PERSONA NON GRATA…

PERSONA NON GRATA…

By Njonjo Mue

Worth Noting:

• It was usually considered a good thing to play this role because one had a teammate, a captive audience so to speak, with whom some chemistry might develop as they spurred against the opposite team and usually the two teammates ended up together after the debate. Perhaps this role was just what the doctor ordered for me in the circumstances. And so I accepted.
• The debate was usually modeled along the lines of real parliamentary debates which were preceded by a half an hour of Question Time where the audience would try to outshine one another as they directed various questions to individuals designated as cabinet ministers – for foreign affairs, health, education, justice, agriculture, etc.
  

Part Two

[In Part One, I joined the Senior Debating Society on a trip to a meeting at Limuru Girls School, popularly known as Chox, in spite of being warned of a plot to make sure no girl should speak to anyone who had contributed to the defeat of the Choxarian basketball ball team by Accrossians in the District championships that had taken place in Bush the previous week. Upon arrival at the hall, I was dismayed to notice that my only hope of salvation was not even present for the debate. Things were looking bleak… Please read on to find out how the story concludes. ]

***

Outshining Changes…

As we made our way into the hall I kept my chin up and made a bee line for a seat that was as close as I could get to where the girls had already taken their seats. I might have been predestined to float, but I had no intention of going down without a fight.

However, before I got to my seat, the Chairman of our SDS pulled me aside and asked to see me briefly outside. “I want you to be our main speaker,” he said once we were alone.

“Wh…what? Why?” I stuttered. “And why are you just telling me now? I don’t even know the motion of the debate.”

“Unfortunately Fred Mwakazi* was supposed to be the main speaker and he bailed out on us at the last minute.”

I could understand why. Fred had been my partner in crime at the basketball court a week before and was one of the guys who had pulled out of the trip to Chox.

My initial instinct was to say no, but the Chair would not relent. “You are good at thinking on your feet and we need our best debaters if we are to outshine Changes.”

I thought about it for a moment and decided that it actually might be a good opportunity.

There were to be two proposers and two opposers of the motion.

Being the hosts, Chox would have two girls at the top table, a proposer and an opposer, while both Bush and Changes would fill the remaining two slots.

It was usually considered a good thing to play this role because one had a teammate, a captive audience so to speak, with whom some chemistry might develop as they spurred against the opposite team and usually the two teammates ended up together after the debate. Perhaps this role was just what the doctor ordered for me in the circumstances. And so I accepted.

The debate was usually modeled along the lines of real parliamentary debates which were preceded by a half an hour of Question Time where the audience would try to outshine one another as they directed various questions to individuals designated as cabinet ministers – for foreign affairs, health, education, justice, agriculture, etc.

Following Question Time, the main debate began and I made my way to my seat at the front.

Up until this point, I did not know who the other main speakers were but I was relieved to discover that my team mate in proposing the motion was Agnes Mwikali*, a fellow sixth former whom I knew quite well having met her the previous year during the schools music festival.

More importantly, she had not been present at the Busherian basketball court when my apparent unforgivable crime had been committed. There was a slight chance, therefore, that following our joint performance at the debate, she would not abandon me.

How wrong I was!!

Despite my gallant display of debating prowess, I sensed an unusual aloofness in her manner.

She also seemed eerily distant even when I attempted to lean in to compare notes on our strategy.

Unsurprisingly, no sooner had the debate ended than she quietly melted into the crowd before I even had the chance to say hello.

As was customary, the proceedings were brought to an end by the teachers who the patrons of the three clubs were each making a few remarks which no one really listened to as the boys were busy making their final calculations on how to approach their preferred girls.

As soon as the teachers had finished speaking and the meeting was declared over, most of the boys found their opposites and I resigned myself to my fate.

However, I chose to see the bright side of things, taking the opportunity for the first time to admire the well-manicured grounds and the unique architecture of the buildings, most of them dating from mid-20th Century.

I also took heart in the fact that since the boys outnumbered the girls due to the unexpected presence of ‘Changes’, I was not the only floater.

Misery loves company and I was silently gratified to note that there were a number of Busherians and Changerians who were also destined to float by the sheer reality of the numbers.

Enjoying temporarily the comfort of hiding in the midst of the ranks, we walked in a herd towards a wide verandah about a hundred metres from the hall, where refreshments of tea and biscuits had been laid out for us.

Chip of the old block…

As I stood nibbling on a cookie and speaking to my friend and housemate, D.K*., through the corner of my eye, I saw her.

My friend from the drama festival, who for some reason had skipped the debate, had suddenly materialised. She did not seem to notice me as I had my back half turned to her, but I noticed her walking into the nearby washrooms.

My heart skipped a beat.

I still did not know if she would take a stand and risk being ostracised for my sake or she too would toe the line and ignore my presence. Still, I decided to take a risk.

“D.K., just watch this,” I said confidently to my friend who did not know what was going on.

I then walked briskly and stood strategically just outside the washrooms into which she had disappeared. I was careful not to get too close or seem to block the doorway. Instead I stood facing away from the door in such a manner that when she stepped out she would find herself immediately standing next to me as if that was the plan all along.

Presently, she strode out of the washrooms and appeared shocked to find me waiting for her. But she also seemed genuinely delighted to see me. I was relieved.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she said with a big smile, her eyes dancing with excitement as we made our way, cutting through some hostile stares from her schoolmates, to serve ourselves some tea.

“And why not?” I asked. “I knew you’d come to my rescue.”

“That’s quite a risk you were willing to take, wasn’t it?” She asked with a coy smile. “How could you be so sure I would not side with the plotters?”

“I watched you die in a South African prison, remember?” I asked with a chuckle. “You didn’t seem like the kind to go with the flow.”

“You got that right,” she said cockily. “You also forgot that I am the real life granddaughter of Senior Chief Koinange, who was detained by the colonial government for eight years for supporting Mau Mau. Chip off the old block.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon talking and laughing and enjoying getting to know each other better.

I admired her guts and her rebellious streak of which I was a most grateful beneficiary that day.

I also loved her sense of humour as much as I enjoyed the looks of envy on other boys’ faces as they undoubtedly wondered where I had unearthed this rare treasure.

All too soon, it was time to make our way to the bus for the trip back to Bush, and she escorted me to the parking lot.

As the evening sun shone through the scattered clouds, we said a reluctant goodbye and tore ourselves from each other.

It was still light and so a firm handshake was all that the circumstances would allow us as we took leave of one other. But what the ebbing sunshine denied us in privacy it more than made up for by ensuring that there was enough light to enable a great cloud of witnesses to behold that the scheme that had been hatched to humiliate me that day had spectacularly flopped.

I boarded our school bus, took a seat, and waved at her through the window as she slowly receded from view.

The school motto emblazoned on the side of their bus once again leaped into my eyes. In fide vade . In faith we go. And I found myself thinking that thanks to her, I was leaving Chox with strengthened faith in the capacity of the bond of true friendship to overcome even the worst and most carefully calculated adversity.

As the bus left the compound, it was filled with the usual excited chatter of the boys as they exchanged stories of their misadventures with their partners following the debate.

But this time I remained silent, breathing a sigh of relief, but also savouring the moment earlier that afternoon when I had snatched victory out of the jaws of defeat.

[* Not their real names] 

End/nm/april23