Rules of College Management: A Novel

By Turyahikayo Everest

Uchoyo Nixon lands the top position at Talaka College through an unusual turn of events—his only competitor oversleeps and misses the job interview. 
Mysterious meetings with vague agendas expose Uchoyo’s unconventional leadership style. His ambitious travel plans take an unexpected turn. He discovers a non-existent college online and when he visits Brazil to benchmark from it, locals inform him it is fictional. He encounters similar challenges in Trinidad and Tobago. Uchoyo considers extreme measures, proposing to burn down the administration building hoping to get large insurance compensation. Fedha, the finance manager, saves the building by suggesting alternative revenue sources.
Uchoyo aims to boost revenue by engaging alumni and invites former students to a meeting on December 30th. He dismisses the significance of quorum, despite the few attendees. He unveils the alumni constitution to the attendees and informs them he will collect subscription fees on their behalf. The proposal to make alumni fees mandatory for new students sparks a heated debate within the governing council. Uchoyo sponsors the council to travel to Malaysia and Tioman island for a holiday. Hasidi faces the challenge of processing their visas, some of whom had never possessed passports. While there, they approve the proposal. Blowunie complains of exclusion from the travel, yet she was an important staff who audited expenditures. She threatens to audit the bogus trip and report to the ombudsman. Uchoyo learns about Blowunie’s plans. He instructs Fedha to fund Blowunie’s travel to the Zambezi River, where she almost drowns. Upon her return, she gifts Uchoyo a necktie, pants, and socks.
As Uchoyo successfully thwarts Blowunie’s threats to audit him, he travels to New York. The trip is for an international conference for college principals. He discovers it is a conference for gay activists. Mwongo and Blowunie conspire to disrupt Uchoyo’s activities. Upon his return from New York, he opens a regional campus in east Talaka. He claims the campus will bring services closer to people, but his true intention is to offer jobs to his close relatives and friends. When he opens the campus, he recruits more staff than the main campus. Students decline to study from an ill-equipped campus in hard to reach region. He threatens to cancel admissions for students who refuse to study at the regional campus. Uchoyo abolishes the end of first semester exams because of high student failure and classifies the Bachelor of Philosophy degree to encourage student reading. Only 10% pass the course, with a ninety percent failure rate. 60% of the 10% attain first class, while the rest obtain a pass degree.
Uchoyo faces internal revolt from Mwongo and Bayuuni. Mwongo often shares her secrets with Blowunie. Blowunie leaks the secrets to Uchoyo. Mwongo learns about it and successfully hires a hitman to kill Blowunie. Fedha provides money to Hasidi for a wreath and condolence card. He uses the money to buy his child a toy, falsely claiming it was stolen in a traffic jam.
The internal revolt spreads to the regional campus, with staff complaining of mistreatment. They write to Uchoyo, demanding secession. Uchoyo pleads in vain. At a staff reconciliation meeting, Uchoyo criticises Mwongo’s lack of credentials and unveils Bayuuni as the likely successor. Mwongo fatally strikes Bayuuni with an object, resulting in his death a week later. Judge Kabisi declares Mwongo not guilty because of insanity. 
“Rules of College Management” is a thought-provoking novel that delves into the intricacies of leadership, morality, and the choices that shape the fate of a community caught in the crossfire of ambition and desperation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Everest Turyahikayo
• Release date: Oct 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9789913970501

Book preview

This novel is the work of fiction. All names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this work are creatures of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

Copyright © Everest Turyahikayo 2023

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

You can reach the author via email: [e-mail]

Dedicated to

Esther, John, Cathy, Michael, Hellen, Irene, and Leticia

I’m so proud of you!

Prologue

Talaka College was a place where the pursuit of philosophy took centre stage. The college held a history as rich and complex as the human minds that graced its halls. It was a sanctuary of thought, a realm where ideas intertwined and diverged, a home to those who sought the profound mysteries of life itself.

At the helm of this esteemed institution stood a man of both ambition and controversy, Principal Uchoyo. His unwavering determination to shape the destiny of the College and the lives it touched marked his leadership. Yet, as the pages of this tale will reveal, his path was fraught with power, greed, secrets and injustice, to both inspire and dupe.

In here, intertwined stories of distinct characters will lead you to events that shaped the fate of Talaka College. Throughout this journey, you’ll experience clashes between ambition and integrity; power struggles, and the ageless fight between good and evil. All of this unfolds in an institution teetering between change and ruin.

Welcome to Talaka College, where knowledge is supreme and can uncover the intricacies of the human soul. The curtain rises, and the stage is set for a narrative that will leave an indelible mark on the heart and mind.

1

L

uck is like a midnight burglar; it attacks when you least expect it. Uchoyo Nixon received the highest rating in a job interview. The year was twenty fifteen. His sole competitor overslept and failed to attend the interview, with no opportunity for a reschedule. Uchoyo’s achievement rendered re-advertising the position of Talaka College principal unnecessary. The response to the advertisement had been lacklustre.

The College was the only one of sort mandated to teach Philosophy in Talaka. It was perched down in the valley, in between two ghettos. It was tainted with natural and artificial vegetation, responsible for a clash between rain and sunshine within Talaka city. The city was a breathtaking urban landscape. Its beauty lied not only in its lush green surroundings but also in the vibrant spirit that coursed through its bustling streets. Rapid development transformed it into a hive of activity, where the city’s pulse never seemed to slow down. In the mornings, the streets came alive with honking horns and people rushing to work, often caught in the web of traffic jams. Motorcycles were everywhere, almost outnumbering the people in the city, and offering a fast way to navigate the dusty streets. In the evening, during the peak hours, the city’s energy reached a crescendo, reflecting the dynamic essence of this urban gem in the heart of Africa.

Uchoyo visited Talaka College to find out results of the interview. He arrived on a massive motorcycle with handwritten words at its fender, Mercedes Benz. He shortly had a chat with Malaika Dodi, the Principal Clerk, in her office. Malaika was pious and tall, always preoccupied with leaving a wonderful legacy before her retirement. Her dark skin glowed with a natural radiance, untouched by any makeup. Malaika had a neatly trimmed hair that elegantly framed her face.

Good afternoon, Uchoyo. Please, come in and make yourself comfortable. Her soft voice had a soothing quality, instantly putting him at ease.

Thank you. His deep, resonant voice carried a sense of assurance, befitting a man of his stature.

"Is there a chance the interview results will be out soon?

I must apologise; the interview results are not available yet, Malaika said with an unwavering sense of composure.

No worries.

If you don’t mind me asking, how is your family doing?

Thank you for asking, Malaika. My family is doing well. I have a loving wife Isabella, and we’re blessed with three wonderful children. The eldest, let’s just say, inherited a bit of my stubbornness. His voice held a touch of amusement.

It must keep things interesting at home. Speaking of your childhood, what was it like growing up?

You know, my upbringing was rather unconventional.

Unconventional? I’m intrigued.

Well, my story is quite a tale. His fingers danced lightly over the armrest, a testament to his graceful movements. I grew up in a household where my mother was the rock. She lost her husband during the civil war that ravaged Talaka in the sixties.

I can only imagine how challenging that must have been for your family.

Indeed, it was. My mother remarried twice, and from each of those unions, she had two children. He spoke with a measured speech pattern, carefully choosing each word. My stepfather left behind a restaurant business in Talaka City, a place that also doubled as a tavern. I used to assist my mother with the evening shifts, all while managing my studies.

Your upbringing sounds like a testament to resilience.

It certainly was. My mother was a stickler for accountability regarding the money we collected from our customers.

She must have had high hopes for you.

Indeed, she did. However, during those years, I wasn’t the responsible man you see today. His chuckle was a rich, melodious sound. I started experimenting with smoking and alcohol at the tender age of thirteen. By the time I was fourteen, I had even courted a woman who was twice my age.

You were quite the rebellious teenager.

Yes, I was. Everything changed when I started studying jurisprudence at the Talaka University of Political Science. It was then that I realised the need to transform my life, embrace responsibility, and carve out a meaningful path for myself. Though, I regret not having reformed much earlier.

No worries, Uchoyo. Opting for progress at the eleventh hour is like planting seeds under the crescent moon, but still reaping a fruitful harvest.

Uchoyo was the chairperson in Idan village for ten years, addressing issues like land grabbing, theft, and defilement before joining Talaka College. Villagers loved him a great deal, especially those whose matters he decided in their favour. People used to say that during one of his mediation sessions, he judged a case of land grabbing and decided the accused was both right and wrong. He showed the complainant a judgement convicting the accused and demanded an air ticket to travel to France. Uchoyo informed the accused he had acquitted him and asked for sponsorship of his shopping while in France. When Uchoyo returned from France, he dismissed the complaint.

2

U

choyo visited Malaika’s office a second time to get his letter of employment. He wore a long-sleeved shirt, jeans, and open shoes. His earrings dangled like a swinging pendulum, black like the tattoo on his left hand. He found when Malaika had just concluded her afternoon prayer. Every day at two o’clock, she knelt on a mat in her office for a ten-minute prayer.

The moment Uchoyo stepped into Malaika’s office, the atmosphere charged with a sense of new beginnings. Malaika smiled warmly and congratulated him on his appointment.

Thank you, Uchoyo responded, his voice carrying an air of quiet confidence. Without missing a beat, he shifted the conversation to something unexpected. Could I see my office? he inquired, his curiosity palpable.

Malaika, momentarily taken aback by his request, quickly regained her composure. She had thought he would ask for his appointment letter, but this was a different path entirely. I’ll show it to you as you leave, sir, she replied. From her desk drawer, she retrieved a sealed envelope, handing it to Uchoyo with precision.

Uchoyo tore the envelope open with his teeth. Before revealing its contents, he questioned Malaika, his tone tinged with curiosity. Is this the contract?

No, this is the letter of appointment. You’ll sign the contract when you report on Monday, Malaika clarified with a soft and reassuring voice.

After perusing the letter, Uchoyo said; The salary seems fair. After all, college principals work just half a day, twice a week, he mused, his demeanour blending confidence and a touch of nonchalance. With practiced ease, he returned the letter to its envelope and slipped it into the pocket of his coat.

Not content with just the logistics, Uchoyo’s curiosity extended to the dress code. Malaika, poised as ever and gave a succinct response. Senior managers wear suits and purple neckties for men. Females opt for official dresses, she explained, her words a reflection of her professional demeanour.

As they walked towards Uchoyo’s office, they stumbled upon an intriguing encounter with Mwongo Carols. She possessed an arresting contrast between her light-skinned complexion and the depth of her life experiences. Despite her medium height, an unspoken strength seemed to radiate from within her. Each step she took was deliberate and heavy, as if she carried the weight of countless unspoken thoughts and grievances. Mwongo taught Ancient and Medieval Philosophy. Despite her ability to simplify Aristotle’s theories, her behaviour in class didn't always demonstrate her intelligence. Challenging questions from students seemed to unsettle her, as if she had crammed her lectures beforehand. At Talaka, English language was the medium of communication. Mwongo’s spoken English was fluent, but her written English remained a mystery.

Malaika, the embodiment of professionalism, introduced Uchoyo to Mwongo with an air of anticipation. However, Mwongo’s response harboured more than just scepticism; it concealed a simmering inner conflict, a brewing storm on the horizon. Are you sure this is our next principal? she inquired; her voice laden with unspoken doubts.

Malaika, momentarily taken aback, responded, Yes, of course.

Beneath the polite facade, Mwongo’s bitterness toward Uchoyo, the new principal, was palpable. She had harboured aspirations for the same position but wasn’t shortlisted because her application lacked caption and the post applied for wasn’t mentioned anywhere in the text. Envy fuelled her determination to resist the recent changes.

With restrained politeness, Mwongo extended a welcome to Uchoyo, her words thinly veiled by the turmoil that churned within her. As they parted ways, a subtle act of defiance manifested as Mwongo, a few metres away, spat in silent protest. It was her way of resisting the transformation about to happen at the College.

Uchoyo, navigating this silent maelstrom, offered nothing more than a nod in response. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken conflict, a palpable tension that hung like a dense fog in the air. With Malaika by his side, he continued his journey to the office, acutely aware of the tempest brewing beneath the College’s calm exterior.

The office was being painted. You could smell the fresh paint. They transformed the building, once residential for colonial workers, into a place for learning. They removed the old tiles and fixed the new ones. Uchoyo touched on the tiles and said they were very smooth. The window curtains, which they had removed from curtain rods, covered the file cabinets and TV screen.

Offices that were once bedrooms for colonial masters now held knowledge. Uchoyo stepped into the office, his eyes scanning the space that would now bear his name. So, all of this is my office? he inquired, a mixture of awe and responsibility dancing in his voice.

Malaika nodded with an air of formality, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity about the man who had just become their new principal. Yes, of course, she replied, her voice carrying a hint of pride in the institution she had served for years.

Where’s the toilet?

I’m sorry, she began, her voice softening with empathy, the building dates back to colonial times. All the offices here are not self-contained.

And where’s the fridge?

We have taken it for repair, sir, Malaika explained, her tone tinged with a hint of inconvenience.

Taken for repair before even being used? he quipped with a smile.

It was being used by the previous principal, sir, she clarified, her laughter bubbling just beneath the surface.

Oh, I see. Where are the photos of my predecessors? he wondered aloud, a desire to connect with the past weaving its way into his thoughts.

We have moved the photos to the Boardroom, she explained.

Boardroom? What is a boardroom? he inquired.

The room where senior managers commonly meet, she clarified, her words a glimpse into the College’s hierarchy.

In my previous workplace in Idan, there were no boardrooms.

Oh. I understand, sir.

Where’s a second door? he questioned. A principal should have an escape door. Sometimes students can riot.

Malaika, perhaps finding merit in his suggestion, nodded in agreement. That’s a good idea, she acknowledged. We could consider adding a door when funds allow.

Uchoyo left satisfied that his office was big enough to befit the college principal. Yet, it lacked some basics which needed fixing before the reporting date.

Two days later, Uchoyo visited Malaika’s office again to find out whether the furnishing of his office was complete. He would report for work in a week’s time. Malaika informed him that the furnishing of his office was still ongoing and it would be complete before the reporting day.

Uchoyo thanked Malaika for the wonderful work done and he left.

3

O

n a Friday, during their break at the staff hub, Mwongo shared a moment with Blowunie Mugwe. Blowunie possessed an enigmatic allure that fascinated and bewildered those who crossed her path. Her brown skin carried the weight of unspoken stories, and her medium height hinted at a latent strength that seemed to emanate from her very core. Her brown artificial hair framed her face like a veil, adding a touch of mystique to her presence. But what truly set Blowunie apart was her remarkable ability to wear a radiant smile, even when her eyes betrayed the tears that often welled within. Blowunie’s messy divorces and gossiping habits made her a controversial figure. At the College, they knew her as radio call because she talked nonstop. She would boldly declare to her friends, My youngest son is fatherless. On the night I conceived, I slept with three men. I can’t tell who of those impregnated me. She was both mysterious and influential, boldly speaking her mind and familiar with people in power. The air was thick with the buzz of conversations and the aroma of coffee, providing the backdrop for their candid discussion.

Mwongo’s voice laced with a hint of bitterness as she confided, I saw my competitor today. The man who took my job.

Blowunie furrowed her brows in confusion, her curiosity piqued. Which competitor? she asked, genuinely intrigued.

The incoming principal.

How does he look? Blowunie asked.

Mwongo pulled out her tongue, widened her lips and wiped off the lipstick. She described Uchoyo as a man with light skin, a tall stature, and a bald head. He had a mustache, neck chains, and wrist bangles.

Blowunie’s eyes widened, her interest fully ignited. Is he friendly? she inquired, eager to gauge what lay ahead.

I doubt it, Mwongo admitted, her voice tinged with disdain. He appeared arrogant, disinterested about everything.

Blowunie, ever the optimist, sought a more balanced perspective. Are you saying we’re in trouble?

I think so. He even seems to have a dirty past, she admitted. He wrote two judgements, convicting and acquitting the accused in the same case.

He must be very innovative, Blowunie said.

It's not innovation, it's fraud, Mwongo said.

The following week on Monday morning, around ten-thirty, Uchoyo arrived at the College for work. He was being driven in the College vehicle. The new principal wore a navy-blue suit, a white shirt and red necktie, well-polished black shoes, a Swiss-made watch, and held an iPad. He had a fresh haircut and a polished beard. Uchoyo abandoned his earrings, neck chains and bungles. Malaika had been waiting to welcome him at the main building entrance since eight-thirty in the morning. She thought Uchoyo would report early, like his predecessor used to. Little did she know Uchoyo was chronically tardy. Immediately he got out of the car, the eyeglasses fell off and broke into pieces. Malaika was still unsure about how to assist the new principal in replacing the broken glasses. To her surprise, Uchoyo said he did not need new ones.

Malaika stood up in her donned long black skirt and pink blouse, ushered him to his well-furnished office. Shortly before entering the office, Uchoyo’s wife called him on the phone and Uchoyo, who saved his wife’s name as Wi-Fi in his phonebook, said he would call back.

The swivel chair, desktop, laptop, conference table, and analogue TV screen were all part of Uchoyo’s well-equipped office. There was also an electric kettle, a fridge, and photographs of the previous principals. It surprised Uchoyo to see photographs of some of his former friends who were chairpersons in the nearby villages. He requested Malaika to give him their telephone contacts. Malaika promised to provide the contacts before noon. At the time he entered the office, a news channel was airing on TV. He immediately got the remote and changed to a music channel. Malaika looked on in total disbelief. She had never seen previous principals of the College engage in channel surfing. At least they would request a junior to do it for them.

They stuffed the conference table with tea and coffee, with some biscuits. Uchoyo moved straight to serve himself a cup of coffee. When he stood up to pour coffee into the cup, his necktie swung. Accidentally, the tie tip dipped into the cup of coffee. He removed the necktie and placed it in an envelope. Thereafter, he made a sign of the cross and started taking coffee. After taking coffee, he noticed some articles in the tabloid took Malaika up. Uchoyo picked some fetishes from his bag and inserted them in the flowerpot. Let me leave this office voluntarily, he said before throwing waste paper through the window that fell on the cleaner’s back.

Before Malaika could leave his office, Uchoyo requested a meeting with all the middle managers. The meeting would take place the next day at noon. He asked Malaika to organise the meeting and suggest any other workers whom she thought should attend the meeting. Malaika advised that the practice at the College was the issuance of notice before formal meetings.

Malaika asked for permission to draft the meeting notice for Uchoyo’s signature with a hint of tension in her voice.

Uchoyo’s attention wavered as he engaged in a phone conversation with a friend. Moments later, he shifted his focus back to Malaika. Sorry, could you repeat that?

Sir, it’s customary here to precede formal meetings with notices. I kindly request to prepare the meeting notice for your signature.

Okay, Malaika. See you then.

Malaika, interpreting his dismissal as an instruction to proceed, acknowledged with a measured tone, Much obliged, sir. The seemingly polite exchange had an underlying power dynamic and unspoken conflict between them.

An hour later, Malaika returned to Uchoyo’s office with a draft notice. The notice read;

Dear senior staff of Talaka College,

Re: Farewell party

The new principal invites you to a special meeting tomorrow at two o’clock.

The inaugural meeting will take place in the boardroom. Please attend and keep time.

Yours sincerely,

Mwerevu.

Here it is, sir, Malaika said.

Wait a moment, Uchoyo said as he typed an email on his computer using the middle finger of his right hand. He concurrently scrolled through his phone’s screen using his left hand. This century favours people who can multi-task, he said.

As the draft notice dangled in Malaika’s hands, Uchoyo dialled his old friend Bekokwahe’s number. The familiar voice at the other end filled the room, and a wave of nostalgia washed over Uchoyo.

Bekokwahe, my long-time friend, Uchoyo greeted warmly, his voice laced with genuine curiosity. How have you been all these years?

I’m doing well, Uchoyo, he replied. Life in South Africa has been quite the adventure. And yes, I’ve settled down in Johannesburg, just as you heard.

I’ve got some news, he began, his voice carrying a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. I’ve taken on a new job as the principal of Talaka College.

That’s great news indeed. How are the first days like?

I’m still trying to understand the culture; the environment, and the demands of this position, Uchoyo confessed, his inner conflict clear. He had always wanted power and control, and now he had it, but the weight of responsibility was settling in.

And what kind of college have you inherited? The buildings, the people?

It feels like an abandoned place, to be honest, he admitted. I have to start from scratch, and I’m not sure how much I can achieve.

All colleges receive the principals they deserve. My advice is to lead the people based on your own model. Don’t copy other people’s models. Most principals these days seem to lean towards plundering, greed, and depleting the college’s resources.

You’re absolutely right, he replied, his agreement tinged with a sense of concern. Power, control, greed, and plunder have become the norm, but I will try to retrain myself.

My best wishes, Bekokwahe said.

I’ll call you back again, and we can chat at length, he said. Thank you for taking my call.

Malaika listened to the entire conversation. Her expression grew increasingly troubled as she contemplated the implications of Uchoyo’s phone conversation. The fear that his actions might jeopardise her plan to leave a positive legacy at Talaka College weighed heavily on her mind. If he misused his newfound power, give in to greed, and potentially plunder the College’s resources.

4

U

choyo had forgotten all about the draft notice. Malaika was still waiting to have it signed so that she could issue it to the invited staff. He looked at Malaika and said, Sorry for keeping you waiting this long. Today being my first day on the job, I have a lot on my mind. Let me sign the notice and you will issue it right away. Malaika handed over the draft notice to Uchoyo for signing. She had a habit of copying and pasting old memos on her computer. Malaika would then edit the memos to reflect the new message. She would forget to change some critical information. In this notice, Malaika forgot to change the date and subject. However, the body of the message was correct. Uchoyo read the first paragraph of the notice and signed it right away. Malaika, the signed notice here it is. Proceed and issue notice to colleagues.

Much obliged, sir, Malaika replied.

Malaika left Uchoyo’s office straight to the photocopier in the corner of her office room. Malaika produced enough copies and distributed them to all invitees. As soon as Mwongo read the notice, she went straight to Malaika and said,

Can this new principal learn to respect us? Mwongo’s words hung in the air like a brewing storm, and her tone crackled with tension.

Malaika, her face a picture of patience, dared to question Mwongo’s stance. Why do you speak like that, Mwongo? she inquired, her voice carrying a hint of caution.

He wants us to attend the meeting when we should be teaching. That’s unacceptable, Mwongo declared, her frustration palpable. He should know that teaching here is our priority.

Malaika attempted to reason, though her words only added fuel to the fire. I think the principal has the authority to invite you for the meeting at his own will. He’s the overall leader in this College.

Mwongo’s retort came swiftly, her voice dripping with defiance. No one disputes that. He’s our top leader, but very disrespectful. If you so wish, tell him, she challenged.

Malaika met Mwongo’s gaze with unwavering resolve and offered a nugget of wisdom. Humility and obedience to authority are free ideals.

Mwongo shot back, her anger unabated. Obedience does not mean subservience.

If you choose not to attend, that is your choice. Others will.

Next time, I will not allow staff in my unit to attend such bogus meetings.

Malaika maintained her composure, sneezed quietly, and continued working, but tension hung in the air.

Ukweli Cowson was the deputy principal of the College. She had taught logical syllogism for over fifteen years. No one beat her in raising logical arguments despite her slow-paced actions. Before teaching logic at the College, she had taught grammar in over three high schools. Ukweli was the second employee to receive the notice of the meeting. Staff knew her for being diligent and paying too much attention to detail. Ukweli was the only pundit in English grammar at the College. She was supposed to sit interviews with Uchoyo. Unfortunately, she arrived late for the interview. The interview panel declined her request to reschedule.

Malaika handed the notice of the meeting to Ukweli, her expression marked with a subtle wariness. Ukweli, a seasoned editor and proofreader, accepted it with a deliberate nod, her eyes hidden behind a pair of no-nonsense reading glasses. As her gaze dissected the document, Ukweli’s senses sharpened, attuned to the minute details that often eluded others.

The room seemed to hold its breath as Ukweli’s discerning eye caught the glaring errors. The date, boldly stamped for the previous year, hung like an inescapable blunder. Her lips pressed into a thin line, an instinctual response to such a glaring oversight. The document’s content didn’t match what it claimed to be about, and her precise finger movements made that clear. The name of the signatory, an artefact from the past, hung in the balance like a testament to incompetence.

Missed job interviews and the thought of retirement haunted Ukweli. The messy tangle of Talaka College’s affairs weighed on her, and she couldn’t afford to let any error slide. Her search for a red pen, an almost symbolic quest for perfection, revealed her unwavering commitment to her craft.

Some typos, a lot of them, Ukweli declared, her voice charged as she underlined the corrections in the text.

When Malaika read the corrections Ukweli had made, she quaked. She could not figure out precisely how Uchoyo was going to react to this mistake. She knelt down in her office, closed her eyes, and prayed. Having gained courage, she incorporated the corrections and returned the notice to Uchoyo for signature. She missed him because he had left the office. He had gone to prepare for the meeting, which was scheduled for the next day. Uchoyo talked on the phone talking to his acquittances, that he had issued a short notice for the meeting. He was worried that workers would detest the abrupt notice of the meeting. Having failed to find him in the office, it puzzled Malaika about how to deliver the corrected notice for his signature. She needed to secure the signature urgently before it was five o’clock. By this time, all workers closed the day’s business. She cooked up the idea of ringing Gishu Edmond, Uchoyo’s driver. When she telephoned Gishu, he informed her that Uchoyo had entered a casino. Malaika did not know what a casino was. She thought it was probably one of the newly established restaurants in town. However, she explained to Gishu what had happened, and requested guidance. As soon as she completed talking on the phone, Uchoyo came back from the casino and moved straight to the park yard. The driver narrated to him what Malaika had said. Uchoyo responded, Drop me home, return to college, and pick up the notice for my signature.

As it is universally acknowledged, your home is the only comfortable place you should retire to after a hectic day. Gishu dropped Uchoyo at home. Uchoyo’s wife Isabella had gone to market. The small gate was open because the house girl had escaped through it. She had complained of torture for close to three years.

Gishu noticed Uchoyo sitting on the balcony with a massive bottle of red wine on the table. He sat on a plastic chair, with his legs stretched on a stool. Uchoyo was in a relaxed mood, scrolling through his smartphone. Gishu placed on a table the envelope containing the notice of the meeting. Uchoyo looked at the envelope for close to a minute, pulled out the notice, and said, I hope Malaika has made all the corrections this time round. He signed the notice, placed it back into the envelope, and placed it on the table. Gishu picked up the signed notice and drove to College. He found Malaika waiting for him in her office. It was four-thirty in the afternoon, and most workers were clearing their desks before leaving the offices. She picked a pen and wrote at the bottom of the notice, This notice replaces the one issued earlier. She moved around offices distributing the corrected version. When she knocked at Mwongo’s office door, she did not respond. When Malaika slid the notice under Mwongo’s office door, Mwongo picked up and read the notice. She read Malaika’s handwritten note: This notice replaces the one issued earlier. Mwongo sent Malaika a phone text reading, ‘What’s de defference petween this notice and the other one? Malaika called Mwongo on the phone and informed her of the errors in the earlier notice.

5

T

he next day, Uchoyo arrived for the meeting at eleven-fifty-five in the morning, five minutes before the start time. He disembarked from his car and moved gracefully and confidence to the boardroom, exuding an aura of self-assuredness in every step he took. No other staff had arrived. Malaika, who was the second person to arrive, appeared fifteen minutes later. She noticed Uchoyo was typing the agenda for the meeting on his phone. He appeared quite busy typing and Malaika thought something could have been wrong with the notice.

The morning sun streamed into Uchoyo’s office, casting long shadows that seemed to dance around the room. Malaika, poised by the door, greeted him with a polite, Good morning, principal.

Uchoyo acknowledged her with a cordial