What do you remember about your school days? A difficult subject; friendship you had; or a tough experience you went through?
All of us carry different memory from our school days. Some come with nostalgia, while others are weaved with bitterness and regrets.
I remember my school days with mixed feelings. Memories of regrets and bitterness drown in the kindness and concern my school days are interwoven with.
In my secondary school days - my perpetual poor performance in Kiswahili subject can be well kept in mind by my classmates. That I hardly spent much time in school from lack school fees - during my secondary years, is obvious to all my school mates, teachers and staff: it took me 6 years to complete a course work that takes 4 years. I never had an opportunity to be in class the whole of Form Three save two weeks – for more than three years I was a school drop out. These years endeavored me to practice some farming and selling of vegetables in local markets.
It’s these tough secondary school years that distinguished one of my mathematics and physics teachers in Form One; not only in being second to none in his teaching acumen, but in his human touch. Mr. Johanna Omare is his name. In my first secondary school vacation he offered to be my holiday tutor without payment, notwithstanding my colleagues were paying dearly for the same services. His teaching mastery and years of experience as a national examination marker magnetized students from best provincial schools and national schools.
My academic path grew from narrow to longer, from rough to elusive from lack of school fees. By second term of Form Two the dream of proceeding was shuttered as financial means dwindled with the accruing school fees debt. I dropped from school.
When I dropped from school, I was met with a matrix of problem: my mother had accidentally fractured her leg thus she seriously needed medical attention that was beyond our affordability; one of my brothers was involved in a financial dispute with the firm he was working with. My father moved to the city (Nairobi) to see justice prevail; and our five daily cows that were our financial backbone were ailing and dieing (those that were kicking needed medical care).
"Why did you left schooling," asked Omare when we met in our local town – Kisii - as I was returning from market, "…from lack of school fees," I explained to him as I elaborated the challenges we were going through as a family. "But who is schooling?" he asked as if not concerned with the background details albeit confirming being abreast with the situation we were navigating through, "…you were supposed to state your case to the administration," he concluded. I tried to argue my case, but it was not holding water to him. "I was just defensive!" "Come to school on …," were his parting words.
I went home a bit perturbed, worried, and confused. “Why is my obvious case vague even to those who’re supposed to fathom it well?” the question kept buzzing my mind. Despite of swinging between pessimism and optimism and praying, I decided to try his word. I met my date with punctuality.
Omare, the class master of the class I was supposed to be and I went to the principal’s office almost to break time. In the office I was surprised when he took the role of being my personal lawyer. Personal defender will fit appropriately. He explained in depth and breadth the predicament we were going through as a family, beyond my imagination as he candidly pleaded to the principal: "we can not afford to lose this boy to another school or dropping school altogether, he is our best student in sciences and mathematics," I never believed those words of concern and kindness and encouragement - were about me.
“I the best student - which the school can not afford to lose!” vibrated my entire body system with pride – they were so weighty and spurring to be heard by a boy who had been out of school for three years selling vegetables in local markets. Mr. Nyaundi, the class master complemented him with anecdotes that sealed my new beginning.
This experience brings home the concept of Jesus being our heavenly advocate who is interceding for us to the Principal of the universe – God. “Please give them a second chance,” I can hear Jesus pleading on our stead.”They can make it if they believe in me,” our teacher Jesus who candidly rebukes, corrects, and trains us in righteousness patiently intercedes for us in the heavenly throne.
The principal accepted my case without any school fees requirement attached to it. I was supposed to raise examination registration fees only and to exhibit performances that will not a shame their mercy. This is how I ended up joining Form Four class as candidate after being a school drop out for more than three years.
During this examination year I was privileged to experience God’s intervention for my hopeless situation through the concern and mercy of Mr. Omare. I was humbled to trust in His leading and providence. Philippians 4:13 was my memory text: “I can do all things in him who strengthens me.” As much as there was a vast portion of the syllabus that was uncovered I kept on experiencing God’s mercy and love every unfolding every day. I used to begin my evening preps with a prayerful daily Sabbath School Lesson reading the whole year. Even with the doubts: “how can you make it in national examination by worshiping from Friday evening to Saturday evening,” as the rest of our colleagues used to be in class for makeup classes and syllabus coverage in mathematics and other science subject. We kept on worshiping the Lord of the Sabbath in His Sabbath the whole year – even when the national exams were at the door, and during the exams.
I vividly remember that sunny, beautiful morning when the Principal called us – candidates who were Sabbath keepers to a meeting. Indeedd the principal was very concerned about our academic success: “why don’t you shelf this idea of the Sabbath or do it in few hours for you to have humble time to prepare for your final national exams. Thus after school you can enjoy worship on Sabbath as you will wish?”
He was in particular with my case as he pointed out the grace the school had extended to me. “Onsare are you serious? to miss mathematics classes…!” he spoke in a very empathetic tone looking into my eyes. ”You need to think twice,” my dear principal concluded. I can not explain where I drew the courage from to put a shy – boyish - smile as I keenly chewed every word.
The principal was gracious. It was our choice whether to continue with our Sabbath worship on condition that it never contravened with school order and rules, yes, no examination was given on the Sabbath day as we kept worshiping.
Amazingly enough I was the best mathematics student thought the year, any math contest we’d I emerged the best – scooping a ward certificates and T-Shirts. Paul his word to the Corinthians unfolded in my eyes and time: “For consider your call, brethren; not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth; but God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise, God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong, God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God” (1 Corinthians 1: 26-29). What a privilege. What a message to live: even making it in the troublesome Kiswahili.
Now here I stand in a defining moment of human history, in a position to freely share that which I’ve freely received: mercy, grace, kindness, concern, and love. Will I extend them to those whom I encounter in the daily streets of life? Will I keep on worshiping in spirit and truth - keeping the Sabbath holy since my school days has left an etched remembrance of God’s deliverance and goodness to all who call upon his Holy name? Will I continue to honor God as He vows: “Those who honor me I will honor, but those who despise me will be disdained.” My school days are a remainder of God’s working in all our undertaking in this life towards our salvation.
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