Of Education and Gothic Institutionalism

Quote: If there be a gift modernity esteems more than most, it should be literacy – Bonface Morris.

Quite often, I hear my mind quip: “There is one thing with literacy – aptness; the other one is madness.” I rarely sit down to question it (my mind). Well, I sometimes do. And when I do, I tend to come to a conclusion that the two (aptness and madness) exist in some kind of deranged ambiguity. Such a correlation – my mind always thinks – fails a certain balance of expectations. A balance that society earnestly expects it (literacy) would solve, but that it entirely never solves. No wonder one Malcolm Muggeridge (English journalist and Christian apologist) said, "We have educated ourselves into imbecility," as he bemoaned the many nefarious ideas that are shaping modern beliefs ^(cited).

In any modern society today, education (or learning) always takes the central place. It is placed in such a place of honor – and even somehow worshiped – because it determines modern paradigm shifts and the different steps from one generation or era to another. It may not be a society’s fault to do so, because we all have woken up from our mothers’ wombs and found society changing – mainly due to the increase in the level of literacy. But again, literacy as it is, is a practically relative term. Informal learning is literacy in certain contexts (not all), and it therefore makes legit the advice the “uneducated” passes on to the to the school-goer telling him/her (from time to time) how and why one thing or another is important. In such cases, whenever the less literate is wielding information to the more literate, a degree of relevance is stressed upon that benefits both formal and informal learning. This in itself helps to elevate the importance of education in shaping a society’s beliefs and values.
And here is where the aptness and the madness begin to struggle.
Society expects that learned people should be more responsible, more understanding and considerate. That is its expectation. It expects that they would behave like human beings and build an atmosphere of peace, love and tranquility. It expects to see a change in itself: less violence and more production. It expects a society that is moving forward... Well, the madness in literacy – the attainment of book intelligence - won’t allow that to happen. It seems it changes belief systems for the worse, scrapping off any possibilities of sanity and meekness. “Only a few literate people make sense,” say many. The aptness within literacy now seems to peep from a distance – sipping away sugarless coffee as it wonders why it is not needed anymore yet its friend, madness, is always invited…

I don’t deny the existence and power of beliefs and belief systems that are as a result of education within any society. I don’t even want to seem to deny it. Education is modernity’s altar that gives forth the worshiped adjoins of civilization. Literacy has its ego living amongst us and within us. I can’t deny that. It is true. In fact, most of what we become today is shaped by the presence of these beliefs and value systems. Most of what we become (whether good or bad) is either a folding or an unfolding of what we have learnt – what we have attained from our environment(s). Thus the essence of gaining understanding (wherever and whenever it may deem necessary) lies in the strength of learning. Even if our brains and/or minds may escape the binge of books, society cannot spare us few lessons from the curriculum it offers. Society still wheels us through its own informal education system even before we have known we are learning. Education imprisons us before we even know it, so to say.
However, weird within such contexts is when we come to a point where we want to understand how and why our learning institutions work the way they do. When we (read; students) come to such a place – a place of a deep need to balance the aptness and the madness within our learning institutions – we may be required to apply other informal tools. When we want to understand why our institutions – which should be a source of serenity - are growing madder by the day, formal education never seems to help. This is because the preachers (read, professors, lecturers and other so-forth-and-so-on learned people) are now drinking the wine they preach against, and are therefore another [good] case for study.

The informal tools students use in trying to understand how and why their preachers are now drinking wine may not be the best, but are made to be the best when moments encourage.
Students are found saying, “Yeah, we go to school to learn. Yeah, we all wanna learn. We don’t come here to fight or make appeals. But we just can’t understand why these learned people (read, professors, lecturers and other so-forth-and-so-on learned people) can be so inconsiderate and unthoughtful. We can’t understand why this institution(s) cannot learn from their past experience(s)! Don’t they have common sense? Don’t they know their carrying capacity as far as admissions are concerned? Why should they enroll students into their systems that are higher than their ability to productively manage? Don’t they know that we (students) have time allotted to our studies and don’t have ALL the time to waste? Huh? Why is there no democracy when it comes to leadership in our learning institutions? Have we reached to a point where literacy is for sale in this land, and we either sale it or sale it? Really? Have we reached to a point where University Vice-chancellors care more about how many students are being enrolled into the system, the money they are bringing in and the overall image of the institution(s), than how students are fairing on and if they are benefiting in their studies or not? Really? Is this the extent to which we have come?”
So after the ranting, as always, felony and madness take over; and the cycle of wrangles between institutions’ management and students continues.
When will this ever stop?
Well it may, or it may never stop. It depends on the following;

1. The administration in the learning institutions should be ready, together with students’ representatives, to reach a consensus regarding the issues at hand – a consensus that will benefit both sides; with an understanding that both sides deserve to be listened to, heard and considered in their opinions.
2. The institutions’ administration should only enroll into their system(s) students that their carrying capacity can accommodate. This should be done with infrastructure, school-based services and other learning services being put into consideration.
3. Ensuring that what is being offered to students is quality education with skills that they can apply in their immediate society and that will still make them competitive in the diverse world they are going to be in after their studies.
4. Creating a strong linkage between the school administration and students. Such a linkage should be open and interactive – offering to bring solutions to current and recurrent problems between the two parties or amongst the two.

After all these, then the balance between the aptness and madness in education will be manageable.

Bonface Morris.

The Day a Man Marries

On that very day a man marries, the woman weds. Yes, on that very day one marries, the other weds. You may see it in his eyes. Or maybe in his best man's. Or maybe on his suit. His best wedding suit. It may be written all over it. Or in the confidence and 'pettyness' with which he holds anything. Or how he holds everything. Or in the distant feeling within the stealth in his eyes. He's getting married… and you surely will see it in the way he sniffs the air around him. Differently. Nonchalantly. Busily. But easily. Yes, that's what happens to a man the day he marries. 

On the day a man marries, another one is born. The old one dies. Maybe partially. Maybe completely. Maybe forever. Maybe not ever. But, whatever the case, another is born. Different from the first. He dies. The old one dies. And a new one is born. Maybe quieter. Maybe more solemn. Maybe passive. Maybe not. Well, sky over earth, another is born. And the new one almost always kills the old one. Almost always. He has to in order for him to survive. The old one fades away as the new one takes over. Yeah, I know. I know this truth that the old man may want to sneak in from time to time with a desire to kill the new one. I know he has a way with not wanting to completely vanish - where he intrudes the new man's privacy and new life. But be that as it may, he can never take over the new one. It is true.

On the day a man marries, he tightens his belt. He also tightens his heart. And his eyes. He tightens his heart. He then weeds the garden that are his thoughts and often looks at the framed picture of his dad, err, his  father. Quite often. He looks at it with wonder. He wonders just how fast he's joining his league. Then he chooses to change. He changes his walk, his talk, his hiding; and even the way he smirks. The day he marries he grows up. He has to. He becomes a leader. He rules his world. Not with fists and terror, and bother, but with diligence and fervence and love. Yeah, he may toddle in these ways, but he steadies fast. He grows up.

Oh that day a man marries, he becomes a perfect stranger to himself. Even to his OWN mirror. Even to his own walls and corridors. The whole earth becomes an alien the day he marries. And he wonders why. And how. And what. But it happens. It is what happens when men marry.

So when he marries and picks up a new pair of shoes at the altar - shoes he has never worn - and the crowd is gazing at him; some in bewilderment, some with regret, some with desire and others with fury; when he marries and they are gazing at him in that way, let him remember that beyond that day, his surroundings will scream at him louder with expectancy with every passing moment. He should know that the very congregation that is cheering him on is going to expect much more than the veils and suits or flowers and balloons he has offered to display. It is going to want so much more than he (together with his partner) can afford to give. Let him remember (I am told) that the one wedding him in this day needs him - she'll be needing him for a lifetime. That she is now him, and him, her. That they're going to build bridges and hunt lions, and deers, and rabbits, and troubles together. That they're going to cry, and sing, and feel bored, and feel like giving up - but they'll need to hold it together.

I am told many things about 'the day a man marries', but above them all, what I hold onto most is: when a man marries, the Lord God is right there with him. He is there with them. He is watching and is waiting to lead him and bind him to the one wedding him, and the best thing he can ever do (while joining hands with the one wedding him) is to learn to daily tell Him (the LORD God who created them), "Dear Lord, here we come again…" I am told that the unison of those words makes ways through mighty rivers and can calm the most fierce of fires and storms - but first, he needs to marry…

Note: This one I dedicate to my two buddies, Antony and Ben, being bound to some very awesome ladies out there.
Guys, remember that many things DO happen when a man marries, and each one is for his own good.

Bonface Morris.

Under Relative Terms

An old man sits on a bench across the road. He is weary from age. He puts his hand into his pocket to remove his only watch for many years - a plastic Chinese make, which according to him, was the only original make there ever was of that model - and gazes at it. He wonders how it has come to be that he has been sitting in that same place for 3 hours already. Taking his handkerchief out from his rear pocket, he wipes away the sweat accumulating on his face. He has heard so many things about the city and how it has long hands. He was not going to take risks to put his money in the rear pocket. He has it all right there in the inner pocket of his favourite shirt. For someone to have it, he will have to kill him first.

As he contemplates his situation, he understands why he should keep waiting. Life has taught him to be patient. In so many ways. Right from when he was the age of his son - the one he has come to the city to visit. He will not let anger come between him and meeting his son. This is the only day (he thinks) he has an opportunity to shed some light in that lad's life. It is now or never. So he waits.

It is half past eight in the morning, and he is sweating! He gazes around him. The city has changed. The city has really changed. Just a few years ago, there were no buildings in the place he now sits. In fact, were it not for his son's specificity that he should alight here, he would not have known where he was... It is in the middle of the week anyway, and he still has plenty of time to look around before he heads back home to the village. He may know a few names, meet a few people or maybe know a few streets and a few vehicles specific to different streets... 

He gazes at the beauty of the modern city - admiring the good architectural designs… His son (he now thinks) should have made plans to build him a better house by now. He has been working for a while; and work translates to money, right? Well, he still does not understand how people operate nowadays...

Someone pats his back. It jolts him. It should be his son. No? No one knows him in this city except him. "Mzee, umekaa hapa sana, unangoja mtu?" (Old man, you've been here for a while, are you waiting for someone?), comes the voice. He looks up. It's only a boy. Twenty two maybe? He quickly scans his mind to remember how he was told to behave around city boys. Okay, here goes, "No I'm okay". He just has to use English so that this kid cannot think him to be a dumb old geezer, or some petty drums basking in sun waiting to be beaten. The boy looks at him, gives him a twisted crooked smile and moves away. He now remembers the joke his wife (of forty years) had made the previous day while handing him the bag with a few clothing she had packed, "Wewe utapoteza hiyo bag hata kabla ufike Nairobi" (You will lose this bag even before you are in the city). He had smiled and said nothing. That has always been his way of saying, "Yeah, you may be right, but let's leave it at that."

It's always been like that with his wife. They know how to hit at each other in a [tiny] humorous way. They understand how it all goes. They've done this together innumerable times. They enjoy it. They've learned to enjoy it. But they've not enjoyed everything all the time. Not at all. Take for instance, their decision to sell one of those precious goats of theirs so that he may get enough "transport" to travel to the city. It was hard. Really hard. Those goats are like their insurance. They are their security. Touching them (read, selling them) was not an easy decision to make. But they had to. One thing they had done is to take precaution. They had deposited some of the money (after selling the goat) into his M-PESA account. This was to ensure that if things were to go really bad on this merciless side of the world, he'll still have "transport" to get back home. Modernity has taught them a few lessons they would not dare forget. "But what if my phone battery loses charge and there's no electricity?", he had asked her. There may be no electricity at his son's place. He may not even be having a place... They had resolved to leave that as it was. You can't have answers for everything. Yes, that's another life lesson they have learned over time. There are things that should just be let to be. You can’t solve everything...

"Vipi mzee? Sorry, nimechelewa" (Hi, old man, sorry, I'm late), comes another voice. 

"Arrrghhh! This city!!", he yells within himself. 

Alas! It is his boy. "The boy has grown fat", he imagines. That's the first thing he notices of him. "And he now has eye glasses!", his mind continues. "And his voice has also changed...!" 

"Mzee, aren't you going to say anything?" He comes back to his senses.

"Oh, ni uzee! Niko salama. Nilikuwa nashangaa kwani mji umekumeza!?", (Oh, it's old age! I'm okay. I was wondering if the city had swallowed you somehow), he replies. The son now swithes the language and mood: "I passed through here to take you to my place. I have taken a day off, and I'll report back to work tomorrow, or maybe the other day..." He (the old man) smiles and says nothing.

They navigate through the streets of the city to a matatu stage. He is already feeling nostalgic. He doesn't love congestion. "When you grow old", he always says, "you grow weary of busyness..." He's also feeling hungry. The last meal he had was prepared by his wife. Sixteen hours ago. She knows what he likes to have before traveling. And she did just that. He smiles. She knows exactly what he wants and when he wants it. She has learned it over time.

Because of his absence from his immediate environment, he doesn't realize that they're already at their destination. They alight. He looks around. "Not a bad neighborhood", he says within himself. His son knocks on a door. Knocks again. Someone opens from the inside. A lady. No, a girl-ish lady. She smiles at him. "Karibu mzee" (welcome old man). He just nodes in reply.

Things start getting complicated. He has another wife. His son has another girl-ish wife. No wonder he has been silent all this time. No wonder he never asks about his wedded wife. No wonder he can't send support to his thirteen year old child who should now be joining high school. That is why he needs to teach him some sense. That is the reason he is here - to tell him that he needs to man up. He waits until the lady has gone to the other room and makes an introduction to his harangues:

"My son, I'm pleased to be here, and I'm thankful to God that you are healthy and doing well. I travelled well. Your mother is well. We are fine. I have planned to spend some two days at your place before going back to the village. You know we village people love our village...[smiles] I hope it will be okay with you. But I had a few issues I wanted to bring to your attention before settling down: One, your wife has gone back to her parents; two, your child needs to join High School next year; three, I have a problem with arthritis which is now making me inefficient in taking good care of the rest of my family, which is your family too; then four, your sister is pregnant - by I don't know who... To add to that, I need to know who she is [points finger in the direction the lady disappeared] to you."

In reply, before the tea is served, the boy tells him this:

"That is good to hear, but I don't know why you old people have a problem with how we young people choose to spend our lives these days. About my wife, I chose I don't need her anymore. She's rude and a niggard. She's intolerant. Who can live with such a person, huh? I needed a break, so I found someone who really understands me - we've been together for one year. I'm fine with that. If you are not, go bring her back (the wife) and take care of her. About my child, let him learn life the hard way. We didn't reach this far by everything being done right for us. No. Let him learn to struggle, and maybe take himself to a day school or something... A polytechnique may even do... Your health problem is understandable, but I'm not your only child. I have brothers. And sisters. Tell them too. Your brother is a doctor, he might help. And concerning my younger sister - she is a fool. How can she get pregnant with all this that is happening in life today? Throw her out. Let her pay the price of being careless..."

The old man looks intensely at the boy. The boy he has seen grow. The boy he nicknamed his friend. The boy he has known all these days. The boy he has loved so much above the others hoping that he will be the solid ground upon which the family stood in tough and slippery times like these. He says nothing. Even after tea is served, they say nothing. He wonders how children can be so arrogant today. How they can be so irresponsible and beastly. He imagines what would have happened in their days if a child tried to disown his family and evade responsibility. "Relativity, too much relativity, has eaten up our value systems!", he thinks. "Everyone now thinks they are right just because they are right. No one heeds to correction anymore. No one thinks authority is to be respected or that respect is deserved... They all move in the direction they please just because they choose to, and because that's what they want. We are breeding a society without honour and reverence towards the absolute right..."

This eats him up the entire night. He thinks over it. He tosses and turns on that chair he is given as a bed. He then decides to leave the next day. He knows he is not needed there. He doesn't have to be told to leave. He'll leave. But. But he'll never come back. Never. He'll never come back. He won't disown this lad and he won't become his slave. They will survive. They've always survived. They still will. God will make them live.  

The next day, as he boards the bus back home alone, he knows he has another lesson imprinted in his mind. A lesson he's going to deeply share with his wife: peeple today live life under relative terms, everyone thinks he (or she) is right, just because they are right... It is stupid, but it is a lesson anyway...



Bonface Morris.

Love Killed No-one

I have a friend. A friend of mine. The kind who is always as drunk with words as I am. In his inquisitions and musings on life, he one day told me this;

"Morris, love killed no one - it never has,

It stole no-one's castle nor took no-one's child,

It did nothing but love,

It only loved.

That's all we blame it for: that love loves..."

"Morris, love never raided your heart - it never has,

It never matched against your wildest dreams,

Nor took away your boldest stances,

Nor imbibed you in its wings...

Oh yeah, now you think it did, huh?

You now blame it for stealing you away, huh?

It never did.

It just stared as you paced it through the dusty paths of desire,

And pitied you when you fell down to worship it;

And when you stared with angst, didn't it warn you not to awaken it?"

"But now you blame for all it has done;

You *sic* blame it for all things done to the hearts of men and women..."

"Love killed no-one,

And if it has been thought to,

Or if it has ever been wanted to be thought that it has,

It was only following its charmer,

For love loves no challenges,

And its charade is a mighty conqueror,

It doesn't steal, it cannot be stolen, but it can be seduced..."

"Yeah, I agree, people have died in the name of love,

Some were fighting for it

Some were fighting it

Some were fighting in it

Some were drunk with it: the muddle being their end

Some were thirsting for it

Some were reaching out for it

Some were hopeful to find it...

Some were finding it

Some didn't even know what they felt -

All in the name of love"

"But love never killed them

It never did

They all died and were buried; and we clutch at their stories with embroidered hearts,

But, yeah, but love took no sword, nor dagger, nor gun to shoot at any of them

It never said, 'Kill them all!!'

You may say it did, but my friend, who witnessed it?"

"So when men and women die,

When they die for love, or in the name of love,

They only seem to die for the other person,

Or for themselves;

Because somewhere love stares and wonders, "Did I really kill them?"

And it holds its stick - its walking stick (because it has become old and frailly of late)

And moves on to see and hear what others have to say...

Only to find the same old accusations in the next lot of peeple..."

"Peeple!", head tilted on walking stick, it softly wonders, "they never understand!".

Bonface Morris.