The Two Famous Girls
The two girls were never friends. No, not really. They were in the same year, shared most of their classes and routinely said hi to each other whenever they would meet. In the often crowded dining hall they had been allocated the same table, table number eleven. Routinely, they had assumed their sitting positions adjacent and opposite each other, so that whenever it was Wairimu’s turn to serve the food, it would automatically be Muthoni’s turn to clean the table and vice versa, perhaps an indication of how their lives run parallel and mildly consequential to each other.
They would sometimes talk to each other, but certainly not as much as the other girls would talk about them. The other girls knew that Wairimu was from a poor family and Muthoni from a rich family. On their first day of school Wairimu was accompanied by her mother. In a worn out pair of rubber shoes, a ‘lesso’ around her waist and a tattered head scarf that served as cushioning for the sling to the heavy bundle of firewood hanging on her back she stood in stark contrast compared to the other parents.
Wairimu was in a ‘back-to-school’ back pack, and held a paper back with a loaf of bread and some local food stuffs. Her hair was cut low, a hairstyle that most of the other girls associated with low cost maintenance. Muthoni on the other hand came accompanied by her father in a grey Lexus. She emerged from the car clad in the latest edition of ‘toughees’ shoes and clutching a mini-purse in her right hand. Her hair was in a perm with added extensions that she was later made to remove as the principal insisted that it was against the school rules. Her father who was in a well cut black suit seemed to have little time for her as his blackberry phone kept buzzing every other minute he put it down.
“She is such a bookworm.”
“Yeah! I bet she has already read all the books in the library by now,” the other girls would mumble crowding in groups during night preps while Wairimu secluded herself to one corner of the classroom.
“Hey, my dad bought me a new phone.” Muthoni would respond in complete disregard of what the other girls were talking about. She loved being the center of attention and had an uncanny way of achieving this. “Wow! Can we see it?” “Of course.” and just like that Wairimu seized being the subject of conversation. Muthoni came from the city. She lived with her father in a big house whose emptiness was only made worse by the absence of her mother. She was no longer with them. She had died in a car accident just as Muthoni was about to sit for her final primary school examinations and since then Muthoni could only see her life taking a turn for the worse. For instance, she could not understand why her father had to send her so far away for her secondary education to a rural school that she disliked.
“Dad!” she would constantly nag, “why do I have to go to school in ‘ushago’ yet Charles and Stella go to Consolata, I want to go to Consolata too…”
Her father always found a way to dodge this question. He really did not know what to tell her. All he knew was that he had to respect his late wife’s wishes. She had always maintained that her daughter should go to a rural school for her secondary education. Having already been accustomed to an easy life in the city, she knew it was important for her to see and experience a different side of life. The side that she grew up on.
The second born daughter in a family of five children, Muthoni’s mother grew up in a remote village on the slopes of the Abadere Ranges. Her aging father, a traditionalist accustomed to the rural life, didn’t think much of education and as a result his children spent most of their young years labouring in the hot sun on their two acre farm land than seeking knowledge in the shadowy confines of a classroom. And so at the tender age of twelve after witnessing her elder sister being married off at fifteen she ran away from home and found refuge in a catholic monastery that took care of orphaned children and provided them with a basic education. She worked hard in her studies and was able to gunner enough marks to gain acceptance in a tertiary institution. Being the first from the monastery to achieve this, the church was encouraged to source for funds to sponsor her university education. She later on married and moved to the city, and until her untimely death she remained a steadfast contributor to the monastery’s foundation set up to aid in sponsoring girls’ education in the area. Muthoni never knew this, and her father hardly found the time to talk to her let alone explain all that. All that mattered to him was that he kept his late wife’s wishes and that Muthoni reported to school when required to and so to quell her constant nagging during the holiday, he had bought her a sleek new phone.
The silence that lingered within the room was vexing and despite the sound proof walls, it was impossible not to feel the intensity of the rain pounding outside. One cold morning during the second month of a new term of school, the two girls found themselves summoned to the principal’s office. Muthoni was the first to be called in and as she stood there in front of the huge mahogany desk, her eyes fixated on the wall clock encrypted in bold with the school motto ‘striving for a brighter future’ she couldn’t help but feel a tinge of excitement in anticipation of what was on hand.
The principal reached for the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a sleek android phone which she gently placed on the table. “Muthoni, you do know that students are not allowed mobile phones in this school and there are some severe repercussions for those found breaking this rule”, the principal said staring sternly at her.
Muthoni knew. She knew the rule very well and it was precisely this knowledge that she had used as an abetment to her plan. Her father had declined all her requests to have her transferred to another school and so when she had asked for a phone during the holidays, sneaked it into school and cheekily had it found out it was all in a premeditated fashion. A sordid smile fell from her face as she watched the principal sign the expulsion letter. Briskly strutting out of the office she did not even bother to summon Wairimu into the office as she had been instructed to. The mission had been accomplished.
Wairimu dragged her feet stealthily towards the office door, not sure whether to knock or let herself in she froze for a while before the principal signalled her to come in. she stood at the dead center of the red carpeted floor, her hands tightly clasped together not certain if her shivering was due to the cold or the overwhelming anxiety that crept through her entire body. However as she watched the principal go through a large file on her desk, her prescience made her certain of what she had been called there for and how impossible it would be to impede the undesired outcome this time around.
“I am sorry Wairimu,” the principal’s sharp voice finally cut through the silence, “but this time we just have to give you an indefinite suspension.”
“But, but ….” Wairimu helplessly tried to chip in.
“No buts Wairimu, you very well know that we have pardoned you numerous times before, besides the monastery has informed us that since the demise of their major donor, it is becoming increasingly difficult for them to meet their obligations. We are sorry but there is nothing that we can do for now.”
Wairimu felt every bit of those words tear through the efforts of her laboured dreams and slowly sweep away the selfless sacrifice of her dear mother. Devastated and with tears welling in her eyes, she clutched her suspension letter in her hands and made her way out of the office in the same direction as Muthoni had walked a few moments ago. The rain outside served well to conceal her tears but little to take away her pain.
