IT IS LIFE

In Class 5 at Itongo Sengera Primary School, our teacher of English was the headmaster, Mr. Mosongo. He was a man from my village… and the most white-looking black man I’ve ever seen. 

One afternoon after break, he strolled in with English Aid, that tiny little book from hell, and his signature warm smile, a smile that vanished instantly and turned into horror when he got annoyed. 

Now… next door, in Class 6, Mr. Morimbocho was forcing pupils to understand Mathematics. And no, he wasn’t using a microphone! His mouth was the microphone. And because Class 6 had no door — like most rooms in our school — his voice blasted right into ours. 

Honestly, if the school wanted to raise money for doors, they could just rent him out as a sound system for church crusades.

Anyway… Mosongo started teaching. The topic was Countable and Uncountable Nouns and the focus of the day was uncountable nouns. 

Water, milk — uncountable.

Money — uncountable. 

He added examples like, "How much water do you need to irrigate your crops?" 

And then he said, “Yes, you can count money, but in grammar, it’s still uncountable. Always say much money. "How much money do you want?” Definitely not "How many money do you want?" he said. We laughed. He gave us more examples and then told us to write our own. The class went quiet as we began the assignment. 

And then — BOOM! — Morimbocho’s voice crashed in thundering through the wall. Coincidentally, he was teaching Commercial Arithmetic. He dictated a question to the students. 

“Mrs. Okebogani went to the shop to buy breakfast. He bought milk at 20 shillings, bread at 25, sugar at 25, and tea leaves at 5. He gave a hundred shilling note. How many money (Meni Maanee) did he get as change?”

Every single head in our class shot up. Mosongo froze and put his hand on his head, mouth wide open in utter bewilderment. He muttered something, then said, almost to himself:

“So… these are the kinds of teachers I'm supposed to depend on to make pupils competent?” he said as he scratched his head vigorously. 

We lost it and exploded with laughter. 

From that day, he was no longer Mr. Morimbocho. He was Mr. Menimaanee. 

Oh, and guess what? Years later, Morimbocho won the green card and moved to the US.

And now?

Let’s just say… he has meni manee for real.