Sometimes teachers get it awfully wrong

When Pudd’ng arrives home from school, if something interesting happened during the day, she will let me know. It may be a new classmate, especially at the beginning of a term. Or a new song that they are learning for the music festival.

Last week, she told me about an incident that did not sit well with her. Their class teacher singled out one pupil, and embarrassed her in front of the class.

“My classmate comes to school with shoes that are worn-out, and sometimes her socks do not, ah, look too good. Today teacher told her to stand up, and asked her how she could wear such shoes and yet they live in the gated estate.”

The pupil was taken to the staff room, and later returned to the classroom in tears.

“I felt so bad, daddy,” Pudd’ng moaned, “I felt like standing up and telling teacher that what he was doing was wrong.”

ZEBRA-CROSSING LIKE LIONESS

It’s a Saturday. Pudd’ng and I are using a zebra crossing in the central business district. My eye is on a driver who has made a wrong turn, and does not want to give us the right of way.

I’m holding Pudd’ng’s hand. I increase my speed of walking, but Pudd’ng does not. She will not be harassed by a law-breaking driver.

“Aren’t you afraid that this driver will run over us?” I ask Pudd’ng, after I notice that, from her body language, she knows her rights and who’s wrong.

“But he’s seeing me,” the little lioness replies without flinching. “Plus, this is a zebra crossing.”

MATATU SILENCE CODE

I think that, by and large, there is a silence code in matatus. On many occasions, a matatu crew can harass a passenger, and not a single passenger will raise their voice. We have been conditioned to be silent; that this is the way they are.

I have been in situations, where a matatu touts treated passengers wrongly, and I acted like I had seen or heard nothing. I know that I should speak up and not hold my peace, I just stared through the window and told myself that it was none of my business.

And as my seemingly-smooth ride goes on, the road becomes bumpy for my conscience, and I think to myself: “Surely, Joe Soap, you should have said something.”

Kisumu touts are known to be among the most foulest of the bunch. They are feared and loathed in equal measure.

Over the April holidays, Pudd’ng and Tenderoni travelled upcountry, and spent time between Gem and Ahero. Ahero is where Tenderoni comes from. (In my neck of the woods, my wife is called, Nya’Kano. Which means, daughter of Kano).

From Gem, they had to go to Kisumu City, then take another matatu to Ahero.

“As we were boarding, they told us the fare was Sh 50,” Tenderoni narrated. “Then after the matatu left the bus stop, they hiked the fare.”

The passengers’ complaints fell on deaf ears. When passengers insisted that they would not add a cent more, the matatu tout told the driver to make a U-turn and return the passengers to Kisumu.

That is when Pudd’ng mustered courage and spoke up. “Don’t you know that you have children in this matatu? You’re doing wrong. Please, take us to Ahero.”

Silence fell upon the mass.

“Driver, let’s take these passengers to Ahero,” the tout said, after pensively looking at Pudd’ng. “That child’s words have moved me and made me feel like I have done something bad.”

Sometimes it takes a child’s innocence for a man to see the error of his ways.