Tracing roots- By Esther Neema

Me bi bi was not an ordinary woman; she was a lady who went with many secrets to the grave. You could tell she was different, but many had never been able to find the mysteries about this lady, until the day she was laid to rest Having been the eldest lady in Mahunduni village, at the point of her death, a village in the north coast, she knew everyone’s story but no one knew her story. She stood tall and slender, a black beauty with pride and elegance, they say she was one of a kind. You could see from the way she walked and talked, the confidence and strength. Truly, you would have though she was a princess from Nubia.
me bi bi

If you asked her where he was from, she was likely not to tell you, either because the memories were so vague, or maybe once upon a time, it was much safer to hide ones origin than to boost of ones origin. For her the true definition of home was where she lived for seventy years of her life, the rest of the early nineteen years was kept a secret and a mystery to all, until the day she was buried.

In the midst of celebration for a life well lived, stood a tall lady, slender, confident, and a symbol of strength. Indeed an identical to Me bi bi. After stares and whispers about typical resemblance, people went ahead and find out. who was she? where was she from? And that is how the story f true origin got to be told.it became a true story redefined, Me bi bi had a sister?

History begins to unfold as the lady speaks of the unspoken stories. It turned out that the two had been born of freed slaves whose initial origin was in Nyasa, all the way from Malawi. After being freed they were settled in Tanzania where they had to start all over again.

Both their parents passed on leaving the girls alone. They were adopted by a Muslim Zaramo family in Tanzania for not so long before there emerged a conflict, and the girls fled to Kenya to a missionary home where they found peace and safety at last.

Though they had come a long journey, a time had come and they had to part ways. They got married far from each other and that meant that their journey together had come to an end. Many years down the road the sisters meet when one of their journeys is truly over and one could tell from the sisters face that she missed those days that just they two shared, the days of their childhood, the adventure and the many memories

Me bi bi’s life story had been told and understood, who could have known that such a smiley face and jovial lady had not been a princess, but actually the daughter of a former slave. Me bi bi is just one of those many inhabitants at the coast province who have come to call it home. Many who do not know where home really is, and if they had to search they would not know where to begin, and s they call this one place that they know home, that they even get buried in that land. It is a call to all Kenyans to appreciate diversity, because at the end of the day, home is where your hear finds solace

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And that was my primary school – Esther Neema

Why don’t I take you through a little bit of my primary experience
Back in the day, like a little bit more than ten years ago at a place called section six in Kitale, there was a school by the name St.Mary’s Immaculate. If you have noticed I tend to whisper the name Immaculate every time I talk about the school, in my opinion the school would have sounded so much better had it just been St Mary’s.you know. then saints would have been our brother school.

So you can only imagine the shock i must have experienced when I got in to the school, and I am not being ati dramatic over here, such a different culture from where I had been. So of course the first question is to ask yourself how did I get here and its the kind of feeling you see your mum drive away and you want to jump on her and say mummy dearest you aint going nowhere without me

But guess what though we complained we did not die 
we survived through even the dramatic nuns. I tell you it was adventures.

We did play hide and seek with our nuns because they were always chasing after us for some reason. ImageWe went through different nuns and for some reason they all had dramatic tendencies. Am sure you will all remember when a nun came to the girls dorm and all the girls were made to kneel down on stones when it was drizzling. And what time was this? just the midnight before we did our KCPE, GHC paper which was meant to be the last paper. It was cute when the guys wanted to come rescue us from the hands of the nun, but they were threatened that they would be the ones to take our positions and they went back to sleep.

Now the nus were not dramatic enough,we had the matrons who saw the need of banging the metallic gate, which was the entrance to the dorms as a means to wake us up. That was of course after the bell had rung.Ten minutes after the banging of the gate mercilessly, she would enter and hit or pinch anyone sleeping and if they do not wake up, she would remove their blankets and eventually throw them on the floor. And just in case you did not wake up after that, you would be stroked and of course the dreaded part is to be denied bread.

Now in a boarding school where bread is given thrice a week, which is less than half 3 days out of seven, you did not want to miss bread at all, not even on one day. I must admit bread might not have been that important to me at that time, but in real sense I did not want to miss bread.I actually got in to trouble for saying Kwani is it the bread of life, heee I was denied bread for a whole week for saying that was not the bread of life.and that was the middle of the term when I did not have backup grab.Actually most of us were done with our grab by the second week

Visiting day was priceless.people make new friends on this day, the dorms would smell of chicken, chapati and of course the dining hall would be empty for a while, the party has just begun. and when it ends people can always borrow

Yes that was a school and a half, Friday parade was the day for embarrassing people. This meant that if you had done something wrong during the week, your name would be called out for you to stand in front of the whole school and be suspended and called names.This did not go without some strokes on your behinds. Everyone went through this I think, even I did not escape public humiliation. The nun also saw the need to mention number last students at the parade, and the head girl which was me or the head boy, would be asked to give their opinion. Talk of drama queens, that was the queen of them all

Now our teachers were great, there were the some who were the smaller monsters after the nuns and the matrons. We had this teacher who would send you for a cane to chapa(stroke) someone, and when that cane breaks, he sends you for another which he will use to cane you too, for bringing a cane that would break.And your like ala, si I did you a favour, why am I being stroked.

So of course with assurance of daily strokes, many pupils saw the need to wear extra clothing than required, such as five pairs of shorts or even a folded leso, for the behinds.It was actually important as it would save your bum a few injuries that have potential of lasting for months.And of course you never know when the nuns will catch you at the wrong place.Sometimes involuntary actions such as sleeping during preps

For some reason, prep was like a piriton, but it was very important to fight sleep. You never know when the nun is peeping by the window just to catch the sleepers.so we would fight it like a warrior.

There was time for sleep and make sure when it is time to sleep you be asleep. Coz again it appears the nuns loved sudden visits in to the dorms to check on the night runners and the night talkers. Those of us with loud voices would always be called out first for a stroke before sleeping. There are times that I was actually not talking but I ges the nuns would predict perhaps I was just about to comment and hence I would get one for prevention I guess. They actually scared us, they all wore spects. and they just stood at the window peeping to see anyone moving around..Either way we always found time to tell each other stories, and scare each other with stories which until now, I could never be sure if they were true.But those were the nights. Funny how we can laugh about those days now

10 years now and its still funny and now im sure some of you are wondering where there hell did you go to school, but alas I turned out well didn’t I.It was crazy, adventures, dramatic, fun and etc.and that was my primary school

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Music festival

The Kenya Music festival for highschool is a cultural event where students show case their talent in music. It is full of colour as many schools are represented here with melodies filling the air. A great and exiting moment where they also interact with each other

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