THE FLYING TIN

THE FLYING TIN

It was a Monday morning when I became the topic of the week in the whole school. My name changed from Betty to "Tako Mpararo," translated from Swahili as "dried buttocks." The whole school made me a celebrity. Every teacher would give an example using me whenever they wanted the class to be lively, more so during the afternoon classes.

On this unforgettable day, my favorite lunchbox, which I treasured most, did the unthinkable to me. I had carried my well-prepared lunch because our home was far from school and I couldn't make it back within the one hour allocated for lunch break. My mom had packed the plain beans she had prepared the previous night for me and my siblings to carry. She couldn't afford to give us fifty shillings each for lunch; she would rather use that money to buy firewood.

My lunch was nicely packed in a white Kimbo tin (a cooking fat container). I took it hurriedly that morning, threw it inside my Uhuru bag, and bade her goodbye while running to school because I was already late.

Monday is always a cursed day for most of us. It is a day when you wake up late, angry at anything that comes your way. Our cat used to receive the most painful kicks on Monday mornings. She didn't seem to mind them at all because she would repeatedly rub her body against your legs whenever you were around her.

I took a shortcut to school, but on this day it turned out to be a long, wrong cut. I met the most black, fearless dog. There was a home along this route that reared inbred dogs for sale. They had German Shepherds, Chihuahuas, and Bulldogs. This beast had broken its chain and was free. It grabbed the golden opportunity and made it to the road to torment passersby. Luck wasn't on my side; I met it face to face. I am not friendly with dogs. My adrenaline shot up and I increased my running speed. Woe unto me, I made a mistake! I gave the beast a chance to chase me.

I stopped at the teacher-on-duty's feet with a thud. My books and my tin went flying and landed on her beautiful dress, leaving brown stains from the beans I had carried. My school dress flew over my head, exposing my big, dry buttocks without a panty to a group of latecomers who were waiting for their punishment to be administered. The group laughed at me while some writhed on the ground with laughter before speeding off to their respective classes.

The teacher was confused. She wasn't sure whether to lift me up, go and clean her dress (the dress was a gift from the visitors who came to witness her wedding, and she had worn it to showcase it to her fellow female teachers with a matching pair of shoes and accessories), or control the learners.

I had ruined her day. She left the spot unattended. I stood up with a painful knee - I was bruised - collected my bag, couldn't find where the container had gone, and limped to my class. That day I didn't go out for break due to embarrassment. News that Betty from Class Six Blue doesn't wear a panty spread like wildfire. My name changed to Tako Mpararo.