When we parted ways here two weeks ago, Fiolina had just planted an important question in my head. If former students of Kilimambogo TTC could transform their college, surely former pupils of Mwisho wa Lami Primary School could transform our former school. And there was no better person to lead the initiative than Yours Truly, Mwalimu Andrew, Esq.

As the Head of Institution of Mwisho wa Lami Comprehensive School, if anyone should champion this noble mission, it was me. I started quietly. Very quietly. I created a WhatsApp group called Mwisho wa Lami Primary Alumni Association and added a few people I believed could add value. It was not easy. Most former Mwisho wa Lami pupils do not own phones. Those who do often have phones that cannot run WhatsApp. And those with smartphones are rarely active. There was another challenge. Many former pupils did not believe the group was genuine.

Tito replied, "Mwalimu Andrew, is this another way of collecting harambee for your drinking group?"

Another asked, "Is this the same Andrew who was asking us to contribute school fees last year?"

I had to personally call several people and use my Headmaster voice to convince them that this was a serious project. Among those invited were my brother Pius; my sister Caro, Mwisho wa Lami's Cabinet Secretary for Misinformation, Miscommunication and Broadcasting Lies; my brother Ford, a senior prison warder at Kitui G.K. Prison, together with his wife Rumona; my cousin Kizito; and Tito, a jack of all trades and master of none. These were ordinary people. I now needed successful alumni who could inspire confidence.

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There was Tony, a senior conductor at Msamaria Mwema Safaris, and Wilbur, a driver with the same Matatu. I also added Xtash, a former pupil who nowadays lives in Kagema. Whenever I visit Nairobi, I usually pass by her place. I made Pius, Tito and Kizito group administrators and asked them to add more members. They did. Soon I found myself approving people whose numbers I had never saved and whose identities I could not even remember. Slowly, the group grew to 37 members. Not bad for a school of our calibre. At first, the conversations were random. Before the group's purpose had even been established, one of the people Kizito had added started posting Bible verses and lengthy sermons every single morning without fail.

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Kizito himself was the undisputed King of Forwards. Before long, the group had become headquarters for Linda Mwananchi updates, every rumour about Sifuna, miracle cures, and warnings against eating watermelon at night. When I attempted to call the first meeting, many members said they were away from home and insisted such a meeting could only succeed if held in Nairobi. When we checked, however, the Nairobi residents were actually the minority. As the Head of Institution, I unilaterally decided the meeting would be held at the school. That was one Saturday in April.

On the appointed day, only seven people showed up—and that included Nyayo and his wife Anindo, who were not even in the WhatsApp group but had been invited personally. I stood before them like a man who had just been appointed Cabinet Secretary for Education. I delivered what I still believe was one of the greatest speeches ever made in Mwisho wa Lami. I spoke passionately about giving back to the institution that had made us who we are. I talked about mentoring current pupils, supporting bright but needy students, renovating classrooms, and even building a library. By the time I finished, even I was moved by my own speech.

Then I proposed that every member contributes Sh300 every month towards school projects. One member slowly raised his hand.

"Thank you, Mr Chair... sorry... Mwalimu. Very inspiring ideas. But I have one question. You are speaking as who?"

"Are you the Chairman? Secretary? President? Exactly who are you?"

"Andrew started the group, so naturally he is the Chairman," Rumona replied confidently.

"As the Headmaster and a former student, he knows what needs to be done."

"Who elected him?" the same member asked. Silence.

"And who are the other officials? Who is the Treasurer? Who is the Secretary? Where do we send the money?"

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It suddenly dawned on me that we had skipped one very small but important constitutional requirement. Elections. We quickly conducted elections on the spot. I was elected Chairman. Tito became Treasurer. Rumona became Organising Secretary.

"Now," I announced proudly, "we can discuss contributions."

Another hand went up. "Mr Chairman, there are only seven of us here. Shouldn't we involve the other 30 members first?"

He was immediately overruled by Tito.

"Everyone was invited. If they chose not to come, that's their problem."

Now officially Treasurer, Tito had already posted his phone number in the group and was eagerly waiting to receive the money. I became slightly worried.

"Okay," the same gentleman continued.

"We can contribute. But contribute for what exactly?" The question caught us slightly off guard.

"The Sh300 is for... school projects," Tito and I answered in unison.

"Which school projects?"

We said projects would surely come up. We spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on old times before dispersing.

"What kind of alumni meeting is this?" Caro complained. "There wasn't even soda."

"Once members start contributing and the Treasurer has money, there will be refreshments," I assured her.

"How exactly will that money be spent?" asked the same persistent gentleman. His name was Sande, a very stubborn and argumentative boda boda rider. He had always been like that even during his school days, I understood.

Again, silence.

That evening, Rumona shared the meeting minutes in the WhatsApp group, informing members that officials had been elected and that everyone had agreed to contribute Sh300 every month for school projects. Within seconds, Tito posted his number and requested members to start sending money immediately. He even listed every member's name and placed Sh0 against each one. For two days, nobody responded. To set an example, I sent Sh200. Tito pledged Sh300, and added that the pledges were welcome. Two days later, he sent the first reminder.

"Members, why do we agree to things that we never do?"

"Who exactly are you reminding us as?" Kizito asked. Rumona explained that Tito was now the Treasurer.

"The same Tito who disappeared with money for our youth group?" The groups exploded.

"Anyway," someone else added, "do we even have a constitution? Under which clause were these elections conducted? Was there a quorum? Are these officials even legitimate?"

“And how come all officials are from one family? Is this another dynasty? Asked another member. Soon, half the group declared they did not recognise the leadership. Others insisted we first needed a constitution. Nobody, however, volunteered to draft one. Just then, a lady called Lydia interrupted. "Members, I lost my father-in-law. The burial is next week. Any support will be highly appreciated." She posted her phone number.

Miraculously, people immediately began sending money. Every few minutes, she posted another "Thank you so much."

She must have raised nearly Sh4,000, although she never again updated us about the funeral. A month later, Nyayo announced that Anindo had lost her brother and appealed for support. Money flowed again. I personally sent Sh400. Meanwhile, every time Tito reminded members about contributing towards school projects, another argument would erupt. Kizito declared that even if he had money, he would never send it to Tito. Others argued that the purpose of an alumni association should be helping members during difficult times, especially funerals. "The Government has enough money to develop schools," Sande concluded.

Today, six months after launching our grand alumni association, we have only succeeded in two things. First, we have become extremely efficient at fundraising for funerals –a majority of which I doubt are genuine. Secondly, we have become experts at arguing about constitutions.

Not a single school project has been started. As Chairman of the association, I honestly don't know what to do next. Has anyone ever successfully transformed a village school alumni WhatsApp group from a funeral support group into a genuine development association?

Please reach out to me on the email below.

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mwalimuandrew@gmail.com