In my life as a school principal, I have from time to time resorted to unique strategies to test the virtues of my students.
There is a time I wore the school uniform during a parent’s day and addressed the need to understand our students. It was around mid last year when unrest in schools was at its peak.
“Thank you, Sir, you being so humble really assisted my son to understand that the school nor the parents and teachers were against them,” a parent appreciated during a BOG meeting.
Rather than create tension within the school, we resorted to creating an environment where the students understood their responsibility and needed to respect the guidelines.
I was posted to the school on the outskirts of Nairobi, from my village in Kakamega and I tell you, children in the city are quite a task.
For the five years, we worked towards creating a bond between the teachers and the students. Played tournaments versus each other and even promoted the election of student leaders rather than selection by teachers.
But of course, we also changed the school diet to be more appealing. I remember during my high school days in my national school in Kakamega, the principal, a renowned physics teacher in the country, used to buy us bread for a whole week when there were rumours of a planned demonstration.
When the school football or rugby teams won the national tourneys and proceeded to the East Africa editions, the principal would buy us bread for a whole weekend. There were days when we even attended classes half days on Friday, and then the weekend started.
The Entertainment, if you remember those nights of watching movies at night, would start on Friday till Sunday.
I borrowed a leaf from my favourite school principal and used some of his strategies to keep students engaged and feel appreciated too.
But the biggest of all to me was testing their virtues.
Above all, we encouraged them to respect the subordinate staff. The cooks, security guards (many people call them watchmen, at our school they are dubbed soldiers), the secretaries, messengers and construction workers.
We also encouraged parents to assist in moulding students' behaviour.
One of the boards I planted at the school entrance reads;
On the highest throne in the world, we still sit only on our own bottom
Michel de Montaigne
While driving home a few days before Form One arrived, I saw the post and smiled. I definitely had to test the Form One arrivals.
On reporting day, I wore a security guard’s uniform, though not similar to the ones we have at school.
My wife Mandy (Amanda) picked it up at a store in the CBD.
“Going to trend again on Twitter on opening day,” she said and laughed.
In comes the new arrival (I think here’s where the trumpet is played in the movies).
I greeted parents and welcomed them to school as the other guards assisted with carrying luggage here and there.
“Young man, why is your shirt hanging? Tuck in before you enter the gates,” I politely asked a student whose shirt had an admission number printed at the bottom.
I asked another to carry his own luggage rather than track the parents from behind.
While ransacking through another, I found a 2-litre bottle of juice, a commodity we have banned in our school and it was funny yet so abominable hearing the cousin who brought him asking me to just cheza kama mimi (wave it off).
I nearly demanded to speak to the parent via a phone call but saw no need to cause drama.
You see the Ministry of Education clearly stated that students should be frisked, and property ransacked for illegal substances. We weren’t taking any chances.
I saw students from all backgrounds report to school. Like the Form One who came walking by himself with a bag only. Turned out it was an orphan. We documented his case.
A parent who threw tantrums at the gate while declining to have his student’s bag searched.
Met a majority who did not have school fees. Saw students who disrespected the guards and more.
Other than conducting the test which would give us a glimpse of where to start moulding our arrivals, I also learnt that being a guard demanded more than just security. These staff give their best while handling different personalities.
From directing parents where to park, to what not to allow in school, to even how to pay school fees.
“Kindly help me here. The queues at the banks are tiring and I had to drop my student here then rush back to pay,” a parent requested.
He looked jaded, burnt by the heat of the scorching sun. I handed over a bottle of water we stocked at the gate.
“It's Co-op Bank, usijali mama (don’t worry mum).
“Co-op Bank ni rahisi sana. We even sent a pamphlet to all parents and you can see the notices we have posted around the school just easing the school fees payment process.
“Pay school fees conveniently through MCo-opCash, M-Pesa PayBill 400222, PesaLink or at a Co-op Kwa Jirani agent near you,” I advised her.
Some parents who even came without school fees were assisted right at the bursar’s office.
With Co-op Bank, when you need a loan to pay the fees, you can apply for an MCo-opCash Salary Advance of up to Ksh500,000 with a repayment period of up to 3 months.
You can also use your Co-op VisaCard to pay for your back to school shopping at No Extra Cost and enjoy discounts at selected outlets.
Just three hours after I enrolled for the soldier duties at the gate, I was exhausted and my duties as principal were beckoning. My deputy was overwhelmed.
I wish you would have seen the look on the parent’s faces when I introduced myself as the school principal.
“Haa, I couldn't even remember it was you after we met last month when I came to seek admission for my boy,” a stunned mother laughed.
“Humility is one of the key values we uphold in our school,” I responded as the admission duties commenced.
Back to school is so demanding I tell you.