30/04/2022
CANING SESSIONS
I went to Molo Academy Primary school until i did my KCPE in 2012. Caning sessions were the worst, especially for Maths. While in class 8, our mwalimu would sneak in during PE time, just as the boys are discussing who will go to borrow the football from a class nearby. The guy closest to the window, who was the unofficial sentinel would sound the alarm.
"Mr. A! Mr.A anakuja!"
The other kids sitting near windows down the row would confirm this too and on seeing him, faces would immediately congest, hearts would drop and disappointed sighs would be heard everywhere. Moreover, instead of his usual textbook, in his arm was a revision paper for a Maths test previously done, with the all too familiar cane we called "Mkamba" alongside it. He often walked slowly and confidently, with a gait akin to that of marching policemen, and that was his signature, every teacher had one. Outside, just a few steps away from the door, he would begin,
"Number one. Two million, two hundred and thirty two thousands, three hundred and eighty in words is...? A. 2,232,380, or B, two million..."
And he would go on to read all the four answers. He by now, has entered the classroom and set the disciplinary tools on the teachers' table.
A buzz is now resonating around the classroom and many a worried face would quickly dive into their lockers in search of their answer sheets. You could see the usual "number last" was the least comfortable of all. It was well known that this particular teacher is meaner to him than everybody else. But the rest of the class is also squirming in their seats. The least worried were the number ones who'd scored 90 and above, because the teachers were often nicer and less harsh while dealing with them. The teacher, Mr. A (Antony Mwangi) would then pause, as nobody would be listening at that moment because everyone was busy clawing into their desks, looking for their answer sheet. Horror of unspeakable magnitude would hit anyone who discovered they've lost it, because that carried a very severe punishment. Just as well was anyone who had failed that first question because Mr. A would then say,
"What is the answer?"
and the class would unanimously state the correct choice. Often, there was a unfortunate fellow would blurt out the wrong answer, his voice above everyone else and the class would erupt into laughter. This was often the class clown. Over time, he became less mean when our performance in maths improved to a regular ten points clear of the second placed class, but before that, often Mr. A would require us to take off our sweaters.
"Toeni sweater."
Those words were a terrible thing to hear and used to send a chill down everyone's spine. Your stomach would suddenly be aqueous as well as having that feeling of diarrhea approaching.
"Sawa, wacha tuone wenye walianguka number one."
Those who had failed number one would shamefully raise their hands. They were just a handful, but Mr. A would then start from the row closest to the door, prompting everyone to display that indeed they had "passed" number one. While his back was turned, you would see a few hands shoot up behind him. These were the ones who didn’t think he would bother checking. If you were among the unfortunate, you would watch in horror as Mr. A approached closer and closer, peering closely into every answer sheet. When he reached you, he would stand back and raise his cane, then land two neat blows, in quick succession, on your thin layered back as you winced and shapeshifted for a fraction of a second before regaining your composure and behaving as if nothing had happened. This was because boys who were over-dramatic during caning would often be labelled as pu***es. This naturally lowered your position in the class pecking order, so most boys avoided it. Girls were, however, allowed to cry a much as they wanted. In fact, if a girl showed no signs of pain, she would be feared and treated as an equal by the boys, so what girls used to do is infuse a bit of chaos while at it. While caning a boy's palms would be quick and take only a few seconds, girls would jump about and make such a big deal of it until the frustrated teacher began thrashing their dresses and calves, which often produced a loud noise similar to beating up a blanket with a stick.
Now, back to Mr. A who is now busy down the row, assaulting the next boy dumb enough to fail number one. After the rampage was over, he would then stroll back tho the front of the class and say,
"Number two... The area of a rhombus is 36cm. The longer and the shorter lungths are 7 and 5cm respectively. What is the height of the rhombus? A...4 cm, B,.."
He would drone on and on while the unfortunate kids could now and then be seen scratching their backs that were on fire. After reading the question, his wiglly cane shaking playfully in his hand, he would then turn to the blackboard and begin solving the question. The solution would often be that the universal formula of the question had been twisted and you were required to give a variable, having been provided with the answer. This was common in highschool maths, physics and chemistry too. Mr A would then look around the classroom, with chalk to the board and say,
"What is the formula of a rhombus?"
(All hands would shoot up, not because we knew the answer, but as a cunning trick, even though the teacher soon caught up with this . What Mr. A used to do was pick out the usual "danda" boy in maths to provide an answer. If he failed to provide the correct formula within a microsecond, or worse still, hesitated, Mr A would turn to the next danderhead for an answer. By now, signs of alarm would be spreading across the classroom, panic and alertness on everyone's face, especially if it was an easy formula that everyone knew. If the second danderhead answered correctly, a sigh of relief and calm would be restored, since Mr A, now satisfied, would move on to something else. If the dummy, however, didn't answer correctly, Mr A would start moving towards the row closest to the door and ask a third time. If that too was the wrong answer, he would then say,
"Acha tu nizunguke, juu inaonekana nyinyi...nyinyi mmelala sasa. Acha niwaamushe kidogo!"
He would then turn to the boy sitting at the front of that row, thrashing his back, as well as everyone else’s, twice in quick succession. The three dummy heads who often caused the class to get beaten up were hated and ostracized.)
Mr A. would then go back to the front and ask what the solution was. He would then point out to the few bright candles in Maths who would promptly answer as the class groaned in pain. He would then proceed to solve the question on the blackboard and give the correct answer. This would continue, from question number one to number 25, and could consume the entire lesson or leave us maybe ten minutes left to the next lesson. He would then leave and come back to haunt us again during prep time which was usually from 6.00 pm to 9.pm in the evening.
