Nothing ever set the mood more than that end of year period
when house parties came into full swing. After countless months of planning,
which would mostly involve being fleeced of painfully saved pocket money all in
the name of a house party, we would finally get the chance to feast like kings
(as close as it gets anyway).
To understand the significance of a house party you must be
privy to the diet that is Maseno school food. Ranging from daily helpings of
nyoyo to the ever dread heart-burn (in all honesty it eventually became my best
meal) our diet was nothing to write home about, nothing good anyway, the house
party came as a sweet relief giving fleeting remembrance of what we were
missing at home. The house parties were normally just before our KCSE
exams and as common men our biggest role was to contribute our monies and hope
against hope that the special brand of house officials didn’t perpetuate the oh
so famous culture of Kenyans, Corruption. The mood always changed around that
time, I had the pleasure of being on both sides of the divide, both as a common
man and as Prefect hopeful better known as Senior boy.
The first thing would involve buying the foodstuff, a role
that was assigned to those in positions of power. This was a chance to leave
the dreaded Maseno gates albeit for just a fraction of a day but if you were
“held captive” there an hour or two away was a God send, just ask anyone who
participated in an event that granted temporary reprieve from the land beyond
the gates. This would usually be a short trip to Luanda market, where the air
was less than fresh but I could have cared less. We would set about to cross
items off our list with Mama wa mbogo hallowing from all corners, competing for
our attention.
Cooking would ensue the next day with goody goodies such as
meat being ordered and delivered on the morning of the house party. Our houses
were always divided into, for example Owen 1 and 2 not sure if that’s still the
case. Commoners would be exiled from “the kitchen” which was one of the houses
chosen to host the proclaimed chefs of the house. This would mostly entail
mama’s boys who had become well versed with the ways of the kitchen not that
there weren’t any mishaps in their endeavors to please our tummies with
chapati and meat, for truly what other food mattered.
I remember one such
incident where the house captain decide to “set aside” some meat all in the
name of, “we will fry it later”. Sadly the meat ended up going bad and being
thrown away, it still pains me to this day.
Eventually the time to feast would arrive, a class room was
picked to host, probably 1W or 1R given their strategic position away from prying eyes.
The ever so famous blue blankets (a source of punishment if ever they turned
colour) would be hang across the windows and chairs would set up to mimic a
conference room. Food was ferried in drones and set at a specific corner with the portions
already calculated, common men would follow plate and cup in hand to partake in
this end of year feast.
Disclaimer was, if you had failed to complete payment of
house tax, better known as house fund, you were hallowed away like a stray dog.
The night would be filled with loud music and hearty
laughter, bellies were filled and thirsts were quenched. It was the one day a
year it wasn’t so bad to be a member of the oh so great Maseno High School.
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