Jamhuri High School - Class of '91

We joined Jamhuri High School on 25th January 1988, having come from diverse family and educational backgrounds, and were beginning a new chapter in our young lives. I was relieved that in the multitude of strange faces were a few guys from my primary school. Although we would soon form many new friendships, our first instinct was to gravitate towards each other. Among my former schoolmates was Collins, whom I had been quite close to in primary school. It was great having him around. We even found out that we had been posted to the same stream.

During our times, bullying of form 1s (some of the older guys referred to us as ‘rabble’) was not rampant in the school. Maybe that is because it was a day school. But there are those who would still have wanted to try and have a go at us. I was somewhat physically tiny when I joined high school, and I would have been a prime target for bullies. But some good fortune favoured me. My friend, Collins, had a cousin in form 3, and he met us on our first day at school. After introductions, he told us something that made my heart skip a beat. “If anybody dares harass you, just let me know,” he said. “I will deal with them.”

Collins had earlier told me that his cousin was the current holder of the Mr ‘Jamu’ body building title. Looking at his muscular and well-built body I could see why he had won the title. And I was so glad that he would be there, looking out for us. With the issue of our personal safety sorted out, I could now focus on other matters.

The Teachers

On the first day of school, we, our parents, and our guardians met with the school staff in the school hall. The introductory session was led by the principal at that time, Mr Wambwa. Collins and I had been assigned to Form 1C, and we got to see the class teacher, the late Mr Khan.

We were informed that the school had six streams (A to F), each with 40 students. The exception was form 1 and 2 which, for some reason, had seven streams. We thus had a G stream for first and second form, which meant that the maximum student population in form 1 to form 4 would be 1040.

During our days Jamhuri had a high turnover of principals, and I’m not sure why. Mr Wambwa left the school not long after we joined, and was replaced by Mr Wanjau. Wanjau stayed for about a year and a half before exiting. After him came Mr Said Salim, who was still the principal by the time we left.

The deputy principal at the time was Mr Okungu, with the discipline master being Mr Olet. Guys had nicknamed him ‘Omelette’. Despite being the discipline master, Olet was a very jolly fellow, and would elicit laughter just by getting up on stage to address students during morning parade. Fortunately, the entire time I was in ‘Jamu’ I never got to be a real partaker of his discipline services. That was just as well because I once heard him caning a student. I happened to be passing by his office upstairs and what I heard was not funny.

The only occasion when I had a brush with him was one time I was late in coming to school. I found him at the school gate in the company of some prefects. The handful of us who had come in late were asked get down and make twenty press-ups each. I still remember the amused look on Olet’s face as we heaved and puffed out our punishment.

Punishment for various crimes in school came in different forms. One of the most common reprimands was to be asked to wipe the dining hall tables after lunch. The tables could be quite messy because, after eating, some students would empty the remains on their plates on the tables. The unpleasant task, which was commonly referred to as DT (short for detention), took place between 1:55 p.m., when lunch hour was coming to an end, and around 2:05 p.m., as the afternoon lessons were beginning.

DT was a light kind of punishment. The heavier kind of chastisement included cutting grass for a whole morning, which we referred to as ‘golf’. From time to time, especially when seated in the classes that bordered the sports fields, you would see an unfortunate soul labouring in the hot sun, ‘playing golf’ and paying for his sins.

    Some time after we left Jamhuri Mr Olet became the deputy principal. Some of the other teachers that taught us through the years included:

• Mrs Kihara, a maths teacher who was quite hard on us in form 2, but whose attitude dramatically changed when we got to form 3 and form 4. She seemed to treat us with more respect as seniors.

• And then there was Mrs Kimondo (I think she taught History), whom I had a run-in with in form 1. She had given us a continuous assessment test (CAT) which I failed. When she gave us the marked papers I tore up mine and threw it out of the window. Unfortunately, she noticed my impudent actions although I did not realise it. I was therefore quite surprised and dumbfounded when she walked to my desk and asked me for the paper. I told her that I had thrown it out of the window. She asked me to go out and get it. Under the amused stares of my classmates, I walked out and went round the building. I collected the scattered pieces of paper and returned with them to class. As you can imagine, the teacher had a field day with me, determined to make me an example to those of like mind. The drama ended with her asking me to write an official letter, apologising for my rude actions. I was to take the letter to her at the staffroom the following day at break time.

Needless to say, I was thoroughly embarrassed at being put on the spot. That evening, at home, I quickly scribbled a random note which I took to Mrs Kimondo at the staffroom. It was not easy walking in amidst the teachers, some of whom stared at me in amusement, some of whom gave me suspicious looks. Mrs Kimondo looked at my ‘official’ letter and shook her head. “This is not an official letter,” she said, handing the note back to me. “Go and write a proper official letter and bring it to me tomorrow.”

Feeling hot under the collar I walked out of the staffroom. I was to suffer more humiliation the following day when I returned with an official apology letter that still did not meet the required standards. I was sent away after being asked to find out how an official letter was written. And that is how I knew how to write an official letter. I made the necessary enquiries and got the help that I really needed. When I took the letter to the teacher for the third time she accepted it, much to my relief. Needless to say, my conduct improved drastically after that.

• There was Mr Varicatt, a good-natured gentleman of Indian origin, who taught us English Literature in form 3. He took us through Betrayal in the City and Things Fall Apart, which were the set books at the time. This was in 1990, during the time of the first Gulf War, and, as a class, we soon discovered that Varicatt loved discussing that war. If we did not feel like studying literature on a hot afternoon, all that needed to happen was for one of us to ask the teacher to comment on Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait. He would go off on a tangent, and give us a detailed analysis of what was going on between the allied armies and Saddam Hussein’s 1 million-man army. Half the lesson would be spent that way, before he realised that he had digressed.

• An outstanding memory is that of Mrs Munzyu, the Physical Geography teacher, who hailed from Russia. In 1990, when she was teaching us about inselbergs and related physical features, she told us in her Russian accent that she had been teaching the subject for 13 years. What amazed me was that she would always walk into class carrying only a stick of chalk – no notes. Apparently, she had all the required information in her head, and once she began putting it on the board you had to be keen in order to keep up.

One afternoon, Mrs Munzyu organised for the class to walk over to the nearby Nairobi River where she gave us living examples of flood plains, meanders, and the like.

• I recall Mr Almasi, who taught us French, and who also taught IRE. He was known for using the phrase “Zéro monsieur” when one did not get something right.

• We had Mr Ntaho, the Physics teacher, who hailed from the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). I remember he was fond of starting his sentences with the word ‘normally’. The guy was good with his stuff, and I actually started liking Physics in form 3.

• There was Mrs Kisilu, who taught us Swahili in form 2C. I remember she had a son in the neighbouring City Primary School.

• Mrs Kinyanjui, who taught our Agriculture class in form 3.

• Mr Kisenyu, my Art & Design teacher in form 1 and form 2.

• Mrs Musalia, my class teacher in form 3V, who taught CRE.

• Mrs Njuki, who taught me in form 1, though I can’t recall the subject she was handling.

• Mrs Odoyo, who taught us English in form 1. She would make each one in the class read a paragraph from the literature books we were studying. 

Some of the subordinate staff members that I remember include:

• Jackton, the stationery storekeeper.  

• A cook who was always grinning at us as we queued for lunch in the dining hall serving area. I remember, on numerous occasions, seeing his face drip with sweat as he struggled to turn a massive lump of ugali in an equally large aluminium sufuria.

The Sports Scene

Another teacher of note was the games master, whose name I think was Mr Mwangi. His outstanding nickname is what remains with me to date – ‘Firefox’. When we joined ‘Jamu’ we found him being called that, and I never bothered to find out the origins of the name. But ‘Fayaa’ (the short version of his nickname) was a popular guy with the students, particularly those who were involved in sports. ‘Jamu’ students, in our day, were well-known for their enthusiastic support for their sports teams. The cheering sessions were known as ‘morale’, and being in the crowd of supporters made you feel like you were in heaven.

“Ah, Jamu, eeeh …” cheer leaders like ‘Kotosh’ would call.

“Ah, Jamu, aaah!” the crowd would respond.

And then a spirited song would start. One of the modified songs featured a line that ‘Firefox’ would use when commencing a team training session –

Fire fire fire fire fall on me

Fire fire fire fire fall on me

Set the mboro rorring (set the ball rolling) fire fall on me

The school motto – Effort Unending – would be chanted every now and then, as the noise went on.

The school hockey team was particularly strong in our days. Some of the guys I remember in the team were Aura, ‘Karao’, Mugo, David, and Rahim. My best memory is the 1989 Nairobi Province finals that featured Jamhuri and Lenana. The match was held at the City Park Hockey Stadium, not far from the school, and the whole school was allowed to go to the stadium that afternoon (kudos to the Principal). The handful of ‘Changes’ supporters that had come in their school bus were no match for the crowd of crazy ‘Jamu’ population that turned out for the match. We won the game 3 – 2 and qualified to represent Nairobi Province in the nationals.

After the game we marched in jubilation all the way to the CBD, causing a massive traffic jam on the way. As we went past the Old Nation House, where Nation Media had their offices, we attracted their attention, and our picture appeared in the sports pages of the following day’s paper.

The school rugby team was also performing quite well in our days, and was being coached by Mr Ludenyi, one of the Art and Design teachers. He taught me in the subject in form 1. As indicated earlier, I was rather small in stature when I joined high school, and I remember him one day referring to me as a brief man. It took me a while to realise that he was joking about my being short. Thankfully, by the time I got to form 3 I was 5’7’’, and taller than him. Ha!

Anyway, Mr Ludenyi was doing a good job with the rugby team, and we held our own against schools such as Lenana and Rift Valley Academy (RVA). Some of the players I remember in the team included Muniafu, Mukuria, and ‘Waga’.

I am reminded of the swimming pool instructor and lifesaver, whose name I cannot remember. What I remember is a brief torturous session I once had with him as he helped me improve my stamina in the pool. I also remember him making a demonstration dive from the top board during a swimming gala. He was a rather plump fellow and everyone held their breath as he climbed to the top. A friend seated next to me joked that the swimming instructor would displace all the water from the pool! Nevertheless, the lifesaver made an excellent dive much to everyone’s delight.

There were some excellent swimmers in the school, among them Amenya and Sabaya. There was also Albert, whom I assume was related to the famous swimmer, Anthony Lihalaka. He was perhaps the best swimmer in the school, and it was nice seeing his mum seated among the parents, witnessing her son win race after race.

The school football team was not doing as well as the hockey and rugby teams. The school football giants in our day included Ofafa Jericho High School and Eastleigh High School. There were probably many reasons why ‘Jamu’ was not a football super power, but I am reminded of the ‘beef’ we had with Upper Hill School in 1989. The two schools had been set to play against each other in the Nairobi Province games. For some reason the team supporters disagreed, and there was a fight which resulted in a two-year ban for both teams.

Both Jamhuri and Upper Hill were day schools, and the animosity threatened to spill beyond school borders. In class guys would narrate stories of how Upper Hill students were looking for ‘Jamu’ guys in town after school, with the sole purpose of beating them up. And so we started walking in groups when in town, on our way home, to avoid being singled out by our adversaries. When we could not avoid walking alone, we would take off our ties which were the only distinguishing features of our school uniforms. City High School, also located in Ngara, Nairobi, and Aquinas High School had similar uniforms to ours. Without our ties on, it would thus not be easy to tell that we were from ‘Jamu’.  

After serving the ban we were again eligible to play. As fate would have it, we were pooled against Upper Hill in 1991, and we fought again. Fortunately, this time our team was not banned. All this may have affected the performance of our football team in the region.

Although the school team may not have been performing well, ‘internal’ teams were on fire. There was such an abundance of footballing talent in the school, I could not understand why the national football team, Harambee Stars, did not prosper. Why couldn’t their scouts come to schools and get players? Anyway, at the end of each term, inter-form football tournaments would be organised. Each class would raise a team and play against other classes. The form 3 Yellow (3Y) class of 1990, in particular, was like a professional football academy. All the star footballers seemed to have gone into that class. Some names come to mind – Eric ‘Cantona’, Kadhis, ‘I Jah Man’, and Augustine. The form 2A class of the same year was also full of talented footballers. I remember a guy called Sila.

During the inter-form games it was exciting to join our class team during half-time team talk. Since there was no team coach, the players would discuss the game amongst themselves, encouraging and correcting one another. The rest of the classmates would chip in with helpful observations for the team.

A Time of Transition

During the A-level system of education Jamhuri had classes up to form 6. When we were in form 1 the school did not have form 4s (because of the introduction of the 8-4-4 education system), but had form 5 and 6 students, who included girls. The ladies, though few, would always fascinate the boys, for obvious reasons. By the time we got to form 3 the last of the A-levellers had left, and the school became a boys-only institution.

When we joined ‘Jamu’ form 1s and 2s wore shorts as part of school uniform, with the seniors (form 3s and 4s) having the privilege of wearing trousers. Fortunately, we only had to wear shorts in form 1. The following year trousers were introduced for all students. ‘Traos’ made us feel really dignified, and we were glad that the privilege came a year earlier for the class of ’91. Some guys even started coming to school in trousers before we had been officially issued with the dark grey trousers by the school.

Even with that, I recall the strange things we would do with our uniforms. For example, guys were in the habit of modifying their trousers, making the legs narrower, to the extent that they almost became skin tight. Then there was this thing about making the knots of our ties so small and so tight that it was not easy unknotting it. One would simply pull it open enough to remove it, and leave it that way, to wear the following morning. As the term progressed, the knots would get dirty and shiny.

Guys would also trim the bottom of the tie, such that instead of having a V-shape it would be flat. For sure, we were free and happy souls, and we loved expressing ourselves. Somehow, we were able to get away with such things in school.

A Very Good Idea

One of the highlights of our days in ‘Jamu’ was the school lunch programme. Back then, lunch was charged at Kshs 360 per term. At Kshs 1,080 per year, the food was fairly affordable, particularly considering the quality. I’ll be the first to admit that those meals tasted really good. Even Genge artiste, Jua Cali, an alumni of ‘Jamu’, agrees. He was asked in a TV interview of something good he remembers of the school, and he mentioned that the lunch was over the top.

The menu was fairly varied. Mondays – rice and mincemeat; Tuesdays – rice and thick bean stew (popularly known as madondo); Wednesdays – ugali (fondly known as sembe) and boneless beef stew; Thursdays - rice and thick bean stew (madondo) again; Fridays – rice and mincemeat. The reason we repeated rice and madondo on Thursdays was because we used to take githeri and a banana on Thursdays. The meal had been nicknamed ‘murram’ because it was made of dry maize and beans, and was difficult to ‘process.’ I know some guys who never used to eat it, preferring to buy themselves something at the school canteen. After complaints escalated on the meal, it was done away with (hurray!) and replaced with rice and thick bean stew.

Vegetarians had their own meals served alongside the rest of the school meals. For instance, I would see my classmate and buddy, Pritesh, taking mashed potatoes and green pea stew on Wednesdays.

Lunchtime in school could be a rather dramatic affair. First, there was always the rush to be the first in line when the lunch bell rang. Form 1s and 2s had their own entrance to the dining hall (DH), with form 3s and 4s having their own. Hunger was characteristic of our existence in school, and being among the first in line had the obvious advantage of dealing early with the problem of ubao (hunger pangs). Of course there were those of us who came to the dining hall a while later and found a way of cutting into the line, with the help of their friends.

Each student would be issued with a meal card at the beginning of each term, and this was the precious document that gained one admittance into the dining hall. The card had all the dates of the term printed on it, and each day was ticked by dining hall duty prefects as we went in. The meal cards were issued under the strict control of class teachers, but some enterprising fellows would find ways of getting more than one. That, of course, meant that they could eat twice on the same day. Needless to say, we envied them.

But they had to be clever about it, lest a prefect noticed their repeat performance. One way was to go very early for lunch, then go much later for the second round. Another trick was to go in a sweater or blazer the first time, then remove the sweater and carry a bag the second time. Yet another device was to use the different entrances to get into the dining hall. Towards the end of lunch hour one was allowed to use any of the entrances into the DH, and the duty prefects were less likely to detect anyone going in for a second round of lunch.

In a number of cases, some school terms would be longer than others by a few days. This meant that an old meal card that was not marked on the last days of the term could still be used to eat a second round of lunch. Those who were thus discerning did not throw away their meal cards after the term ended. You just never knew when they would come in handy.   

Break time was a very welcome affair in high school, as we would be extremely hungry. The short period between 11:05 a.m. and 11:25 a.m. was enough to walk to the school tuck shop and get a much-needed snack. One of the all-time favourites was the ‘combi’, which was a killer combination of a long mandazi and a meat or vegetable samosa. Even without a drink to accompany it, it made for delicious munching as we walked around school chatting. If I remember well, the mandazi cost 1/-, the meat samosa 1/²⁰, and the vegetable samosa 1/-. If one did not want to take a ‘combi’ there was also a fruit cake and a sponge cake that each cost 5/-. Life was quite good.     

The Social Scene

Like with all high schools, there was a lot of socialising going on in Jamhuri. It all started with extra-curricular activities such as clubs, which would meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays over lunch hour. There were diverse clubs featuring varied interests such as drama, debate, and writing. We had a school magazine titled The Spyy, which was published in somewhat irregular fashion. One time it would be on and then it would disappear.

One of the most popular clubs was one that you would actually not have expected to be popular. It was known as the Swahili Literary Society (SLS). SLS was supposed to be a club that promoted the good use of the Swahili language among students. Debates in Swahili were supposed to be one way of achieving this objective. But that is not what made SLS popular. Rather, the club became a forum for making fun of each other, a practice that was popularly known as kutupa ma-bomb. The room would fill to capacity as we came to listen to guys ‘dissing’ each other. I remember one guy being accused of going to Wimpy and producing his meal card!

There was another reason why SLS was a hit. Once in a while, the club would organise visits to other schools, especially girls’ schools, and that was incentive enough to be part of the club. During our days, we considered Moi Girls School, Nairobi, our ‘sister’ school, and visits there on special Saturdays were something that many looked forward to. Sadly, I was not such an enthusiast. I will explain.

The main objective of visiting girls’ schools was not to improve our Swahili or debate skills. Guys would go there to socialise with the young ladies, which was not a bad thing. But there was a down side to all the glamour. One could end up failing to connect with any of the girls, a very undesirable phenomenon that was known as ‘floating’ or ‘breezing’. You would end up as the laughing stock of the trip.

What happened during such a trip did not remain with the trip. The following Monday, during parade, reference would be made to those who had ‘breezed’ during the outing, and that was quite damaging to the egos of those who fell victim. For these reasons, I never went for any of those trips. Yes; I’m ashamed to admit that I was a coward in every sense of the word, but I was not ready to be in the headlines during parade. 

But that was not the main reason why I avoided the club trips. The real reason was that I was very shy while in high school. Naturally, therefore, girls instilled the fear of electricity in me. My classmate and good friend, Tonui, kept encouraging me to attend one of the trips to ‘Bush’ (Alliance Girls) or Moi Girls, aka ‘Kabbz’ (or was it spelt as ‘Quabbz’?). He was a ‘natural’ with the ladies, and could not understand what my fear was. One time he even came up with a rather interesting proposal.

When I objected to attending an upcoming trip he wanted to know what the exact problem was. I told him that I was afraid of ‘floating’. “You will not ‘breeze’,” he assured me. “I will be there with you.”

“What if you catch up with some babe and disappear?” I protested.

“Here’s the plan,” he told me. “When it’s time to mingle I will first make sure that I ‘hook you up’ before I get a girl for myself. What do you say?”

My fear, though, surpassed the allure of his suggestion, and I never went. It was insane of me to turn down such an offer because, in truth, I actually wanted to participate in the outing. As a result, I never made much use of the school bus (a very neat vehicle, whose registration was KUV 323) or the school van. The only trips I ever went for were actually organised by teachers. One was a Geography class outing to Hell’s Gate National Park, when we were in form 3, and the other was an Agriculture class outing to Limuru Boys’ Centre, when we were in either form 3 or form 4.

By virtue of being students in a day school, matatus were a big part of our lives. As one would expect, we rode in ‘mats’ that were playing the best music. In our high school days, artistes like Madonna, Black Box, Technotronic, and Rick Astley were ruling the music scene, and it is their sound we looked out for. Funk was our genre of music. All this was made better by the fact that students of Ngara Girls’ School (which was a day school then) used the same matatus as us, i.e., route number 6 or 9. That was not our ‘sister’ school, but who knew what could happen as we got around each other?

Anyway, the matatu culture got worse in the evening. Guys were known to wait at the bus stage for over an hour for a particular ‘mat’, which meant that some would get home quite late. It is no wonder that out of a population of over 210 only about 60 would make it to university. There was a particular guy in our form 2 class who would come to school only three or four times an entire term. Word had it that anachapanga raundi na mat fulani – the rest of the time he would be in a particular matatu.    

Last Days

Eventually, we found ourselves in form 4, and soon the KCSE exams were upon us. We prepared accordingly, and got ready to tackle the 10 dreaded papers. All went well until it emerged that some of the exams had leaked to a few schools in the area. One of the papers alleged to have been compromised was the Biology theory. Unfortunately, by the time these allegations surfaced, the paper had already been sat. The other paper suspected of leaking was History, and the exam, as scheduled, was cancelled. We were called in to sit for the re-set paper about 10 days later, and it happened to be our last paper.

The said exam leak would end up affecting us. When the results were released, we noticed that we all had D in Biology. Friends from some of the surrounding schools told us that they had also been issued with D in the subject. The blanket punishment was quite unfortunate, but there was not much we could do about it.

We were done with high school studies, and were confidently looking forward to what lay ahead of us. The school term officially ended on 15th November 1991, and we became the Class of ’91.

     

-The End-

  

 

A random 1988 picture of form 1s and form 3s, taken behind the main school hall.