Baraka

and the Bully

Annie W. Mang’eere

Language Booster

Baraka and the Bully

Published in 2018 by Queenex Publishers Ltd

P.O Box 56049-00200, Nairobi, Kenya.

Phone: 0727 794 498, 0715 808 200

Email: info@queenexpublishers.co.ke

queenexbooks@gmail.com

Web: www.queenexpublishers.co.ke

system, transit in any form or by any means: graphic,

electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or

otherwise any part and or this entire book without the

prior written permission of Queenex Publishers Limited.

Illustrated by Tony Siema

ISBN: 978-9966-075-75-8

1. The favourite teacher

Neema shivered slightly as she jumped onto

the pavement that led to her class. It was cold!

She skipped in the direction of her classroom door,

pushed it gently and let herself in. She broke into a

smile when she looked at the girls who had arrived

earlier than her.

“Hi!” she shouted excitedly, waving at her friend

Sifa and the rest. The girls turned to her and waved

back, smiling.

She threw her school bag onto her chair and

turned to leave the classroom. But before she could

take a few steps, she heard the shrill ringing of the

school bell. A frown crossed her face as she stopped

dead in her tracks. She had hoped to see Teacher

Nekesa before the start of lessons. That was now

not possible. It was already time for assembly.

She turned around, in time to see Sifa rise from

her desk. She waited at the door and without a

word put her left arm around her friend’s shoulder.

The two hurried out towards the assembly ground,

where they joined the Standard Five girls in the

queue.

“Everybody in a straight line,” Neema sang jovially

as she took her place behind Sifa.

Suddenly Sifa turned to her, face beaming with

admiration at something she had seen. Neema

turned to check out who stood at the front of the

Standard Five girls’ line where Sifa was pointing.

“Make sure your line is not bent at any point.

Be a good example to the younger children,”

Teacher Nekesa told the Standard Five girls, smiling

beautifully at them.

Neema opened her mouth in awe. Teacher Nekesa

looked just like the ladies she often saw on TV.

Teacher Nekesa had joined Elimu Bora School at

the beginning of the second term, just five weeks

ago. And for each of those days, she had looked

better than she had the previous day.

She was not just beautiful, but also very friendly.

Neema felt proud to have the new teacher for a

friend. She would join Teacher Nekesa where she

loved to sit, outside the staffroom near the new

field.

Most of the bigger girls in Class Seven and Eight

also enjoyed Teacher Nekesa’s company, and liked

spending their break time combing her waist-long

hair. The bigger boys, though, seemed not to like her

short skirts and dresses. They were always making

bad jokes about her walking style, too.

“Move in a bit,” Teacher Nekesa was telling the

Standard Five girls who stood furthest from her.

The girls were happy to obey her. She nodded

in appreciation and made to move to where the

Standard Five boys were lined up.

Neema craned her neck from behind Sifa and

waved at the teacher. Teacher Nekesa noticed

Neema and a smile formed on her lips. She waved

back with a slight movement of the fingers on her

raised hand and moved away.

Neema felt her heart dance joyously. Being around

Teacher Nekesa always made her feel as happy as a

dog with two tails.

She believed this was going to be her best term

since she joined school. Added to the joy of having

Teacher Nekesa as a friend, it was the term drama

and music festivals were held at the district level.

She was an excellent actress and soloist and hoped

to participate and represent her school for the first

time ever.

The previous day, Teacher Nekesa had informed

Neema that she was going to be in charge of classes

Five and Six preparations for the festivals. This had

excited Neema because it meant more time with her

newfound friend and teacher, and of course special

treatment.

With such thoughts on what the new term would

bring, Neema found the early morning lessons

dragging on endlessly. Occasionally she found

herself daydreaming, unaware what was going on

in class. The bell finally rang for the eleven o’clock

break and Neema made a dash to where Teacher

Nekesa usually sat, outside the staffroom. The

older girls were not yet out of class, and for some

minutes, she had her role model all to herself.

“Hello talented one,” Teacher Nekesa greeted,

beaming brightly at her.

“I’m fine Madam Nekesa,” Neema responded,

looking away shyly. She felt overjoyed that the

teacher thought she was gifted.

Teacher Nekesa pulled a chair that was beside

her and beckoned Neema to sit on it.

“You know I am more than a teacher to you and

I will always tell you the truth?” she half told, half

asked Neema.

Neema nodded.

“I want us to bring home the prize for drama and

dance this term at the district level,” she went on,

holding Neema’s hand in hers.

Neema nodded, excited that teacher Nekesa

seemed particularly happy talking to her.

“We cannot win if we do not stand out. I want

you to be the leading girl in the play and the soloist

in our dance as well. I have noted you act and sing

very well.”

Neema felt like she had become a fairy and was

floating around in the air, receiving friendship from

everywhere. Her teacher’s words were music to her

ears. Her heart beat so loudly in her chest that

she feared she might fail to hear the rest of what

Teacher Nekesa was telling her.

“But we must prepare you for those roles. You

must look like a royal princess,” the teacher added.

There was a bit of silence. Teacher Nekesa looked

her in the face and continued, “You are beautiful,

Neema, and you fit the roles I want to give you. The

only problem is you are as black as coal.”

Neema thought she had heard Teacher Nekesa

wrong. The smile on her face froze as she sat back

in her chair in shock. She looked straight at Teacher

Nekesa.

“Look at me,” Teacher Nekesa continued,

motioning with her delicate hand from her face to

her feet. “I want you to look like this. I will help you

look like this.”

Neema stared at teacher Nekesa in disbelief.

She was very light skinned, and looked more like

a white lady. Neema thought Teacher Nekesa was

very beautiful, but she did not want to look like

her because she had not been born that way. Her

own skin was dark chocolate, and she had always

been told by her father that black was beautiful.

Her mother had added that she should always be

proud of who she was.

“I will give you something to apply on your skin,

and tablets to swallow daily,” Teacher Nekesa was

saying. “By the time we will be going for the music

festivals you will look like a European. We will

straighten your hair so that it will also look like that

of a white girl. The judges at the festival will think

you are the most beautiful girl they have ever seen

and give us the prize.”

Before the conversation could go any further, the

bigger girls arrived. Soon the Standard Seven and

Eight girls surrounded Teacher Nekesa and started

chatting with her. The teacher stole a glance at

Neema, lifted one of her fingers and put it across

her lips. Neema knew she meant she should not tell

anyone what she had just told her. Neema did not

care who knew what Teacher Nekesa had told her.

She was not ready to go through with it.

Slowly she slipped out of her seat and tiptoed

away.

She did not want to change how she looked,no!

She wanted to remain just as she was. A black plum

is as sweet as a white one, she thought to herself

as she made her way back to her classroom. Her

father had always told her that beauty was only

skin deep. Beauty was not all that made a person.

Neema felt unhappy as she arrived in her class.

What would happen when Teacher Nekesa realised

she was not going to agree to the plan to change

her skin colour? Would she stop being her friend?

2. No friends

A day of sorrow is longer than a month of joy.

This appeared to be the case as Neema sat in class

that mid-morning after the break time meeting

with Teacher Nekesa. The two lessons before lunch

were the longest she had ever attended.

A voice in her head kept scaring her, telling her

she would not represent her school at the drama

and music festivals. It did not seem possible that

Teacher Nekesa would let her in the team if she

refused to be turned into a white girl. That would

be so disappointing. She had waited the entire past

year to join Standard Five and qualify to participate

in the festivals.She had practised almost daily to

make her performance better. Everyone knew how

determined she was to be at the festivals. Not only

to represent her school, but also to win. All that

now hang in the balance.

When lunch time arrived, Neema sat quietly at

her desk as the rest of her classmates rushed out

to go have their mid-day meal. She did not want

anyone else to know she was so unhappy by finding

her crying alone in class. She took her lunch bag

and went in search of her friend, Sifa.

The warmth of the early afternoon sun somewhat

lifted her spirits. A flower blooms more than once,

she thought to herself and tried to smile. Even if she

missed the festivals this term, there would be other

opportunities when she joined the upper classes.

She now felt better. She hurried to where she

knew Sifa and their other friends would be.

When she finally found them, a surprise awaited

her. She had not been taking lunch with Sifa and

the other girls of her class since the beginning of

second term. Rather, she had been joining the big

girls, a class or two ahead of her, to be with the new

teacher over the lunch break.

Sifa and company had made some very unlikely

friends. Neema found them seated on the green

grass at the corner of the field where they had

always taken their lunch. Among them was Amin,

a Standard Seven boy and the worst bully at Elimu

Bora School. With him were two other notorious

pupils.

How could Sifa and the others have made friends

with this group?

Amin had always bullied the Standard Five girls,

and they were always quite scared of him and his

friends. He often stole their snacks at break time,

and at times even their lunch. To now see them

seated together and sharing was a shock to Neema.

Amin was the first to notice confusion on Neema’s

face. He made a thumbs-up sign to her.

“I’m different now,” he said, making space in the

circle they sat in and inviting Neema to join them.

Neema scowled at him. She knew that a leopard

does not change its spots even when it hides in tall

grass. He was still Amin the bully unless a miracle

had happened.

She moved away from where he was and went

to sit near Sifa. Amin smiled almost shyly and

offered her an orange. Neema looked at his food

and thought he ate like a king. There was a bit of

everything: sausage, fried egg, steamed vegetables

and a variety of fruit pieces. But she also knew he

bullied smaller children to give him goodies and

money. Most probably part of what was in his dish

had been grabbed from pupils of lower classes, or

bought with money stolen from them, including the

orange she was now being offered.

“No, thank you,” she said with a slight wave of

the hand.

Amin looked on somehow surprised. The orange was

the juicy type and he had expected Neema to jump at it.

To Neema’s surprise, Sifa took the orange from

Amin and begged her to take it.

“You will see he has changed,” Sifa said while

extending the orange to Neema.

Neema took it, pouting as she did so, and put it

in her bag. She got out her lunch box and started

on her meal. Just as she was about to finish eating,

she saw Amin stand up hurriedly and clap his hands

together.

“Time for some fun!” he declared.

Everyone in the group stood up excitedly. Neema

stood as well, wanting to know what the fun was

all about. Sifa and the other girls giggled helplessly,

making sounds as if trying to speak with the words

not coming out.

“Just come and see,” Sifa told Neema, pulling her

by the arm.

The gang headed for the Standard Five West

classroom led by Amin. When Neema entered the

class after the rest of her colleagues, she found

Amin standing in front of Baraka, a boy who was

physically challenged.

Baraka was somehow new, having joined the

school that term. He moved around in a wheelchair.

He talked with much difficulty and it took a lot of

getting used to him to understand what he said.

His movements were also awkward and he always

seemed to be straining.

Amin grabbed Baraka’s bag and took out a

banana and an orange. The whole group except

Neema laughed as Baraka looked on with wide

eyes, unable to do anything. One boy pretended to

talk and move in the difficult way he did, with the

rest clapping and making merry.

“Can I have this?” Amin asked in pretended

humbleness, holding out the orange and banana.

Baraka nodded miserably and swung on his

wheelchair in a bid to turn away from Amin and

his group. The bullies saw his despair and burst out

laughing, making fun of him.

Neema looked at Sifa. She could not believe how

excited her friend seemed to be at the really horrible

things Amin was doing. Neema tried to make faces

at her, but Sifa continued to laugh with the rest as

if she were watching a comedy.

Amin put the fruits he had taken from Baraka into

his bag and turned to leave. Then his eyes popped

out as he came face to face with the headteacher.

He had entered the class without the group noticing.

“Amin, what are you doing in Standard Five?” he

asked calmly.

Amin just looked at him, drops of sweat forming

on his forehead.

“Is everything all right here?” the headteacher

asked again.

He looked at Baraka with concern, as if he

suspected all was not well.

“We are okay Sir,” Sifa said in a low tone. “We

were checking if Baraka has had his lunch.”

“I do not want to see these big boys here!”

thundered the headteacher. “Everybody to their

classes, now!”

The group scuttled out of Baraka’s class and went

to their respective classes.

Neema went and sat at her desk, feeling concerned

about what she had just witnessed. This day was

proving a difficult one for her. First had been the

case with Teacher Nekesa, then this bullying of an

innocent boy. She was only lucky the headteacher

had not found out what had been done to Baraka.

The whole group would have been punished severely.

The afternoon lessons were even more miserable.

Neema could not concentrate. Her mind kept going

back to Baraka. She put herself in his shoes and felt

the pain of being bullied by Amin and the others.

It was obvious to her that Amin had not changed

at all and was still a bully. The only thing he had

changed was whom he bullied. That had only made

him worse. Bullying girls was bad enough, but

bullying a physically challenged boy like Baraka

was many times worse.

It shocked her that Sifa and the other girls did not

realise that they were bullying Baraka the same way

Amin had bullied them. Making fun of someone’s

physical challenges was cruel in the extreme.

When school ended that day, Neema sought out

Sifa. She wanted to have a discussion about what

had happened over lunch time.

“Why did you bully that poor boy?” she asked

Sifa. They were standing at one corner of Sifa’s

classroom. The other pupils were busy doing some

homework.

Sifa let out a loud laugh and tried to imitate

Baraka.

“It’s not bullying,” she corrected Neema, still

laughing excitedly. “It was just a bit of good-natured

fun. He is so funny!”

“But you made him so miserable,” Neema said.

“We just wanted to have a good laugh.” Sifa said,

mimicking Baraka’s speech once again and laughing.

“You not only hurt his feelings, but Amin took his

fruits as well,” Neema told Sifa pointedly.

Sifa clicked her tongue.

“You are such a wet blanket!” she thundered. “It

was just healthy teasing.”

“Is he your friend then? Have you made friends

with him?” Neema asked.

Sifa threw her hands in the air.

“How can we be friends with someone like that?”

she asked with a shrug of her shoulders.

“He is a fellow pupil of this school, remember?”

Neema said.

“He talks so funnily and is very clumsy,” Sifa said

and let out another round of laughter.

“You are becoming a bully, Sifa, just like Amin,”

Neema said. “You only make fun with a friend. If the

other person is not a friend and does not take part

in the fun, that is bullying.”

Sifa dropped her bag down, angrily.

“Are you calling me a bully?” she asked Neema as

she held her arms akimbo.

Neema stepped back from her. The other girls

in the class who were also Sifa’s friends started

moving towards the arguing pair. Sensing trouble,

Neema grabbed her bag and fled.

“Bully!” she shouted as she sat. Some of the

pupils laughed.

As she gathered her books into her school bag,

she thought about Baraka and what she had seen

him go through. Her desire to be his friend became

even stronger. She was going to be his friend, even

if it meant losing Sifa for a friend or being bullied by

Amin. True courage is in facing danger, even when

you are afraid, she thought.

She swang her bag onto her back and headed out

of class. The other pupils were leaving as well.

Then a thought came to her. Maybe she should

check on Baraka before leaving for home.

3. Best of friends

Neema did not find Baraka. His father always

picked him in his car and they had already left.

Disappointed, she left for home, telling herself that

she would see him on Monday.

She couldn’t wait to get home and tell her parents

what a terrible day she had.

The walk home was about two kilometres. It took

her twenty minutes.

She found her mother at her vegetable stall,

knitting as she waited for customers. Her mother

rose and hugged her as usual. But no sooner had she

embraced her than Neema started sobbing on her

shoulder. Her mother was surprised. She released

her gently and reached for some yoghurt. She filled

a tall glass and gave it to Neema.

“What is the matter?” she asked as Neema stopped

sobbing and settled down to take her yoghurt.

Neema let out what had been troubling her heart.

She told her mother what Teacher Nekesa had told

her, then how Sifa and her friends had joined Amin

in bullying Baraka.

Neema’s mother looked at her child and felt

really proud. It felt good to have a merciful child

who cared for those with challenges. She used her

handkerchief to wipe away some yoghurt from

Neema’s lips.

Do you feel better now?” she asked her.

Neema nodded.

“All is going to be alright,” her mother went on.

“Sifa and Amin are not going to hurt Baraka now

that you are there. Be his protector and report

anyone trying to hurt him to the headteacher. You

also need to talk to Sifa and get her out of her bad

behaviour.”

“Thanks Mum,” Neema said.

“I also trust Teacher Nekesa is going to change

her mind,” her mother added. “People may at times

behave in ways that hurt us, and sometimes we are

unhappy about what happens to us or others. But

everything always turns out as it should in the long

run.”

Neema felt comforted by her mother’s kind

words. A ton of worry lifted from her shoulders

as she skipped off to play with the neighbourhood

kids. There was no one quite like a mother and no

place like home, she thought to herself. She was in

high spirits and ready to face another day at school

when Monday morning came.

She got to class that Monday earlier than usual.

She smiled at Sifa to see if she was still mad at her.

Sifa and the other girls just stared at her. A little

disappointed, she placed her bag on her chair and

went out to look for Baraka.

She found him seated on his wheelchair at the

back of his class, reading a book.

“Hello Baraka,” she greeted, stretching out her

hand to him.

He seemed to be struggling to say something.

There was no effort to return her greetings.

“Gg..goo aaa...waay,” he finally said.

Neema felt sorry that he struggled so hard to

speak.

“I want to be your friend,” she said, putting on her

best smile.

“Yyyuu... waaa... wii... the meeaann bboois,”

Baraka stammered.

Neema could tell he was accusing her of being

part of the bad group that had bullied him on Friday.

“I didn’t know what they were coming here to do,”

she tried to defend herself.

Baraka looked away and continued reading.

“Can we be friends, please?” begged Neema.

“Nnnoo. Yyyoourr friiendsss are baaad,” Baraka

responded with difficulty.

“The boys are not my friends. Even the girls who

were my friends are not talking to me now,” Neema

went on.

Baraka seemed to relax a little. He reached into

his pocket and got a notebook and pen.

“Can I write here instead of talking?” he wrote on

a fresh page on the notebook.

Neema nodded and got closer.

“The mean boys always steal my fruits,” Baraka

wrote. “Why aren’t your friends talking to you?”

“Because I told them it was wrong to bully you,”

Neema replied.

“Will they stop?” Baraka wrote, looking excitedly

at Neema.

“I don’t think they will unless we do something,”

Neema said. “Did you have friends in your old

school?” she added, trying to change the topic.

“I had good friends who loved me very much,” he

wrote. “We used to play a lot of games together.”

Neema nodded, feeling sorry that he had got

such a cold welcome at her school.

“We would play wheelchair basketball,” Baraka

wrote.

Neema nodded again.

“There are some nice kids here too who will be

friends with you,” she said in an encouraging tone.

“Thanks. Sometimes I even think of transferring

to another school but my father encourages me to

stay,” Baraka wrote.

“Do you mind if I ask what happened to get you

in a wheelchair?” Neema asked.

“My mother told me that the nurse who attended

her when I was born said I did not cry after birth.

My brain did not get enough oxygen. I have cerebral

palsy,” Baraka wrote.

“Does it get better with time?” Neema asked.

“No. But it does not get worse, either.” Baraka

wrote. “I’m used to being like this now. I have learnt

to do a lot of things even with cerebral palsy.”

Neema smiled happily at Baraka, glad that at

least the symptoms he suffered would not get worse.

She had so much she wanted to talk to him about,

but the bell for assembly rang. In a few minutes

they were required to be at the assembly ground.

“I will be back at break time,” she told Baraka.

“We will have to figure out a way to stop Amin and

the others from bullying you...and me as well.”

Baraka gave her the thumbs up sign and continued

writing in his notebook.

“Promise me you’ll remember you are braver than

you believe, stronger than you seem, smarter than

you think,” he wrote.

“Wow. Thank you, Baraka. I promise you,”

exclaimed Neema. “Your handwriting is very

beautiful, by the way.”

Baraka smiled happily.

“And you write so fast,” she went on as she pushed

his wheelchair out of the classroom towards the

assembly ground.

The other pupils watched Neema as if she was

performing some magic act. Baraka used to struggle

with the wheelchair. It was the first time anyone

was helping him.

Neema smiled at them as she and Baraka headed

in the direction of the assembly ground.

4. Escape from the bully

Baraka was in Neema’s mind during the first two

lessons that Monday. He was a charming boy who

would be friendlier if treated well. She would have

to figure out a way of keeping the bullies away from

him and her.

When she saw Baraka again at break time she had

an idea.

“I love dancing and acting,” she told him. “Let’s go

to the music room over lunch time. We can hide there

and play with the music instruments if we are al-

lowed. The bad kids won’t know where we are and so

they won’t be able to bully us.”

Baraka smiled broadly at her. He seemed to like

the idea.

“I play guitar and piano,” he wrote in his notebook.

Neema looked at him wide-eyed.

“Will you teach me?” she asked excitedly.

“I will teach you everything I know,” he wrote, and

a smile came to his face.

Neema went back to her class feeling on top of the

world. Even if she didn’t make it to the music and

drama festivals that year, she was going to develop

her talent. Learning to play music instruments would

prepare her for a time when she would be able to

participate in the festivals.

At lunch time she hurried out of class, avoiding Sifa

and the other girls as she headed to Baraka’s class

to pick him. Moments later the girls saw her wheel-

ing Baraka out of his class.

Sifa bit her lip at Neema, but Neema avoided look-

ing at her. She knew her former friend still wanted

to fight her. She also remembered what Baraka had

asked her to promise him that morning. I am very

brave to stand against bullying of an innocent boy,

she encouraged herself.

Finally the two of them got to the music hall.

Baraka ate his lunch hurriedly, feeding himself better

than Neema had expected him to.

“That organ is calling me to go and play a song or

two,” he wrote in his notebook once he was through

with his lunch.

Neema looked at the organ sitting lonely at a cor-

ner in the room.

“Does it talk?” asked Neema.

“Can’t you hear its cries for some attention?”

Baraka wrote again, smiling happily. He washed and

wiped his hands, moved to where the organ was and

started playing.

Neema almost choked on her food as the music

reached her ears. Baraka played the organ so well.

She had not heard anyone play it better.

Baraka played for some time as Neema listened

very attentively. He then stopped playing and looked

around, satisfied with his performance.

Neema clapped in excitement.

“That was Fur Elise, by Beethoven,” Baraka wrote.

“Remember Beethoven was the most famous pianist

the world has produced.”

“Do you have another song you can play?” Neema

asked excitedly.

“I’ll play you one we wrote with the music group in

the other school,” Baraka wrote then started strum-

ming the organ again. The song was equally beauti-

ful, and Neema almost shouted with joy.

“Come sit here. I will show you how to play it,”

Baraka wrote when he finished.

Neema got closer. Baraka turned out to be a very

good teacher. In fourty minutes she could play the

song. She played it many times, every time getting a

thrill that she was now able to play the organ.

After playing the song several times, Baraka

asked if they could leave. Neema got hold of the

wheelchair to push him back to his classroom. She

was turning it round to face the door when she

saw his expression change suddenly, as if he had

seen something that had startled him. She turned

to look, in time to see Sifa and their other friends

peering at them from the door.

5. Friends again

“You never told me you can play the organ so

well!” Sifa told Neema from where she stood at the

hall’s door.

Sifa sounded strangely calm, not like on Friday

when she had picked a quarrel. Neema was surprised

that she was talking to her, and had not come to fight

her.

“Baraka has just shown me how,” Neema responded.

“And guess what, he and other kids at his former school

composed it!”

“Can we come in?” Sifa and the other girls asked

almost in unison.

“Sh...sh..shuur..” Baraka responded before Neema

could say anything.

This time the girls did not laugh at him. They

walked in and surrounded Neema and Baraka.

“Aaa plaaay,” Baraka told the girls. He seemed

excited that they had come like friends. They

nodded, seeming to understand him.

He played another Beethoven number. As the

sweet music filled the hall, the girls looked at one

another in disbelief. They had never expected that

someone who struggled with speech and movement

could do anything so well.

“I also play the guitar,” Baraka wrote in his notebook.

“Can you teach us to play?” Sifa asked after

Neema had shown her the message.

“How much will you pay me?” Baraka wrote and

drew a smiling face.

The girls laughed happily.

“Surely we will find a way to show our appreciation,”

one of the girls said.

Sifa stepped out and touched Baraka’s hand.

Baraka looked at her somehow confused.

“I’m sorry that I and my friends got into bad company

and enjoyed bullying you,” she apologised.

All the other girls nodded.

“We didn’t realise our mistake then,” they told

him in turns.

“Apologies accepted,” Baraka wrote in his note

book.

Just then, Amin and his three friends walked into

the hall.

“Heey, you found them! No one escapes the great Amin,”

the bully bragged as he and his friends approached the

others.

There was no cheering, no clapping, no making of

faces. Instead, a silence fell on the hall. You could

have heard a pin drop as the girls and Baraka stared

at Amin as if he were a ghost.

“A bad penny always shows up,” Baraka wrote in

his notebook as they watched the four approach.

At Elimu Bora School, taking a stand against Amin

was as feared as dancing with death. But Neema

remembered her resolve and knew she just had to

do it, afraid or not.

“You are not our friend anymore,” she now told

the bully, standing in front of him so that their eyes

met. The others with him were quite confused and

seemed ready to run away.

Amin moved to stand behind Neema. She did not

turn to face him, as she wanted to hold her ground.

Amin took advantage of her not turning around and

aimed a blow at her back. Unknown to him, Baraka

had been watching his moves. Just in the nick of

time he reached out to Neema and pulled her away

before the blow landed. Carried by the force of the

attempted blow, Amin fell forward and crashed

onto the floor, so hard that the girls thought he was

badly hurt. He let out a cry.

“What are we doing here?” a voice asked from the

door.

It was the headteacher. The whole group turned

to face him.

Amin scampered to his feet, but it was too late

to hide from the headteacher that something was

amiss.

“Amin fell,” one of the girls stammered.

The headteacher was not convinced.

“Can I have the truth, girls!” he bellowed.

Neema stepped forward. It had just occurred to

her that Amin bullied the younger children because

they all feared him and never thought of report-

ing him. She told the headteacher everything about

how Amin used to bully them and how he was now

bullying Baraka. She also told him why she and

Baraka had come to the music hall, and how the

others had found them.

Amin stood helplessly as Neema talked, staring

at the floor to avoid the gaze of the headteacher.

Neema looked at him and was surprised that he was

so scared. When she was through with explaining,

the headteacher looked around at the other girls.

“Is this true, girls?” he asked the others.

Sifa was the first one to answer.

“Yes,” she said. Neema was surprised that even

Sifa was not happy with Amin.

The headteacher looked angrily at Amin and held

him by the collar.

“Young man, you have a lot of explaining to do!”

he said as he shoved the bully outside the hall. “Go

and wait for me outside my office!”

His friends were sent after him. The headteacher

was left with the girls and Baraka.

“Girls, I hope you have learnt your lessons. Better

be alone than in bad company. I hope you have also

learnt that it is only with the heart that one can see

rightly. What is essential is invisible to the eye. You

didn’t think much of Baraka here because you saw

him with just your eyes. Now you see how wrong you

were. He may be different, but he also has gifts and

desires to have friends just like you,” the headteacher

said.

The girls were as quiet as mice as they listened to

the headteacher.

“I will have a word with Teacher Nekesa and have

her include Baraka in the school team to the Music

and Drama Festivals,” he went on.

Everyone clapped, but the headteacher noticed

Neema was not as excited as the others.

“Anything else you want to tell me, Neema?” he

asked her.

Yet again, Neema was glad to tell the headteacher

about her troubles. She told him what teacher Nekesa

had told her about her skin colour and what she needed

to do to win the first prize for her school at the music

and drama festivals.

“I do not want to go with madam Nekesa’s plans,”

she told the headteacher.

The headteacher smiled at her and put his hands

on her shoulders.

“You are fearfully and wonderfully made, girls.

Let me not hear any one of you say you are not

beautiful. Black is beautiful, very beautiful,” he told

Neema and the girls, looking from one to the other.

“I will talk to Teacher Nekesa and find out what is

going on,” he added. “Just as we should love others

as they are, we should also love ourselves without

trying to change how we were created.”

Neema felt a happy smile spread across her face.

All’s well that ends well, she thought to herself.

She knew everything would be alright just as her

mother had told her. She would most likely also be

at the music and drama festivals. And what could

be better than that, having Baraka there as well?

The headteacher started talking again.

“Always think good thoughts, girls. Don’t worry

yourselves unduly about how you look on the outside.

Think about what’s inside your hearts because that is

what matters.”

The girls all nodded.

“Hurry off to class now,” the headteacher went

on. “You are already late for the first lesson. And

don’t leave Baraka behind.”

Sifa offered to push Baraka’s wheelchair. The

group left the music hall, followed by the head-

teacher.

6. The perfect pair

Neema never saw Teacher Nekesa again at Elimu

Bora School. Rumours going round claimed that she

had been sacked by the government for bleaching

herself to look like a European, and for being a bad

influence on school children.

Neema did not pay much attention to what the

children were saying. She spent most of her free time

with Baraka in the music room, practising songs to

present at the music and drama festivals. The two

were a perfect pair and whenever Neema sang and

Baraka played the organ, the music would sound

heavenly. Her other schoolmates would crowd

around the door and windows to the hall just to

hear them play.

The new teacher in charge of the festivals helped

Neema improve her singing. Mrs Wanyama was

much older than Teacher Nekesa but she loved music

and acting. Neema practiced almost every day and

did everything the new teacher told her to do. Her

singing improved a great deal.

Baraka turned out to be a very accomplished

guitarist and organ player and did not need much

improvement.

“Since I can’t help out much at home, my parents bought

me some music instruments and got me a music teacher,” he

once wrote for Neema in his notebook to explain his superior

music skills.

He also turned out to be very outgoing, and became

much loved by the rest of his classmates. Soon he was

the most popular pupil in Standard Five. He played

chess and other games so well that everyone begged

to be taught how to play as well as he did.

Other pupils who were going to present pieces

at the music festivals practised a lot as well, but

not as hard as Baraka and Neema. As the day of

reckoning approached, Neema and Baraka felt more

and more confident that they would carry home the

district trophy.

Amin stopped showing up in the lower classes.

He would often be seen sitting all by himself looking

very unhappy. His friends had been punished by the

headteacher for supporting him, and warned against

keeping bad company. Many pupils thanked Neema

and Baraka for standing up to the school’s worst

bully.

The night before the festivals at the district level,

Neema had a dream. She saw herself and Baraka

doing so well that they brought First Prize trophies

for all the three music pieces they were competing

in to Elimu Bora School.

The festivals were being held at the town

headquarters, about fifty kilometres away. On the

morning of the competition the whole school team

joined the rest of the school for prayers. They then

boarded a hired bus to be taken to the competition

venue.

That evening, as they returned to school after the

competition, Neema was overjoyed.

“It was just like in my dream,” she told Baraka

over and over.

Baraka seemed too excited to say much. He

seemed to find it unbelievable that their pieces had

been so well received. The entire hall had stood up

to cheer him when he got onto the stage for their

third piece.

“We will win the best performance trophy even at

the county level,” Mrs Wanyama had told them after

they received the third trophy for the best performance.

Baraka had written in his notebook that he hoped

they could make it to the national level and perform

for the President. The teacher had promised to be

with them all the way.

When the bus carrying Elimu Bora pupils from the

festivals arrived at the school, the parking lot was

crowded with those who had been left behind.

“What could be happening here?” Neema asked

Baraka, who sat next to her.

“They have probably already been told that we

won three first prizes,” Baraka wrote in his notebook,

smiling proudly.

Neema grinned sheepishly. Other pupils from the

school had won first and second prizes in the past, but

none had taken top prize in all their performances. There

was a huge improvement on the school’s performance.

She felt nice that she and Baraka had made this

possible.

When the school bus ground to a halt, the pupils at

the parking lot surrounded it. They were dancing and

singing victory songs. It was late but they had waited

in the cold for this moment. They carried Neema and

Baraka shoulder high all the way to the music hall,

praising them for their excellent performance.

The head teacher and the staff were waiting in

the hall. A beautiful cake was on the table in front

of the teachers.

When the headteacher finally calmed the pupils, he

praised the winners for their commitment to learning

new skills and practising to the point of becoming the

best in the district in all their pieces.

He thanked Mrs Wanyama as well for her patience

in training the competitors. He then invited Baraka

and Neema to cut the cake. It had been ordered from

the nearby town when news reached the school that

they had won first prize in all three performances.

The cake was shared amongst all those who had

gone for the festivals, and then distributed to the

rest of the school.

“I feel worn out now. Tomorrow we start planning

for our next competition at the county level,” Baraka

wrote to Neema as they ate their pieces of cake.

“Me too, I could rest a bit now,” Neema said with a

nod. “There will be no resting until we have bagged

the prizes at the county level.”

The second term had turned out to be as eventful

and exciting as Neema had foreseen. She had thought

then that teacher Nekesa was going to be a big part

of her joy. As it had turned out, it was the most

unlikely newcomer at her school that had changed

her life. She would forever be grateful to Baraka.

The End

Vocabulary

awkward not as expected or normal

beckon make a hand signal to invite someone

essential important

foresee be able to tell what will happen in the

future

heavenly so good

invisible cannot be seen

queue straight line

scuttled ran away hurriedly

unduly unnecessarily

unison at the same time

Sayings

a black plum is as sweet as a white one: a simile

within a saying meaning ‘people

should appreciate the way they are’

a day of sorrow is longer than a month of joy: A

saying that reminds us that sorrow

affects us more than joy.

a flower blooms more than once: a saying that

reminds us that there are always

opportunities even if you missed on

something in the present

a leopard does not change its spots: a saying that

warns us that people remain who they

are even when they pretend not to be.

all is well that ends well: a saying that reminds us

that good things end up well.

as feared as dancing with death: a simile meaning,

‘it was dangerous’.

as happy as a dog with two tails: simile meaning

‘very happy’.

Questions

1. What made Teacher Nekesa popular with the

girls of Elimu Bora School?

2. Why was Neema not happy with what teacher

Nekesa wanted her to do?

3. What had Neema’s parents taught her about

beauty?

4. Why did Amin pick on Baraka for bullying?

5. Why did Sifa think Baraka funny?

6. At what point did Sifa change her opinion of

Baraka?

7. What talents did Baraka possess that the other

pupils did not know?

8. In how many categories did Neema and Baraka

participate in during the Drama and Music

festivals? How did they perform?

9. What made Neema and Baraka to perform well?

10. How do you think Neema and Baraka performed

at the County level of the Drama and Music

Festivals? Why?