It’s closing day and I am next in line to get a taste of my classmate’s ‘Bazooka’. ‘Bazooka’ dominates the tea time snacks market at Karatina D.E.B primary school. It’s more addictive than those Festive Ring cakes that currently have me on a chokehold. This is the early 2000s and Kinder Joy, the weapon fashioned against all parents, uncles and aunties of today, has not yet been born. ‘Bazooka’ was cake crumbs, if such a word exists. Waste, figuratively speaking, from bakeries around the school. You bought it at a negligible cost (or sometimes for free if you had a sweet tongue) and it was packed in a clear nylon paper. Nothing was going to waste for these bakeries. They were way ahead of their time before the Circular Economy became a buzz word. For reasons I cannot explain, I never bought Bazooka myself. So I settled for fundraising for some at tea time from unwilling classmates.

Closing day is a very special day. The air is filled with excitement for the holidays. I am actively avoiding the class bullies and anyone else I might have crossed paths with, or withheld my tea time snacks from. ‘Nitafunga na wewe’ contracts are due and everyone is collecting their debts. I am staying close to friends for group protection and aligning with the bigger bullies for extra caution. All manner of political machinations to stay safe on this special occasion. ‘Nitafunga na wewe’ is the modern equivalent of ‘come outside’ or ‘tokea Uthiru’. It was a threat or a promise for revenge. Punishment for a variety of crimes and betrayals, ranging from snitching to looking at someone the wrong way. All hell would break loose after the final assembly and everyone was released. Perfect timing because with no school in the coming weeks, there were no teachers to report to outside the school gates. If you were marked for extermination, your best bet was to stand behind the assembly crowd and run for your life the second it ended.

School holidays were a highlight of my childhood and closing day was that monumental day that ushered them in. Ironically, on closing days, I was never in a hurry to take off my school uniform. Mischief season was officially open, well, season 2 of it, and it mattered little whether or not the uniform stayed on. It was time to make merry and be free from early morning routines. To finally watch cartoon network in the morning instead of rushing to be in school by 7am. And if it was the December holidays, to wait in anticipation to visit my grandparents at Gaithuri village, Tetu. Now, that, my friends was the OG of holidays; Tetu.

Our house at Muthua Estate, Karatina had a small garden with a not so high wall. In December, I would spend my days climbing that wall to look out for the arrival of my aunt, ‘Nyina Jacqueline’, who was our designated and esteemed delivery specialist to Gaithuri. These were days way before mobile phones became popular and so there was no way to know the place or time (as the Lord intended) that she would arrive. Logistics in those days were agreed by word of mouth, weeks or months before. You agreed to meet up on a certain day at a certain time, and that is what you did. It was a high trust society.

Gaithuri, with tea farms rolling up and down its hills was a breath of fresh air. My grandfather’s grazing fields were an open playground. But the highlight of them all, and my first order of business was Plum trees. Oooh, plums! Those redish purple pieces of heaven! Plums inspection started immediately I arrived. In fact, regulations had to be enacted and fair use policies drafted to curb my carnage. Plums are small and sweet fruits. Bite-sized to seduce you to eating just one more. Much like the Festive ring cakes, but on steriods, especially for a kid. I would spend hours on plum trees. So I had to be prohibited every now and then from eating them. Do not let their innocence fool you. Plums, combined with other foods (could be anything including chama choma, you never know), are excellent drivers. Utaendesha my friend. But I was unstoppable. Often, at the end of a day of prohibition and vehement denial of crime, I would be caught with contraband plums in my side pockets when my aunt washed my feet in the evening. I was a cute and innocently careless criminal who was easily caught.

The nostalgia! I yearn to relive those moments. They are happy, warm and cosy memories. The end of a school term, the end of a year were exciting times. Much like the end of my 31 day writing challenge that is on its last leg today. I am wrapping up with nothing but beautiful memories. I carry the heartfelt comments from everyone who pops in to say a word. Gratitude for everyone who has engaged with my work. This is not the end. We are just getting started. Will you come along?