Tales from the High School Jungle: Pineapple Mishaps and Hoe Adv

Ah, let me take you back to the glorious days of high school, where the real ghetto existed for those of us who braved the wildness of public education. Private school scholars, you can just sit back and enjoy the show. Now, picture me, a fearless teen girl, navigating the treacherous terrain of Form 2.

It was one fateful afternoon when hunger struck and the school lunch menu decided to torture us with a week-long feast of githeri, a delightful combination of infested weevil beans and maize. As a boujee food connoisseur, there was no way I could subject myself to such culinary atrocities.

Of course, that afternoon’s torture session involved physics class and a trip to the lab. My friend Naomi and I, always fashionably late, rushed to gather the necessary equipment and arrived a cool ten minutes before the bell. As a proud backbencher and self-proclaimed anti-teacher’s pet, I took my seat, only to be greeted by Naomi’s whisper, “Do you smell pineapples, or am I hallucinating?”

The tantalizing scent of pineapples permeated the entire lab, mercilessly taunting my growling stomach. Curiosity got the better of us, and we decided to investigate the origin of this tropical aroma. Lo and behold, we discovered a bucket that suspiciously resembled a dustbin (or so I still argue to this day), filled to the brim with delicious pineapples. There were only a few of us in the lab, so getting caught wasn’t a big concern.

Without an ounce of guilt, we dove headfirst into that pineapple treasure trove, devouring them like ravenous beasts. My hunger was finally appeased, and I looked forward to fully concentrating on the afternoon lesson with a satisfied belly.

But alas, the universe had other plans. The lab technician, accompanied by not one, not two, but four teachers, knocked on the door, causing my eyes to well up with tears even before they entered the room. “Kimeniramba” (it has dawned on me), I thought to myself, my heart sinking. The lab technician explained that those pineapples were actually part of a biology experiment conducted in the morning, and they were meant to be disposed of due to their hazardous chemical concoction.

I was already mentally preparing myself for the worst as the words left her mouth. We couldn’t deny our guilty indulgence, knowing full well that we had ingested a potentially harmful chemical mixture. With shame etched on our faces, we were forced to face the consequences in front of the class.

What unfolded next can only be described as World War III. It felt no different than the stories my great-grandfather had told me about his experiences in World War II. Those teachers made sure I would never forget that day, as I still bear a scar on my left arm from the aftermath. My entire body ached, and to add insult to injury, we were assigned farm duty as punishment.

Imagine that it was my first time wielding a hoe (or, as we call it, a jembe) in my delicate, perfectly manicured hands. That night, sleep eluded me as thoughts of the next day’s farming adventure filled my head. The following morning, we were herded to the farm like a flock of sheep and instructed to choose our hoes with a sly wink from the teacher (oh, the puns).

Stepping onto that farm, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The weeds towered above me, reaching for the sky as if they were auditioning for the role of “The Beanstalk” in Jack and the Beanstalk. Even as a vertically challenged baby, they managed to challenge my stature.

Each of us was assigned a portion of the field, with the daunting task of digging and planting cabbage seeds within a strict two-hour window. The rich kid within me was forced to take a back seat as I plunged into the laborious work with all my might. The teacher even made a wisecrack, suggesting that we had a future in farming if not in law. Little did they know, my hands were soon adorned with blisters, a testament to the toil I endured.

That experience left me with an everlasting aversion to pineapples. Even to this day, the sight of those tropical fruits triggers a flood of memories from the high school jungle, where githeri-induced hunger led me to a pineapple paradise, only to end up in a farming fiasco. Ah, those were the days!