The New Principal

The air at Thika School, Kisumu, was thick with unease. A new principal had arrived—Mr. Kamau from Thika—and with him came the heavy weight of uncertainty. The staff whispered in hushed tones, their anxieties simmering beneath forced smiles.

For the Kisumu teachers, the sting of disappointment ran deeper. Not only had none of their own been chosen for the position, but the head office had introduced Mr. Kamau in the worst possible way. The chief finance officer had stood beside him on that first day, scowling as he declared, "The laziness in this campus ends today." And Mr. Kamau, rather than reassuring his new staff, had echoed the sentiment—his opening speech laced with thinly veiled threats.

A New Semester Begins

Two weeks of holiday had done little to ease the tension. On the first day of the new semester, Ochieng arrived early, sacrificing his cherished morning workout just to make a good impression. Yet, his effort was wasted. Mr. Kamau had already signed the attendance register—anyone signing after him would be marked late.

Ochieng shrugged. Lateness had never been a serious offense before. He signed his name boldly beneath the principal’s, scribbling 8:00 AM with a flourish, then retreated to his office to face the mountain of unmarked examination booklets waiting on his desk.

Marking was the bane of his teaching career. He hated it—the agonizing deliberation over wrong answers, the mental gymnastics of trying to justify a student’s flawed reasoning. He didn’t enjoy failing them, so he took his time, laboring over each paper as if the weight of their futures rested on his red pen.

But this time, the pressure was worse. The deadline had passed, and the new principal, a man who seemed to breathe bureaucracy, was cracking down.

"Will I even have time for my long lunches now?" Ochieng wondered. Those escapes outside school grounds were his lifeline—the only thing preserving his sanity.

The Staff’s Growing Unease

Around him, his colleagues buzzed with nervous energy. Most had arrived late, only to freeze at the sight of Mr. Kamau’s signature looming at the top of the register.

"I hope these measures will increase enrollment," Lavender quipped as she strode past, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Ochieng looked up, his concentration broken. Lavender was a rare bright spot in the staffroom—simple, sharp, and effortlessly attractive. Tall and slim, with a waist that tempted his imagination, she was the kind of woman who made him forget his usual caution around the opposite sex.

When she peeked into his office, he rose without thinking, pulling her into a tight embrace. She smelled like sunlight and something floral—vanilla, maybe. For a moment, he forgot about exams, forgot about the new principal, forgot everything except the warmth of her body against his.

Then she laughed, pulling away with flushed cheeks, and the spell broke.

The Meeting

At noon, the entire staff gathered in Lecture Room 8, their unease thickening with every passing minute. Mr. Kamau had called a management meeting first, and it had dragged on for hours.

"What could they possibly be discussing for this long?" Victor muttered, shifting in his seat.

Ochieng, now nursing a plate of chapo and beans, felt a familiar dread creep in. It reminded him of his days at Maranda High, where long meetings with prefects always ended with them emerging like wasps—aggressive, vindictive, ready to sting.

The staff sat clustered at the back of the room, leaving only Ochieng and Jacinta, in the front row.

"Come on, don’t be shy!" Ochieng teased, waving them forward. But no one moved. The room was eerily silent, the kind of quiet that comes before a storm.

Then James walked in—James, who always sat with the teachers, who had always been one of them—and took a seat among the management.

Ochieng’s stomach dropped.

When Mr. Kamau finally entered, the air turned to ice.

The meeting was about to begin.