MAJOTI; MY SECONDARY SCHOOL HEADMASTER

Dedicated to Fidelis Balakasi, for the trust you had in me.

 

He was generally a hated person because of what he would do when you crossed his path. I crossed his path thrice. I was the school head prefect on two of these occasions and I got caught once. The students liked to hate Majoti. There were also times, some teachers told us remarks so as to hate Majoti, my secondary school head teacher. 

I joined my secondary school in January of 2007. On this particular Sunday, I was so excited about going to secondary school. But fear ate me up as the hours drew closer. Somebody came and told me whilst I was packing at home that school opening had instead been shifted to Monday and that I would have to report then. So I left home and went to the Catholic Mission 300 metres or so north of our home to take bicycle rides and play a few games. The secondary school I was going to was a further 200 metres to the west of the Catholic parish. 

Mtendere Secondary School, Dedza, Malawi.

As I was playing, I saw some students passing by “matola” ready for the opening of the new term. You should have seen me. At their sight, I immediately ran home, screamed at my mum.

“Ama, sukulu ndi lero amanama!!” (School opens today mum and not Monday!)

So my mum, sisters and brother helped me pack the remaining things in a hurry, and off we left. We got to school around 3PM on that chilly Sunday afternoon. It was quiet for all I had known the enrolment to be since I had been educated at a primary school just down the earth road to Mtendere Secondary School. We found a countable number of students who welcomed me, and told me school was indeed opening on Monday and that they had only come because they did not get the communication.

That marked the start of a third stage in my academic journey.

I was finally at Mtendere Secondary School; the school my mother had always wanted me to attend. One of her reasons was that her mother was part of the team from the village who helped in building the school as labourers. So I did not dispute this fact after she had explained to me this and other reasons. 

After my junior secondary, I returned to school for my senior secondary studies. We changed corridors. Apart from the fact that nobody generally failed junior secondary exams, the excitement itself was just more than that, it was fused with the change of corridors, that of a greater challenge, passing by the headmaster’s office when going to class and not the staff room as was the case with the junior section. 

At the first assembly of the new term, one big thing had happened. We could not locate Brother Magomero, whom we fondly called BIG (B.I.G). Instead, Mr Masaila, whom we nicknamed AMWIBA (for his pronunciation of amoeba in biology) would give the welcoming address. He informed us of a change in headship. 

Brother Balakasi had replaced Brother Magomero as our school principal. As was characteristic of him he concluded, “the term is drawing to a close, remember to ask your parents and guardians for transport money back home”, to which we would laugh and rise for the national anthem.

That was it. Wondering what the leadership meant for us. 

He was to be known for his stringent punishments and lack of mercy when one hand offended him. At one instance he placed us in the sun for a whole 2hours for being late for class. I realised, as the term progressed that Majoti was a strict disciplinarian and he would not accept anything below standard. The school uniform got rebranded to include our school logo, our entertainment schedule changed, our diet changed and the rest remained unchanged. I came to encounter him sooner than I had expected at an occasion I cannot recall as he realised that he had taught my elder brother Felix at Marist Secondary School. 

He greeted me with a smile everyone always thought was fake. We exchanged a few remarks and parted. 

One sunday afternoon, my friend and I had some work to finish up. It was an illegal scheme. We had belief Brother Balakasi had gone to Lilongwe to play golf. So we sneaked into the administration office and set up where we wanted to work. 

 

Just a few minutes later, we heard the door knob twist, from nowhere he was at his door. I released the computer mouse, ran through the staff room door, up the steps at the dining hall, down the stairs and into my dormitory, with all the sun and the heat that afternoon, straight into my blankets. At this time, I knew I was in hot soup. I shivered beneath my beddings as I was unsure on whether he had actual seen me or not. 

“Chikondi!”, he called my name. “I know you are not sleeping, follow me to my office.”

To be continued.