Edwin's Corner

I reached out to the sky and touched the sun. It was the dry season, a time we kids loved to play and run for the sake of it. I loved playing football, or a version of it where a mob raced after a ball. Thankfully, there were several balls, and the mob surged and fell chasing the nearest one. Laughter was all around me, as I ran up and down the field. The bell, loud as it was, brought me back to reality, as I ran to class. I treasured morning break times, they allowed us to breath. I was already thinking of the next class. How I would carry my seat, across a corridor to the class where we barely fit, seated beside the desk of a reluctant host. Every Wednesday, this was the routine. We would meet in this class and listen to the radio. The presenter was many miles away in the city, teaching children in schools, like ours, across the nation. I always felt so proud to be part of such a collective, brought together by a lesson.   As I got into our classroom, I was greeted by a strange

The wind was swaying the branches outside, rattling the leaves. Our class teacher had stepped out, leaving us more bored than we cared to mention. Yet too lazy to make noise. When she came back, a scrawny young boy of my height followed closely behind. He was thin but not in a starved way, more like someone who forgot to eat from a table brimming with food as he contemplated the meaning of life. His uniform was new, and shoes sparkled in the shadows of the well-lit classroom. “My name is Joseph,” he mumbled. He was articulate, that was certain. He nearly broke into a smile, then thought otherwise. His were high cheekbones on a muscular face. He looked wiser than his age. The class observed him, gauging where to place him in the social strata.   It was clear he was doing well because a murmur broke out from the back, and together the class said, “Welcome to Nanyuki Primary School, Class 2 B.” We then receded into our collective shell to observe how he would react.      “Jose