Agnes merrily smiled at the red book which she held in her hands. This was a book that she had cherished to acquire ten years ago. A wish which had started as a mere idea. An idea created out of a joke. The book came with the flexibility of being addressed as a national of the new country she had finally made her second home. The only burden was that she had to pay to get back into her birth country. A country that had moulded her into being a strong woman with an unshakable dream. The only way of achieving it, was to get up and take the first step. Mr Kivara’s senseless words replayed in her mind. „ Agnes, the furthest you’ll get is to your mother’s doorstep.“ He had ridiculed her before the whole class. He had been the school’s English teacher with an accent heavier than his problems. He always insisted on having attended group of schools in Nairobi, but he never mentioned which one exactly. He had a life which could not make him fit to the local life of the Nyeri people. His becoming of a teacher at this local town was a move against his will. He rhymed with the accent that made him misplace his l’s and r’s in a sentence. This was a thing that made his students realize that their teacher was a fraud. His flawed accent never bothered him. He wanted to be the main man in the school. The teacher who was known not because of his looks, but that of his English speaking skills which were confident than the queen’s, according to his level of understanding. Birmingham was a word he needed ages to properly utter. Locating it in the map was pretty easy.
Article by Wambui Witten