Catapulted by the final handspring; that qualified me into the school gymnastics team and the thought of participating in the zonal competition which my Alma Mater: Malel Mosoriot College Primary School were known to shine and sharing a competitive spirit with Father Koon Academy- my day was done!

I remembered that I had not taken my break and sprinted back to class to get my tea and pancake. Our mother taught us survival skills early…We learnt to cook both break and lunch in the evening and stalk our boxes. We did not need to buy from the college canteen or stay hungry. The thought of the lunch boxes and tea flasks is nostalgic. (Aside from the tea and pancake).

No sooner had I stepped on the Class Five door than I saw one of my colleagues tearing up a classmate’s exercise book in meticulous fashion. The girl tearing up the book was a distant relative to my family and the victim came from a nearby village to ours. The prey and predator so to say, attended the same Sunday School at the village Anglican Church. Complicated. The victim had been known to bully newcomers to the school and l had been her client on one occasion that I documented when she was the first to call me out for speaking ‘a foreign language.’ In my case, I had let go of that incident and had moved on because I had found my place in Poetry, Drama and Elocution. None seemed to remember that I had been unable to articulate English well.

But-why? I did not find the answer to the hideous act that I was witnessing.

We left Primary and I never got to know what was the source of the conflict or crime that warranted Little Miss to tear someone’s G. H. C Book. For my daughter’s generation, G.H.C or Geography History and Civics was a subject that we, the eighties, and ninety’s oldies did in Primary and split into Geography and History in Secondary School. It was customary practice in Mrs Nyarangi’s and Miss Faraj’s class to have books of every next lesson on the desktop.

Why tear someone’s book? One more thing- both girls in question were excellent in ‘katii ‘, – dodge ball. If they happened to be in the same team after random sampling- the score board could easily be read. If one did not fall into their team, you would wish to play as ‘fair’ where you could score points for both teams. I remember Brenda Okumu, Sella Chege, Sheila Keleng’wa, Claire Otieno and Josephine Cheptoo- and both the ‘Katii’ and the gymnastics team as we all participated. I appreciate the diversity of our childhood. We grew up in a cosmopolitan community and we knew no bounds and the prejudices sold out in narratives of a single characteristic society. Those from the village branded us “cool kids and snobby kids “ just because we spoke English and Kiswahili; and that was where our power was drawn.

We, the learners, were united by the common languages- (official and national); which laid a uniform foundation for everyone to belong.

Nevertheless, we still got a chance to learn and speak local languages outside school and in school through co-Curriculum activities particularly in Music and Drama- just as it is here; at St. Austin’s Academy- The Future School Today. Nothing beats an authentic identity and S.A.A routes for -Fair Play and Mutual Respect. And it is the same diversity that makes me proud of St. Austin’s Academy.

The pride that I captured in the words of Jesse Jackson in last term’s newsletter:

“When everyone is included, everyone wins.” On the side, both girls were also known to be good in detailed analysis of matters and people. What had transpired between them to an extent that gave room for another to tear another’s book and heart by extension? I wondered and I still wonder until now.

In my transfixion, the bell rang. Break had ended. I had not taken my break, I was agape.

I had spent a minute or so in absolute wonder. Our classmates streamed into class. I was still standing at the door in silence and shock. The other girl had moved to her desk and sat quietly. The aggrieved girl quickly noticed her torn down exercise book and began to cry aloud bitterly. She grabbed her book and yelled hysterically towards the staff room. The teacher on duty had witnessed the girl that I saw tearing down the book enter the class a while ago and seen me walk to class and stand at the door just before the bell rang.

Our gymnastics coach told everyone that I was with the team throughout to the end and had just left a minute before the bell rang. The team had confirmed that the other girl had not shown up for the team auditions and was not in the crowd watching by the side of the court. She had joined us a year ago from the community school. The aggrieved girl had been my classmate from grade one and we had had our differences but there was no time that we crossed limits. We had conflicts but there were demarcations that were never crossed and the headteacher Mr. Odhiambo (O.O); -may his soul rest in peace- had drummed into us the boundaries that were never to be crossed. I equate the same spirit to what the St. Austin’s Academy seeks to defend every day at school. We instruct our students about patience and understanding of others and that we can still accommodate one another no matter the circumstances.

Immediately, an emergency discipline committee was formed to investigate the matter, and it was chaired by one of the new teachers from the community.

The options were quickly narrowed and the two of us were summoned to the staff room. At the door, my classmate held my hand, and I could feel the chilly palms and she whispered to my ear, “Please Chepleting, don’t tell the teachers, that you saw me “. She called me by my maiden’s name. A name that was not familiar at school. What a strategy.

My friends, I was tongue tied all through!

The transfixed posture, to my look. Honestly. This remains one of the awkward moments in my life. I am vocal but that day I had been quiet. I was utterly shocked. Things happened fast! Both of us were quiet in front of the committee. The teachers sent me out. She remained. When I was called back in, and I met her smiling at the door. I was numb. The teachers told me that they were already aware that I was the one who tore the book. When I chose to speak up, the one-new teacher, overruled that her solid instincts told her that it was me. I was guilty. Case closed!

That evening, that teacher; wrote a note to my parents declaring her truth and authority. (I tore up a classmate’s book). She knew I was a bad girl. And I needed to bring two books and copy all the notes that had been written by the aggrieved girl.

That is the day, that my conscience tweeted me: “You are not a bad girl. Relax. Let her be. You know the truth and the truth is in your heart “.

When I met the new teacher the next morning, I felt something different, but I could not tell her because she was superior. When she looked at me; I also looked at her straight up into her eyes and gave her a super smile and walked away confidently. I was tiny but I guess that walk must have been with a swish and a swash. As little as I was; an adult hurt me, and I was on full back defence and initiative-taking offence simultaneously.

The best thing that a teacher could do to a child here at St. Austin’s Academy in Lavington-Nairobi or a teacher in the informal settlements in Kibera or a teacher in the remotest village in Turkana is to take a little more time to make sure that you have the truth and the real truth before pressing charges recklessly. A teacher is the referee and should never issue “The Red Card “ carelessly just for the sake of egoistic satisfaction.

The headteacher was briefed on the incident and he did his own investigations and later summoned the two of us into his office. After a lengthy conversation, the girl opened on her actions.

It took the intervention of Mr. O.O to save the day but the damage was already done. He gave the aggrieved girl another book and instructed the other girl to patch up the torn pages with a cello tape that he handed over to her and demanded that he wanted to see the book before lunch break and get his tape back. He called us to forgive where we had been offended, particularly me. That was easily accepted before an authoritative figure. However, it was far from the practical. It was hurtful and difficult to forget.

Just recently, in our reunion, an old colleague, questioned me if I still smile. And I responded with a question to clarify if I was being accused of being a smiling machine. We all laughed at the fact that I would smile even when we were in trouble and that must have made the new teacher to conclude that I was guilty. The other girl on the other hand wore a straight face and rarely smiled. Her lie with a straight face was believable. It was hilarious for the whole team, looking back at the events of our elementary school.

What an ordeal! This piece is a safe platform to recount an event that to me would simply be disastrous because of the outright; malice, deceit, and betrayal.

Being falsely accused at a tender age and the offense being rubber stamped by a teacher who should have taken time to conduct thorough investigations is enough to damage a child. The events of that day kept me sour for a while until the day I took time to narrate to my family what exactly happened and then the rest is history because I chose to forgive. I may not have erased the intricate details but when I let it go it was like I tore the page of that day from my book of life and disposed it in the rubbish pit: never to be retrieved again.

I ended up as a teacher and now at St. Austin’s Academy. What type of teacher do I want to be remembered by children in their adulthood to have been! What would they say about me and tell their children about my character? Was I firm and friendly? Did I stand up to protect the child unwaveringly? Did I discipline them with love, justice, and pure truth? Was I malicious and exercising conspicuous bias. How were my class management skills? Did I excel in the delivery of curriculum content? Did I consider the individual abilities of each learner? Oh no! It freaks me out, to imagine how I would take stock at the peak of self-actualization. The punchline is that a teacher is a key component of a school setting. It is at school that we learn about the real aspects of life.

St. Austin’s Academy is the perfect representation of society where diverse personalities exist; therefore, we learn to co-exist.

It is at S.A.A where we sharpen our tolerance and flexibility to situations. It is at school where adaptability and resilience are established as a key element of our survival in a swift and brutal world. Most importantly, it is at school where we are coached to forgive, we may not necessarily forget immediately but the remedy of time is left to steer the course. No matter how bad yesterday was; at St. Austin’s Academy, we learn; that we will still need to show up tomorrow.

As a member of faculty at St. Austin’s Academy, I have witnessed the greatest moments of forgiveness. We offend others; we are offended by others and that is not where the balance lies. The perfect constructive interaction comes from the steps taken together towards the altar of forgiveness. It may sound simple written, but it is an uphill battle to accomplish. At fourth floor of my life, I embrace the power of forgiveness. The true North is pivoted towards the forgiveness of others and the forgiveness of self. Like a baby learning to walk; I finally arrived at that station.

You may equate it to a train or bus station. When you arrive not as a wreck but safe. What then do you do? You take a glance at the days, in your personal and professional space, here at St. Austin’s Academy, and smile at the occasions you frowned upon and whisper to that still spot in your soul: “By-gones are by-gones.” Why not laugh at your folly and forgive yourself too; even-as -you -let -go: of everything and everyone that filled up bile in your gut?

If we may, here, at our Successful School- St. Austin’s Academy; let us resonate with the Italian mystic and poet: St. Francis of Assisi. as he observes:

“LORD, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love. Where there is injury, pardon, where there is doubt, faith. Where there is despair, hope. Where there is darkness, light. Where there is sadness, joy.

O DIVINE MASTER, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console: To be understood as to understand; To be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive –It is in pardoning that we are pardoned. And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.”

St. Austin’s Academy: how do we wrap this up? Ask me again; what is forgiveness? And how do we get to practice the ‘Baby Steps of Forgiveness’ here at S.A.A? Let it us conclude it with this iconic statement:

“It is not an easy journey, to get to a place where you forgive people. But it is such a powerful place because it frees you.”-Tyler Perry.