JIJI NDOGO: It can’t be a girl, vows Sophia

Between Jiji Ndogo and Jiji Kubwa, there is a school called Bidii Girls’ High School. It may not be one of those fancy national schools, but it is a point of pride for both villages. Anyone who passes well enough to avoid Jiji Ndogo Secondary School and go to the boarding one goes up the ladder of admiration.

Currently, five girls from our village attend the school, and when they come for holidays, we receive them the way people welcome their folks from abroad.

That did not happen today, when two of the girls came home. That’s because they were suspended from school, pending further investigations.

It all started last night, when every available police officer was asked to report to Bidii Girls at one in the morning. Sgt Sophia and I answered the call and chartered motorbikes to the school since our police post has no transport. When we got there, we were met with a scene from hell. One of the dormitories was on fire, and the students were running helter-skelter all over. Some even trying to enter the dorm to fetch their belongings.

It took 10 police officers to calm the students, after we first pacified the headmistress, who was running around with a rungu, threatening to bash heads in. Once everyone was out of harm’s way, we turned our attention to the fire. The nearest fire department is in Eldoret, and it would take them a while to get there. But first, they had to see if their fire engine would start and then fill it up with water. Welcome to Kenya.

That meant we had to organise the calmer students into two sort of conga lines from the water tanks to the burning dorm, one passing a bucket of water to the flames, the other returning the empty vessels. That was Sgt Sophia’s idea, and once more, I’m jealous of her.

By five in the morning, we had most of the inferno under control, but we were only getting started. We took a 10-minute rest break to drink warm water before embarking on the investigation to find out how the fire started.

“Girls?” Sophia said, concerned. “I can’t believe girls did this.”

“Why?” I asked. “You think only boys can be crooks?”

“You know what I mean. When was the last time we brought a girl to the police post because she had beat someone up or burnt something up? It happens but not at this rate. What’s happening to these students?”

“Social media,” said one of the other cops. “They’re hyping each other up on the apps. Plus, they think they’re grown now and shouldn’t be in school. Imagine a student who goes home for the holidays and makes Sh10,000 either snatching phones or riding boda bodas, then he goes back to school. He can’t respect his teachers.”

“Again,” Sophia insisted, “that’s mostly the boys. Girls used to get pregnant and drop out of school. They didn’t burn down their dorms.”

“What is it with you and this obsession that girls should be different?” I asked her.

“Because our brains are wired differently. Girls are smarter than boys, they make better decisions. Most of the time, anyway. Now what am I supposed to do?”

“What do you mean what are you supposed to do? You’re not responsible for the actions of all women.”

Only then did I notice her rubbing her belly and remembered that she is carrying our baby.

“Is this about the baby?” I asked.

“I wanted it to be a girl,” she said. “Not any more. It can’t be a girl. It can’t!”