1. My First Day at Arnesen’s: A New Beginning
I joined Form One in 1988 at Arnesen’s High School, a boarding school for boys located about 40 km east of Eldoret on the Eldoret-Nakuru highway, even though I was a bit late compared to the other students. The school was founded in 1972 by the Arnesen family, Norwegian settlers who owned the land. Initially, it was a mixed school, welcoming both boys and girls until 1986 when the girls were transferred to the neighboring Kerita Girls School, now known as Kapkoi Gaa Girls High School.
That day, I boarded a matatu from Eldoret with my mother to Burnt Forest, carrying a heavy metal box with my belongings. Excitement filled me as I envisioned the day I would step into university and build a future that could lift my family out of poverty. Coming from a humble background, higher education felt like a distant dream, yet the hope of achieving it kept me determined.
When we arrived at he school, the principal, Mr. Gervase Muhalia, welcomed us kindly and ensured we completed all the admission procedures.
My mother then left and I was handed over to Ezekiel Isandula, the dormitory captain of Harambee, the oldest prefab building that was in the far-end row of dorms. Isandula led me to the dorm and I realized there were four other nicer dormitories with permanent structures that senior students preferred to stay in. It turned out that Harambee dorm was the coldest (since it had a wooden structure and was the worst-kept dorm). I disliked it a lot as it was also kept unlocked at night. During the rainy season, students would migrate to other dorms to avoid the cold in Harambee.
That first night was marked by two disruptions: a student named Muiru’s loud snoring, which initially sounded like a wild animal attack, and the intrusion of a woman with a mental condition into a boy’s bed, causing a brief panic before she was removed.
Raymond Sambulia (left) and I (right) shortly after starting Form One in 1988; I am pictured again on the right in 1990.
2. Leadership, Discipline, and the Classroom Experience
At the time, Gervase Muhalia, a soft-spoken, middle-aged man was the school’s principal. He had such a captivating accent and remarkable leadership. His Monday morning assembly speeches were always anticipated, especially the one where he urged senior students to work hard, emphasizing the endless opportunities that university education would unlock. Beyond his charisma, Muhalia excelled as an administrator, elevating the school’s standards in both athletics and academics. He maintained a democratic leadership style, yet firm and instilled in us a sense of fairness and the desire to root for the underdog. When he was unexpectedly transferred to Moiben High School in 1990, despite his students’ excellent O-level and A-level results, we protested at the Burnt Forest District Education Offices. Student leader Churchill Suba organized a sit-in, prompting the District Education Officer to intervene. The transfer was delayed until the term’s end, and his replacement initially faced hostility but he won favor when he allowed students to wear long pants.
Benson Mwendia, our deputy principal, was a short-statured man with a potbelly, earning him the nickname “Katumbo,” meaning potbelly. Both students and teachers admired him for his calm and composed nature. As the school’s only chemistry teacher, he taught with enthusiasm and dedication, instilling a positive attitude toward the subject in his students.
In addition to his teaching role, Mr. Mwendia was responsible for maintaining discipline. At the time, corporal punishment was widely accepted, and he was the school’s designated disciplinarian. He often warned students, “You are going to get two or go home,” before caning them, usually aiming at the belt or waistline. His firm approach ensured order, though those of us who were disciplined and well-behaved managed to avoid his punishments. Despite his strictness, he remained a respected and influential figure in the school.
Teaching and Academic Life
My first day of school presented challenges, including grasping new subjects like English literature, biology, chemistry, and physics. While keeping pace with classmates proved difficult, supportive teachers aided my transition. Mr. Kadenge, my patient and kind English literature teacher, Mr. Otieno, an exceptional biology teacher known for his comprehensive lectures, was later replaced by Mr. Rurii.
During my time in school, we had a mix of strict and entertaining teachers, each leaving a distinct impression on us. Mr. Wanyoike, was our tough Math and Physics Teacher. Known as “Cations” (pronounced “Katayons”), Mr. Wanyoike was strict and short-tempered, often resorting to yelling at students. One memorable morning, when he was on duty, he stormed into the dormitory, pulling off blankets and shouting, “Wake up, you fools! Don’t look at me with eyes like those of a pregnant cow. If you want to sleep, go to the mortuary and sleep forever. This is not a holiday camp!” His teaching style was equally intense, making lessons feel more like military drills. Many of us struggled under his approach, eventually forming a secret group called “Kachificheni” (which means “hide”), deliberately sneaking out of his class whenever he came in to teach. It’s unfortunate that his methods alienated students because, with a different approach, he might have been an effective teacher.
In contrast, Mr. Wakhungu, another math and physics teacher, had a great sense of humor that made learning enjoyable. His unmistakable Bukusu accent added charm to his lessons, and his ability to mentor students made him a favorite among us. His classes were never dull; he had a way of making even the most complex concepts entertaining.
During afternoon double lessons, he would begin with funny stories, often holding his chalk like a rare scientific discovery and saying, “Teaching isi a fery frustrating chob… you talk to poys who stare paka at you like ripe cabbages in te karten waitingi for te farmer to come andi harfest.” (Teaching is a very frustrating job. You talk to boys who stare back at you like ripe cabbages in the garden, waiting for the farmer to come and harvest.)
He had a habit of forgetting students’ names, so whenever someone answered a question, he would point dramatically and say, “Yes, small character at te packa (back).” If the student was wrong, he would calmly remark, “In life, you will encounter many problems.”
One particularly amusing incident happened after he spotted a student, Chelugui, eating in town and trying to avoid him. On Monday, he walked into class and announced, “Te ata tay I saw Chelugui eating telicious foods in town. When he saw me, he takat. Ton’t run away fromu Mwalimu.” (The other day I saw Chelugui in town eating delicious food, and when he saw me, he ducked. Don’t run away from the teacher.)
Despite the contrast in teaching styles, both teachers left lasting impressions, one through fear, the other through laughter and wisdom. Their personalities shaped our school experiences, and to this day, we remember their unique ways of teaching.
3. Boarding Life: Adjusting to a New Environment
Living in a boarding school was a completely new experience for me. Being away from my family meant learning to adapt to a different routine and coexist with new people. We stayed in dormitories, each named after famous East African mountains. Initially, there were five: Harambee, Kilimanjaro, Elgon, Kenya, and Menengai, with Rwenzori added later.
Harambee dorm was the coldest and least maintained, making it the least desirable. Kilimanjaro dorm had a low roof and was always crowded, with most younger students in Forms One and Two assigned there. Kenya dorm, on the other hand, was the largest and most prestigious. It had spacious rooms with good ventilation, attracting senior students. Special rooms in Kenya dorm were reserved for the Headboy and senior prefects, earning it the nickname State House, where prefects disciplined students who broke the rules.
When I was in Form Two, I transferred from Harambee dorm to Kenya dorm, which felt like an upgrade. However, dorm life had its challenges. Theft was a constant problem, with unruly students rummaging through our belongings and stealing money or other valuables. The dorms also became places for bullying other students and a haven for students experimenting with drugs. Some would buy substances from sellers and smoke them in the toilets. Despite witnessing such activities, most of us avoided reporting them, fearing retaliation from the culprits.
Monolization and the Harsh Reality of Bullying
Arnesen’s had a history of bullying and student unrest, including strikes. One of the harsh initiation traditions was Monolization, a form of bullying that targeted all Form One students, referred to as monos. This practice was common in many Kenyan schools, where prefects and senior students subjected newcomers to intimidation under the guise of induction. Monolization included various forms of bullying, kicking, punching, pinching, and coercion, forcing students to surrender their money, food, or other belongings.
On my first evening, I had a harsh introduction to this culture. During dinner, a senior student casually picked a piece of meat from my plate, saying, “A mono doesn’t deserve to eat meat.” Later that night, I barely had time to rest after my long journey before older students confronted me with absurd questions like, “Are you a male or a female?” and “Why didn’t you go to Moi Girls High School?”
The next morning at 4 a.m., senior students woke us up for road work, a mandatory ordeal for all Form Ones. Blowing whistles and yelling “Monos! Monos!”, they lined us up in the hallway, rummaging through mattresses for anyone trying to hide. Trembling as I scrambled out of bed, I was suddenly grabbed by a senior student who forced me to chant, “A mono is a pregnant mosquito!”
We were then led on a grueling eleven-kilometer marathon along the busy Eldoret-Nairobi road. Exhausted and overwhelmed, the experience left a lasting impression on me.
The bullying didn’t end there; it continued throughout the term. One incident I vividly recall involved a short, stout, and talkative third-year student named Muchai, who lived in Kilimanjaro Dorm, a low-roofed prefab structure. Muchai had a theatrical presence, always entering the dormitory with a group of aides, shouting “Mambo mbaya!” (Things are bad!) in his thick Kikuyu accent. His aides would hunt for monos, and whenever they found one, Muchai would feign dumbness, stretching out his hand as if demanding money. His aides would then play along, warning the helpless mono to hand over money or food to appease him.
Another fellow students, Muiyah, had a peculiar habit of spontaneously composing songs with vulgar undertones based on daily events. At times, these songs were aimed at teachers who had offended him. His antics were especially entertaining in the evenings when the teachers were away, making him a popular figure among students.
During meal times, he had an unusual routine: he would order the monos to pick out all the maize from his plate of githeri (a maize and beans dish). Strangely, he never let them eat the maize they had painstakingly separated. This was particularly frustrating, given that meal portions were often inadequate to satisfy our youthful hunger.
Beyond such antics, the school environment had its challenges. Theft was a recurring issue: boxes were broken into, and valuables stolen. However, reporting these incidents to the administration was rare, as most students feared retaliation from their peers. The unspoken rule was to endure, making survival in school as much about adaptation as it was about learning.
Mealtime: A Daily Battle for Survival
Mealtime was one of the most anticipated moments of the day because we were always hungry. We cherished the hot morning uji and the 11 a.m. mug of tea. Some lucky students even had cocoa and sugar to make cold power. Our excitement for meals was so intense that we often brought our utensils to class, eagerly awaiting the moment food was served.
Students scrambled to be first in line, hoping to get the prized “top layer” before returning for a second helping. The line would be so tightly packed that if someone lifted their feet, they could find themselves momentarily suspended in mid-air. Even in the chaos, a remarkable skill developed: no matter how one was knocked down, food somehow remained intact, as if protected by sheer determination.
However, going for a second round was sometimes a risky affair, depending on the prefect on duty, the dining hall prefect, or the ever-watchful cooks. One prefect, Masasia, was especially feared. Known for his ruthless discipline, he would punish offenders by serving them an oversized chunk of ugali with a spoonful of vegetables, forcing them to eat under his watchful eye. As he barked orders to Form Ones, the fear and embarrassment he inflicted lingered long after the meal was over.
Matilda Arnesen’s Dining Hall: students lining up for lunch on the right.
Sneaking out of school to have meals in a cafe outside was also the norm. The most popular place was called Farmers Hotel, which we nicknamed Kinoro after the owner’s son, Kinoro Kinyanjui. They had delicious food like “solo,” a deep-fried chapati, “Tosti Mayai,” an egg sandwich, and classic Mandazis. Our teacher, Mr. Wakhungu, would always scold us for “spending our fatas’ monies” (fat money) on “telicious foots at te Senda.” (delicious food at the Center). However, the cafe had poor supervision, so we would frequently eat and sneak out without paying. One day, one of my friends got caught and had to give up his shoes as punishment. He had to borrow money from friends to get them back.
There were other cafes in town that we frequented, like Amani and Econo, which had excellent tea and Mandazi. For those with extra money, the Traveler’s Canteen at the Caltex Service Station, on the main highway, was a luxury. They served tea and bread with a generous dollop of margarine.
Despite these challenges, mealtime remained an exciting and unforgettable part of school life: full of camaraderie, competition, and the unwritten survival tactics of hungry students.
4. Beyond the Classroom: A Thriving School Community, Faith, Friendship, and School Adventures
Arnesen’s had a lively community, filled with the energy and curiosity of its students. Alongside rigorous academics, we actively participated in various extracurricular activities that enriched our high school experience. Students organized clubs, music, theater, dance performances, and sports teams, creating a lively environment beyond the classroom. As a nature enthusiast, I joined the Wildlife and Geography Clubs, which provided opportunities to explore the outdoors through trips to Baringo, Kisumu, and the Agricultural Show of Kenya (ASK) in Eldoret. These experiences allowed me to connect with my passion for nature while engaging in meaningful learning beyond textbooks.
A Form Four school trip to Kisumu to 1991 (left: me circled) and a recent classmates’ reunion in Eldoret (right).
I was also an active member of the Christian Union and sang in the choir. Guest speakers frequently visited our school to preach on Sundays and special occasions, and I attended rallies at neighboring schools. These sessions emphasized salvation, and I found myself getting “saved” multiple times, lacking a strong foundational understanding of what it truly meant. I hoped that God would help me improve my grades, particularly in subjects where I struggled.
Beyond faith, our school had one of the best sports teams, often reaching the provincial level. During competitions, we traveled in an old blue Isuzu truck called Marathoner, owned by a well-known businessman in Burnt Forest. These events were more than just matches; they were opportunities to impress girls, especially those from neighboring schools.
Having a girlfriend back then was seen as a sign of maturity. During a tournament at Kapkoi Gaa Girls, I gathered the courage to approach a shy and innocent-looking Form Two student. Nervously sweating, I struggled to converse with her. Later, at a game in Moi Girls High School, I spotted another girl who immediately caught my eye. Determined to prove myself, I approached her with caution, fearing rejection. To my relief, she responded warmly and spoke impeccable English, fitting for a student at a prestigious national school. She was also in Form Two, which gave me some confidence as a senior student. After a brief conversation, I left hopeful for a possible relationship.
Back at school, I knew that the next step was writing her a letter, since, in those days, it was the only way to communicate. Crafting the perfect romantic letter was no easy task, so I enlisted the help of my friends. One of them, who had a girlfriend at Kapropita Girls, was an expert in writing charming letters. We spent hours debating the right opening line, “Dear sweetheart, I am pleased to…” sounded off, while “It is a great honor at this particular juncture…” felt too formal. After two days of writing and rewriting, the letter was finally ready. I sent it off and eagerly awaited her response.
Three weeks later, I received her reply. Excited, I ensured I was alone in the dorm before opening it, savoring each word. I hoped to read those three magical words: I love you. Instead, her letter encouraged me to focus on my studies, stressing the importance of education for success. There was no mention of love. Disappointed, I tore the letter into pieces and threw it in the school pit latrine.
Another memorable experience was when our school team qualified for the Rift Valley Provincial Championship in Kabarnet. We were eager to support them, but the teacher on duty refused to grant us permission. Determined, a group of 130 students pooled their money, each contributing Kshs 30, raising a total of Kshs 3,900 for the trip. To secure transport, we devised a clever plan: buying a suit, polished shoes, and a stylish tie for our student leader, Oleket, so he could pose as a teacher.
With our plan in motion, we traveled to Kabarnet, arriving around noon. Unfortunately, we discovered that our team had already played and lost. Disheartened, we returned to school, only to face a scolding from the administration.
5. Beyond the School Gates: Strolling, Music, and Fun
Weekends were an opportunity for us to take care of personal hygiene and to enjoy leisure. With frequent water shortages at school, we often walked to the nearby river to bathe and wash our clothes, adapting to the challenges of boarding life.
When we weren’t in school, we often ventured out for strolls and sightseeing. One of our favorite places in town was Mwangaza Studio, where we went to take photos. The owner was incredibly creative, managing to produce six to ten copies from a single shot. If we took a group photo, everyone would get a copy, along with an extra passport-size version. The studio also had a massive music system, and on weekends, we would gather there, dancing to the tunes of Sam Fan Thomas and Pat Shange, letting loose with our energetic teenage moves.
Just across from our school was Kokwet, a club where musicians performed on weekends. We never needed to sneak out to experience the music; it reached us even from our beds. One night, while I was deep in sleep at 2 a.m., the famous Kikuyu musician John Ndicu was performing. His hit song Mwenda Wakwa Mariro played so vividly that it felt as though he was serenading me in my dreams, turning the quiet night into an unexpected musical experience.
Our school also had dairy cattle that provided milk for students. My friend David woke up early each day to milk the cows, later selling the milk to vendors outside the school. His routine went unnoticed until the caretaker became suspicious of the declining milk supply. Determined to uncover the cause, he stayed awake one morning and caught David in the act. As a result, David was arrested and sent to the school administration, leading to a two-week suspension.
Our school matron, Mrs. Rono, was a well-respected figure, responsible for providing basic medication like Panadols and Actal tablets for students in pain or suffering from stomach issues. Her husband, Nelson Rono, was a frequent visitor, known for his distinctive bell-bottom trousers and strict demeanor. During prayer sessions, he would reprimand students who failed to close their eyes, adding to the school’s quirky traditions.
6. Conclusion: Shaping a Better Experience for Future Generations
Arnesen’s was filled with both challenges and memorable moments. While the past had its hardships (bullying, strict discipline, and academic pressures), it also had bright spots that shaped lifelong lessons. As educators and students look to the future, the focus must shift toward making the high school experience more enriching, inclusive, and transformative.
While discipline is important, it should be handled with fairness and guidance, not fear. Schools today must eliminate bullying and replace outdated discipline methods with mentorship programs that help students learn in a supportive environment.
Schools should also create safe spaces for students to express themselves: whether through clubs, music, sports, or creative activities. At Arnesen’s, extracurricular activities like sports and choir brought students together, making school life more enjoyable. Schools must encourage these opportunities to ensure learning is not just about grades but also personal growth.
Friendships and social interactions play a big role in shaping a student’s experience. In the past, having a girlfriend was seen as a sign of maturity, but relationships were often built on unrealistic expectations. Communication was mostly through letters, filled with nervous excitement and uncertainty. Today, students have better ways to connect, but relationships should focus on building meaningful connections, not pressure or competition. Schools should provide guidance on emotional well-being and healthy relationships.
Educators also have a responsibility to create a positive learning environment. Instead of ruling through fear, teachers should be mentors who inspire students to learn and grow. The best teachers, like Mr. Wakhungu at Arnesen’s, used humor and engaging teaching methods to make learning enjoyable. Future schools should train teachers to connect with students in meaningful ways, making classrooms places of encouragement rather than intimidation.
Lastly, students should be empowered to create change. In the past, students protested unfair decisions, showing that they had a voice. Today, schools should encourage leadership and open communication, allowing students to participate in decision-making and school improvement.
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