My scholarly stint at Tandala Upper Boys Boarding Middle School, from 1965 to 1967, was, as hinted last week, very spartan. But we were able to adjust and pursue our studies accordingly.
Then, as we entered Class VII, a year before completing our primary school education programme, which then ended at Class VIII, there came an earth-shattering announcement from the government.
It was to the effect that primary school education would, with immediate effect, end at Class VII.
That was in 1967. In that year, therefore, the national primary school leaving examinations would be taken by pupils in both classes.
To say this greatly worried us would be an understatement. The changes meant that pupils from both classes would compete for the same secondary school places, which had certainly not been expanded to accommodate the sudden increase in candidates.
No wonder, out of a total of 90 primary school leaving candidates at Tandala-45 each from Classes VII and VIII only five secured secondary school places. Tragically, many more who had surely passed their examinations could not proceed with their education.
I was one of those five lucky students selected to join secondary school. My school would be Mkwawa High School in Iringa town. Little did I know that this development would open up a completely new and life-changing world for this young Bena teenager from Njombe.
First came the receipt of a Bus Warrant, allowing me to travel free of charge from Njombe to Iringa on a specified date. For the younger generation, these were documents authorising one to travel at government expense. That was in early January 1968.
Indeed, one morning at 8 am, I boarded an East African Railways and Harbours bus at its Njombe station. The journey, which today takes about three hours, then took us the whole day as we navigated the potholed and muddy road, finally arriving in Iringa at about 8 pm.
There was torrential rain in Iringa and I was confused about what I would do next. Everybody disembarked from the bus and I was left alone, shivering in the cold Southern Highlands weather.
That was until a middle-aged man in khaki trousers and jacket, wearing a driver’s cap, peeped into the bus and uttered the most reassuring words:
“Any Mkwawa High School student in here?”
He soon helped me with my wooden box, containing all my worldly possessions and placed it in a Volkswagen Kombi parked nearby. Ten minutes later, we drove into the vast, well-lit school compound.
Its well-manicured gardens, paved tarmac roads, street lights and glass-walled buildings reminded me of the small towns in the USA that we had seen in American magazines supplied by the Peace Corps.
The driver parked the Kombi outside a brightly lit, glass-walled and spacious hall. He ushered me inside, where I was welcomed and shown to a table.
A trolley full of food was rolled to my table by a man clad in a white shirt and apron, wearing a funny-looking white hat someone I would later learn was an assistant chef. He proceeded to serve me the food.
It was not simple food. It was a feast.
There was a starter, a main course and a pudding to cap it all. Naturally, this was a complete culture shock for this young Bena boy.
Later, I was taken to my dormitory, Lumumba East House, where I was given a shared cubicle with a fully made bed – complete with a mattress, sheets, blankets and a pillow. I even had my own wardrobe, as well as a table and chair.
After a hot shower, I went straight to bed. I slept deeply and dreamt that I was in fairyland. In fact, I thought everything was a fairy tale until I woke up the following morning and realised:
No! I was indeed in a whole new world.
Follow me next week as I tell you more about this new world of mine.
The author is a veteran journalist and communication expert/consultant.
