School In Kenya

• Amy Dyer, Grade 10, Loreto College
• Short Story
• 2011

Finalist in the 'Timeless Tales 2011' competition

I leave for school today for the first time. I take a deep breath and elevate my head to observe the sky. The streams of pure white clouds float and wander through the blue stretch of humble sky. I am distracted by the laughter of children, splattering and plopping in the mud scattered street. I watch their best clothes turn from white into brown, as quick as a lion pouncing on its prey. From the horizon I can see a small hut emerging, I speed up my pace.

I step inside the tiny door; I crouch to make sure I don’t hit my head. The laughter is a train, picking up passengers at every stop. I look down and see many eyes drawn to the attention of a small lady who I presumed to be the teacher, she is whistling and calling to gather the children. I bend my head to duck under the roof, which clearly was not built for my intension. More children hurdled into the crowded classroom and as instructed take a seat. I too, pull one small black chair from under the table and drag it to my body, which hangs out the side.

The teacher introduces herself, and I stay attentive to her voice. One girl, who was the only child who had kept her uniform intact, laughed at me with a group of friends. I knew my age would attract some attention. Teacher hands me a notebook. I inhale the paper with relief, knowing that long lasted knowledge will be filling the pages of my notebook. The lesson then begins. With a twist and click, teacher’s new pen is ready to write.

Words fill the board unlike anything I have seen before. My eyesight begins to trouble me, I pick up my walking stick and shutter to the front row, trying to crouch as low as I can so that the younger students can see over me. The girls giggle and whisper and a storm of laughter begins. Teacher turns around and instructs us to recite the days of the week. I reach out for my bag of belongings and I am stopped by a small girl, five years old at the most. “Mzee,” the girl greets me saying, hello my elder. “Would you like to play with me?”

I am delighted with this offer and I smile at her. We walk outside together and I can smell the pollution of the city. When we return to the classroom, we are told to make an introduction. I walk towards the front of the classroom, where I have a clear view of all the children, all thirty six of them, eagerly smiling at me.

“Hello, my name is Kimani Nganga Maruge and I am eighty four years old.” Five hands shoot up, then twelve, then nineteen. “Why are you here?” A child calls out. I explain that when the Kenyan government started to offer free education, I enrolled to receive something my elders could not afford.