23 years ago, when I was 13 and in class 7, in a Kenyan school, I got into a fight with a girl in my class. It was a petty, girly, altercation over a pencil. Somewhere along the tussle, the girl’s spectacles fell.

She took off to the teacher’s staff room and reported the fight to a teacher, who also happened to me her family friend. This teacher, Mrs Njoroge, wasn’t teaching any subjects in my class.



However, when she heard the girl’s version of the altercation, she stormed into my classroom fuming.

She pulled me off my seat and smacked me hard across the face. The whole classroom went quiet. Everyone was stunned.

She then thrust me back into my seat, picked me up again by the collar and smacked me on the face again. I saw stars. I could barely cry.



As if the physical humiliation wasn’t enough, she began to rain insults on me.

Her exact words were if I thought that my growing breasts made me feel like an adult. She insulted my teenage body in front of a class full of boys and girls.

My self esteem took the biggest hit.

Mrs Njoroge then continued to berate me until she had enough. But before she left, she told me to fix the girl’s glasses before 4pm home time. Mind you, it was at 2pm, I was in a boarding school, and there was no way I’d have made it to the nearest town before 4pm.

After she left the classroom, my friends huddled around me to comfort and reassure me that they would help.



Other classmates started to pick on the girl, asking her why she lied about the altercation.

After a few minutes of crying, I left the classroom, took the glasses as I wandered outside trying to figure out what to do next. That’s when I saw that in fact, the spectacles....

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