was bullet one. On the right calf, bullet two, in the breast, bullet three , under the scarf (nape of the neck) bullet four and the teachers' 'answers' in my underpants. Think of all this investment, just to come to this: no barua.
I reckon it is that Mr. Owuor that reported us. I wish I had left him be shot by the bad boys. I saved him to go and kill me. He disturbed the principal… yes madam Zuhura. He stood against the 'deal' and swore to report us to the authorities. Idiot. He talks of morals, religion and so on (like Mr. Wafula) no wonder he has taught for over a decade and does not even own a bicycle. We can see some of them commit suicide when they miss one month's salary. Ha ha! Who cares for idiots who don't see? When an opportunity like this one appears for them to make and save money, they pretend to mind their morals. Some even start talking about that Jesus of theirs and the three gods they worship. Shirk! He will be shot. He talks of integrity. To hell, who cares? If I get hold of a gun, I swear, I will kill that adhon. I now alight near my bulla at Rhamu Dhimtu. It is still hot. I have labored four years on this hot sun and I have nothing to show for it, wallahi! What will I tell my parents? I reach home. The whirl wind tosses the sand and deposits it in front of the hori. Father hates foreigners. I will use that to escape. But it is painful wallahi, I wish I just got married in class six like my sister, Bahsan. Of what use was my struggle? ... should I kill my self? Oh… oh… wish I had a gun…oh…let me cry a bit. Am overwhelmed by grief… another year in school? ... and I am told Mrs. Zuhura is now interdicted… three teachers… oh… let me wipe my tears…here he comes…
"Qamar, give me barua!" he asks.
"Abba, there is no barua."
"Oh blurry fool! Foolish as your mother!" he growls in his typical way. Always insults mother.
"Adhon, the adhon Owour reported us to Kenyatta… so no Barua!"
"I will kill that adhon. They cheat, they become teachers but they come here to destroy our children!" the old man thunders.
I smirk. I wait to see how Owour will roast in the fire he had himself lit.
 
Glossary
Abba- A Somali word for father.
Adhon- A Somali word for a bantu or slave.it is an allusion to slavery period when bantus use to be slaves to Arabs and Somalis during the pre-colonial period.
Alshaabab- A terrorist group that carried out mass killings of non-Muslims in East Africa between 2008 and 2016.
Barua- it is a swahili word for snail mail that is used by illiterate Somalis to refer to a result slip.
Boda boda- it is used to refer to motorcyclists who carry people for pay.
Bulla- a Somali word for village.
Gurale- a Somali synonym for adhon- bantu slave.
Hori- A Somali word for a grass built hut; also referred to as manyatta.
Kenyatta- used by illiterate Somalis to refer to the central government in Kenya. It is allusion to the rejection of black rule in Kenya after independence.
Kochokocho- pieces of paper with notes that are illegally smuggled into the exam room by cheats.
Shirk- Arabic word for polytheism or worship of three gods; an allusion to the trinity.
Wallahi- Arabic word for I swear