Scramble for Excellence

I opted for the third row from the front, a few meters away from the podium. I sat on a seat at the end of the row, next to a gentleman who was reading a newspaper. There were a few of us. The meeting was to begin at 9.30am. Please keep time, the letter had said. I was twenty minutes early.

When I woke up that morning, Hailey kept reminding me not to be late for the meeting at their school. She kept checking the time as I got out of the shower, as I dressed - she even knocked on my bedroom door a few times. I had to take a few swigs of tea, as she monitored that I don’t get too engrossed in watching the morning news. She pointed at the clock every few minutes to remind me that I had to hurry. “OK, OK, OK!” I resigned to leaving the house way before my scheduled time. 

Thanks to Hailey, I had to wait twenty minutes as the other pre-unit parents took their time to get to the hall where we were to have a meeting about next year’s class one admissions. The few parents who had arrived equally early were trying to keep busy; some were engrossed in their phones, browsing on their touch-screens, Galaxys, Androids, whatnot, while others chattered away. 

I pondered on what to do as I waited. Since the person seated next to me insisted on reading about Sossion and the Teacher’s Union, I was bored. There is a book I always carry in my handbag for moments like this, I remembered. I made to fetch it only to realize that I had changed handbags that morning and taken a smaller one to which I had transferred just my purse, wet wipes, lip gloss, earphones, a notebook and pen. That was all the small purse could carry anyway. No book in sight, I instead opted for some music and took out my earphones. Might as well...

Soon, three nuns walked into the hall which was now full save for a few empty chairs here and there. They were trailed by a gentleman who had a bunch of papers tucked under his arms. I regrettably tuned off U2 & Luciano Pavarotti as they belted out the song Miss Sarajevo into my ears. Awesome song! 

With a word of prayer, the meeting started at 9.48am. A wasted half an hour easily translated into equal length of wasted sleep. How I would have loved to sleep in that Saturday morning - If only Hailey would’ve let me!

They cut to the chase. The good news was that they were ready to absorb our young ones to standard one. The bad news was that there was limited space and our children, our young angels, had to jostle for that limited space. I looked around me and realized at that point that we were nothing more than competitors. This could as well have been an episode out of the series Survivor Guatemala or Caramoan or one of those little known islands. Bottom line, we all wanted the same thing. If it were up to us, we would shove each other shamelessly, elbow each other unapologetically, bribe someone even, use any means possible to get that space. I could see a few mothers I could take down with little effort. The fathers would be a handful but some of them had a small physique and would be no threat, like Mr. Sossion seated beside me, for example.

Unfortunately this was our children’s battle. And being children, innocent and all, they don’t have dirty tricks tucked up their sleeves. They don’t know how to rig or smuggle mwakenya’s to class. Yet. They will sit in a classroom, with their little pencils and little rubbers and with their little hands, they will jot down answers they can remember - If they are not too sleepy, or hungry or simply out of it. What a gamble!

On our part, we will do nothing but break a sweat like we did as we listened to the headmistress. Our hearts pounded as they explained the procedure of admission. Each parent, I am almost certain, praying that their child would be among the chosen few. 

Even as the gentleman stood to address us and went out of his way to show his prowess at dishing anecdotes, creating light moments here and there, advising us that unlike any Kenyan politician, he would not accept any bribes from any parent, we smiled and laughed with nervousness.

The parting shot at 12 noon was a stern warning not to pressure our children. “Don’t transfer your anxiety to them because that might contribute to their failure” Let the children be, they insisted. “We have taught them well, we have given them the best foundation they could ever get anywhere in the world. They are all bright boys and girls”, they assured us. “Sadly, we can only absorb a certain number to proceed with us, and this test is the only fair way to make that selection. Should your child not make it, it doesn’t mean they are weak”

This is just one war I wish I could fight for Hailey, but sadly, my karate skills notwithstanding (or lack thereof), I can’t.  

To calm my nerves as I walked out of the hall, I put U2 and Pavarotti back on “….Here she comes, Heads turn around. Here she comes, To take her crown…” they bellowed into my ear, picking up from where they’d paused. Miss Sarajevo – Listen to this song and tell me if the great Tenor by Pavarotti doesn’t give you goose bumps. While at it, read a bit of the history on war-torn Sarajevo, Bosnia in the 90’s and then you’ll fully appreciate the song. Yes, there is a connection.

Meanwhile, what is it they say; que sera, sera? 

Hailey by any other name…

Mama Hailey, my other name, threatened to change one afternoon when Hailey got back from school and told me she had decided that she does not want to be called Hailey anymore. I know, unbelievable!

“What? Why mum. What’s wrong with your name?” was my reaction. I was shocked of course because I have always believed (conceitedly perhaps?) that I named my children well. I call both my kids ‘Mum’ on a regular basis when we are on good terms, best buds and stuff. Then they do something wrong and I yell out all their three names:

HAILEY IRENE CHERUTO! Or HEIDI RENEE CHEROP!

Yeah, I like the effect this has on them. They kinda freeze and look around as if to think “Ooops! She saw that? Does this woman have eyes on her back?” or “Damn, here comes another lecture!” or “Wha….what did I do now?” I can only imagine what goes through their minds when I do that.

Being a mum is fun. Only until your kids turn into teenagers, then you start pulling out your hair, strand after strand. After snakes, teenagers scare me.  

“I want to change my name” Hailey said

“What do you want to be called instead?” I prodded

“I want to be called Jane” she replied matter-of-factly 

I expected some phenomenal name, you know. You don’t pass off a name like Hailey only to choose a name like Jane (no offense Jane) but Jane is just so..so… ‘Plain Jane’, you know? Please tell me I am not alone on this one. I expected a name like Felicity, Gwendolyne, Gwyneth, Aurora…ok, I’m pushing it. But you catch my drift? 

“Jane? Why Jane, baby girl?”

She was quiet.

“Mum, Hailey is a very good name, let nobody lie to you. Don’t change your name. It’s a very good name” I stressed the VERY. GOOD. Just for emphasis.

“OK” she agreed.

Alrighty then! That was easy?

PHEW! She is still Hailey. And I am still mama Hailey. God knows where that was coming from. I am guessing she likes someone in school called Jane. Or maybe her teacher made a remark in passing, like “Hailey? Why weren’t you given an easy name like Jane?” Or she heard someone telling Jane that she has a good name? Or some braggart called Jane kept telling her that the name Jane is better than Hailey? Seriously Jane? No offense sweetheart but your name ain’t all that.

I don’t know what brought this on but am glad we put it to rest and she never pursued it anymore. In your face, JANE! Oh, you wanna cry now Jane? 

If I were Hailey, I would be on my knees right about now, thanking God that she does not bear a ridiculous name the likes of ‘North West’. Kim Kardashian’s newborn daughter has every right to demand a name change when she is older. If she ever does, I will completely have her back. North West. Tsk! Not Hailey though. No. I love Hailey. And I love mama Hailey too…

What’s in a name anyway? The other day, Hailey and her sister were playing house then Hailey kept calling “Elkana! Elkana! Elkana!”

We got confused and asked her who Elkana was.

She pointed at Heidi who seemed not to be getting with the program.

“She is not called Heidi, she is Elkana” Hailey verbally ‘baptized’ her sister.

I then noticed that Heidi had Hailey’s school bag strapped on her back, and it dawned on me that she was supposed to be Hailey’s school-going daughter. On many occasions I have heard Heidi calling “Mum” and when I responded, she would shoo me away and tell me that she was in fact not calling me but Hailey, her “mother” in the game.

Elkana? Really? Of all the names she could think of…? My Hailey is something else.

Mama Jane, Mama Elkana or Mama Hailey? I pick mama Hailey any day of the week.

Back to Elkana. Isn’t Elkana a boy’s name anyway?

To the Fathers who know

If you have children, you want nothing but the best for them. The best for them includes having the man who made those children with you playing a part in their lives and helping in raising them. You want him to help in providing their financial, emotional and psychological needs. Every child needs their father. And yes, every mother knows that.

Unfortunately, not every woman can guarantee their children that their father will always be there because well, some men are cut out to be fathers others are just not. Yet they all get the ability to procreate. How I wish Mother Nature could sift through the grain and separate these chaff by tagging them so that women would know what they are getting themselves into!

Some men know what it means to be a father – the impact you will have on your offspring’s lives, the lessons you will instill in them and your ability to protect them and guide them through life is what matters more than anything else. It all boils down to being there when your children need you. Once you are a father, your biggest and most important responsibility is to your children.

Other men on the other hand, have no clue what it means to be a father. They seem to think that all it takes to be a father is make a woman pregnant. They could care less what their children eat, wear or where they get life lessons from.

As we celebrate Father’s Day this year, my joy is that the clueless fathers seem to be decreasing by the number and we are seeing more men taking the fatherhood responsibility seriously. I see more men today raising their children regardless of the relationship with the children’s mother. I see fathers dropping their children off to school, tying their shoe laces and even carrying their infants in their arms, diaper bags hanging from their shoulders, to clinic appointments.

More men are changing diapers, cooking and getting their children ready for school. I can only pray and hope that the women in their lives are not using this very positive transition to take a back seat.

Besides my father who I waxed lyrical about during last year's Father's Day (how a year flies!) I choose to also give accolades to the father of my two beautiful daughters who, truth be told, knows what it means to be a father.

A father who knows that regardless of where we are at in our lives, the one thing that will never change is that he has two daughters who need him. That he has a responsibility to take care of them, school them and guide them so that they do not stray.

He is a father who teaches his daughters about kindness and gratitude. He encourages them to take their plates to the kitchen once they are done eating –help mummy, he says. He teaches them how to put their room in order, even though all they get right is how to arrange their shoes in a beeline while the bed remains a mess. When they proudly come to fetch him from the sitting room to go and inspect their room, both holding each of his hands, he indulges them and heads to inspect the ‘neat’ room with nothing but praise for the two. He claps with enthusiasm and as if by prompting the girls put their hands on their waist, swaying from side to side as he sings: “Well done well done, try again another day, very good girls! Wonderful girls!”

He insists that they say thank you when they are given anything and that they apologize to each other, and to others, when they do wrong.

A man who hustles so that his daughters can have the best.  Who knows his daughters’ needs without prompting. A man who has made it his responsibility to clip his children’s finger nails, wipe their noses when they have a cold and who whips up a good meal for them from time to time. 

A man who never misses a chance to tell his daughters that he loves them.

A man who knows what it means to be a father. A fantastic father.

Happy father’s day to the father of my children and to all the fathers who know.