Many years ago, when I started the Young Teachers Consortium, I saw it as an organisation that would not only improve the lives and lifestyles of teachers in Mwisho wa Lami, but one that would also have an impact on the lives and lifestyles of the people of Mwisho wa Lami and its surrounding environs.

A lot of young teachers joined; we had regular meetings, made ambitious plans and, for a while, everything looked promising. And then, you know what happens in Kenya with such organisations. The treasurer disappears with the money. And that is it. That is exactly what happened.

So when I started the Mwisho wa Lami Alumni Association, I had even bigger dreams. I saw it as an opportunity for us to network for old times' sake, improve the state of Mwisho wa Lami schools, form a SACCO where we could contribute money to support one another and eventually invest together.

As you know, however, thanks to Sande, an argumentative boda boda rider, and Kizito — the leader of the Nairobi Brigade, whose special talent is introducing an argument into any discussion we start — we have not moved very far. We have, as you know, simply become a funeral welfare group. Someone dies, we contribute. Someone else dies, we contribute again. There is no order, no known record and, in some cases, we are not even sure the deaths are genuine.

But two things happened last week that have suddenly created new interest in the affairs of the Mwisho wa Lami Alumni Association. It all started with a call from a contestant for an MP position. He has been contesting every election since I started voting — and that is since 2002 — but has never made it. His name is Juma. Do not confuse him with the other Juma. This Juma is a rich man in Nairobi who has always believed that the only reason he deserves to be our MP is that he is rich. He disappears from Mwisho wa Lami for five years and only reappears during election year. He also has a peculiar habit of never working with the local teams.

Read: School alumni group now a funeral welfare group

This time, however, he had been advised to work with local teams, with boda boda associations, teachers' welfare groups and the alumni association being identified as key. I don't know who gave him my number, but he reached out to me through one of his aides. “Juma would like to meet you as he believes you can open ways for him to win the seat this year,” the aide said. I asked him how. “You are influential. You chair the alumni association. You are also involved in the teachers' association, among others,” he went on. “If you can bring all these people to vote for Juma, he will win.”

I told him my influence went beyond that. I was also a renowned and respectable member of our SACCO, I told him, and could influence the teachers in the staffrooms, other headmasters and, of course, my big family.

“Very good,” he said. “Let's start with the alumni and the young teachers. Can you please organise a session?” He asked me to organise a session where the aspirant wanted to meet us, hear whether we had any projects for the schools and, if possible, meet us personally. I told him I would think about it and make plans.

As I was thinking about it, I was already being reached by another person I did not know.

“I have been told that you are an influencer and opinion leader in Mwisho wa Lami,” the person said. I did not fully understand what the two meant, but I accepted. I believed it meant I was an important person. “Have you heard of Beyond 2030?” he asked me. I told him I had not heard of that, but that I had heard of something called 2030. “No, it is not that. It is Beyond 2030,” he corrected me. “Anyway, we are looking for someone to coordinate the Beyond 2030 conversations in Mwisho wa Lami and its environs. We want you to be the one to organise meetings where we can engage the public to talk about life beyond 2030.”

He told me to read a little about Beyond 2030. I did not read. Instead, I called my brother Pius, who told me a little about it. It was hot air. He wondered why I was interested in it and, once I told him that I had been chosen to lead the conversations in Mwisho wa Lami, he told me to take it up. “Nothing will come out of it,” he advised me, “but do not be afraid to eat free money.”

I typed in the Alumni group that we had an aspirant, Mr Juma, who wanted to meet us. “He would like to support a project at our school and also campaign. At the same time, I have been appointed as the coordinator for Beyond 2030 in Mwisho wa Lami and its environs. They would like us to have a meeting with economists to take us through this and get our feedback. Happy to hear your views.” A group that had been quiet suddenly went on fire.

Read: The big plans I have for Mwisho wa Lami Alumni

“How much money has Juma given you, Dre? Please declare it before we can accept this. And how much will he give us?” asked Sande. “I do not support and will never support Juma in my life. I can't attend such a meeting,” declared Kizito. “But you vote in Nairobi. Juma is not standing in Nairobi,” replied Tito. He went on to say that we should meet Juma the same way we would meet other contestants, and the one who convinced us would be the one we would vote for.

“Yes, I don't vote in Mwisho wa Lami, but if you are meeting Juma, I will leave the group.” No one said anything. “What Dre must tell us is how much he has been given.” I did not respond. Indeed, it was true that I had been given something small for facilitation, just the same way the Beyond 2030 team had given me something small. In Mwisho wa Lami, nothing raises the temperature of a WhatsApp group faster than the suspicion that someone has been given “something small.”

With agreement to meet Juma, I asked about the Beyond 2030 conversation. “Dre, you can invite or discuss anything under the sun with us, but not Tutam. We are Wantam people,” said Sande. Tito also supported him. “I am Sifunated. I can't attend a Tutam meeting. Not me.” I tried to explain that this was not about Wantam or Tutam, nor was it about the next elections. “Good people,” I told them, “this is about our future. Let us get involved in the conversation and decide what our future will look like. And we will not just be talking about Kenya Beyond 2030. We will be talking about Mwisho wa Lami Beyond 2030. I am sure we all want a better Mwisho wa Lami, don't we?”

“I know your handwriting, Dre,” said Sande. “Who has given you all this information you have written?” He then added that they would attend, but I should tell my bosses that even if they attended, they were still Wantam. “And I hope there will be something for us when we attend because we will be leaving our work.” I had been promised a good payday if I raised more than 50 people for the conversation sessions.

I was now writing in all the Mwisho wa Lami WhatsApp groups that I belonged to. My plan was simple: have a conversation in the morning, invite Juma to speak in the afternoon, and kill two birds with one stone. The session will be next Friday, and whatever happens, one thing is already clear: the Mwisho wa Lami Alumni Association is talking again.

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