Boarding school was probably one of the best things that happened to me. And no, I didn't go there because it was mandatory, or in high school where people were posted far away from home. I went to boarding school because I wanted to. I was eleven years old. 

For some people, boarding school was probably torturous. I wouldn't deny that because I went to boarding school with kids as young as five. We had the school "baby" who became everyone's responsibility because of how young and tiny she was. I hope she made it out alive. 

Back to my story. I asked my parents to enroll me at a boarding school because I felt I was being unprolific at home. My younger brother had just been born then, and every waking moment was spent looking after him. My sister and I would compete over who would get him when he woke up, who would feed him, who would bathe him... It was chaotic. And I loved the competition, but I missed reading.

So, with the baby olympics at home, I rarely found time to read. That's when I requested to go to boarding school. I didn't know what this meant, but I knew I would be away from home and house chores, and that alone was good enough.

That December holiday, 'we' found a school. I enrolled. Life began.

Thinking about it now, life in an all girls' boarding school is like being in a women's prison. Having come from Nairobi and joined a school in Mumias, I met girls of all caliber. I met the "silent killers", those who were reticent but lethal when triggered. We had the yappers, those who would tell the world about your secrets even before you were done spilling the goddamn tea. We had the boycrazy girlies, and these were the school fashionistas because they turned our Saturday mass into New York Fashion Week. Can't forget the liars too. One lady told us her mother was dating William Ruto then, and that her father was white. We believed. And then there was me, with other "Nairobians" who were torn between acting cool and trying to fit in with the nipeeko club.

We had bullies too. There was this group of sisters who must have attended "NYS for bullies" before enrolling in the school. The Matikas. Everyone, from their youngest to oldest was a bully. They claimed to be step-sisters, and maybe they were because it is possible they shared that ugly DNA.They terrorized everyone, whether you were the teacher's child, or the minister's; as long as you were in their sights, you were a target.

And they were kleptos. Woe unto you if they peeked into your suitcase or metal box and saw you had something worth stealing. They would take everything, short of a roll of tissue for your tears. And they were burly with a foul mouth, so before confronting them, you had to decide if they were a battle you were willing to fight. In case you're wondering, I wasn't immune to their thievery. Nobody was.

But I learned to survive. That was until the school finally kicked them out after they touched a live wire. Rumour has it that they terrorized Halima, one of the local politician's kid, and the school had to expel them. 

So after three years of terror, we finally could breath.

Then we had the rumours. Or should I call them beliefs? Let me explain. We usually sat in class on Sunday mornings doing nothing but storytelling. Girls from interior had the best stories. I now know that they were fake and imaginative, but they helped us pass time then. They were meant to help us survive. I recall once when this girl said, 'Ukiweka sindano kwa makwapa, ticha akikuchapa longi yake itararuka.' She then gave us a tale of how her older sister had tried it with their father, because she knew the man would kill her for leaving home to meet her boyfriend. And she swore it worked. 'Yes kalamba down.' We believed her.

Needless to say, she became our sage to all things survival. I remember in class six, we had a Mr Mgeni who would quiz us the Swahili books we were reading. He would ask about muktadha, you know, like they did in high school. Anyone who failed to answer correctly would get a snake beating. At least that's what we called the beating, because you'd lie down and writhe like a snake. So, one day, the sage says, 'Mkiweka soddom apple kwa makwapa, akikuchapa atahara. Ukiweka kitunguu, utafaint, bora uambie mtu akutolee." 

Here we were, a bunch of 12 year olds getting advice on how to get back at Mr Mgeni. Well, a bunch of us had to take one for the team anyway...

So much happened while I was in boarding school. We'd contribute money if ever one of us lost a parent or guardian. Then we had Sundays scheduled for shaving our heads. Bald. We also had girls who got into trouble because they had gone to receive yet they weren't Catholic. Others were dondosaing for the boys in our brother school.

There were lesbians too. Though I think our whole system of friendship was probably the blueprint for lesbian relationships. Newcomers in lower classes had friends in upper classes, and would call each other "cherry". No, not in that English accent. It needs a little more stress on the syllables, something like che-riii. Cheriis would buy each other mandazis and soda on Friday. The younger one would fetch water for the older one, in exchange for special treatment. Girls would fight if you happened to steal someone's cherii. Ah, more chaos.

But in all these, I learned survival and resilience. I learned about community. I learned to stand up for myself (I once got into a fight, story for another day). I learned independence, which is probably the best lesson of all. But most of all, I learned to make lifelong friends. Being confined in an almost-prison made me gain lifelong sisters, with whom I still keep in touch. 

In the end, that godforsaken place became a second home. 

I guess my point is, when people hate on boarding schools, and justifiably so, I stand aside and say, "I am whom I am because I went to boarding school."