I Taught For Three Months With Fake TSC Appointment Letter

It happened a few years ago. My name is Tom. I studied Bachelor of Education a the University of Nairobi and graduated with a Second Class Upper Division.

As usual, having spent four years in the capital, I hit the tarmac road immediately – combing schools in Nairobi in search of employment. I had a short stint in one of the banks as loan officer – but left when I failed to convince one soul to take a loan.

It was not long before I landed a job in one of the schools in Nairobi estates – where I would be paid Ksh14,000 per month.

As a dedicated mathematics teacher, I spent most of my days either on traffic, marking tons of student’s books, or dodging my landlord back in my little hacienda in one of the estates – and generally just trying to stay alive.

I wasn’t living, I was surviving, no, I was existing.

The salary I was being paid could not sustain my humble life in the capital. The rent took away Ksh8,000 – which means I would be left with Ksh6,000 for food, bus fare (to be honest, I used to cycle for 13 kilometers to and from work daily). Some of the money I sent to the village to help my old parents, cousins and other relatives.

I cycled to work – daily

In fact, they they would call around 5th of every month – which was the exact day we got paid for our service.

I cycled to work – daily. Trust me, cycling in Nairobi is like walking on the jaws of death – and expecting not to be crashed.

There were no cycling lanes – which means you had to scramble for road space with hawkers, hand cart pullers, rogue matatu drivers, boda boda riders and stubborn pedestrians.

I walked to and from work a few times after I suffered a puncture. I even had to drag the limping bicycle for 13 kilometers – while trying not to be seen by fellow school mates, former teachers and students.

To be honest, my salary would sip through my fingers by the second day of being paid – like water sipping through my fingers.

I had no money most of my life

If I had a wife – in Nairobi then- I probably would have died of stress as it meant several mouths to fees, wigs.

I had no money most of my life – and could not even afford cheap perfume to spray on myself after cycling from Timbuktu to Timboroa – and then having to suffer the indignity of standing in front of students in class smelling like a sewer plant.

I courageously stood in front of the students – most of them from rich families and who smelled of nice perfume you would think they lived inside a cosmetic store. To be honest, their perfume became my perfume, and we learned to share and exist.

The school never provided meals. Oh, there was some tea, but you had to carry your own sugar and cocoa. Well, let’s just call it hot water. I took the hot water most of the days – after having pretended that I was sprinkling sugar in my cup.

Mr Tom collapsed – in the staff room

And when I got tired of taking hot water, I would feign sickness; a stomach upset, or just anything. Too much of hot water can kill, it almost drowned my empty intestines. I had not eaten dinner the previous night, but then woke up early and walked to school – then took some of that hot water. Mr Tom collapsed – in the staff room.

If you must know, I survived three accidents on my bicycle, six muggings and at one point had to go put up with a former school mate for two months after the landlord, Mr Kamau, locked my house due to unpaid rent.

So, I decided to relocate to the village after a friend of mine connected me with a man he said had deep connections at the Teachers Service Commission (TSC) and who was in a position to ensure I got employed.

I relocated to the village

The man asked for Ksh120,000.

I rung home – and convinced my mother and father to sell a piece of land.

It had been three years since I graduated from the University. I was willing to do everything to land a job in government.

I had heard stories of people losing money in search of TSC jobs, but when the man promised to only  take money once the deal was done – I trusted him.

“I will only take your money the day I hand you your the letter of employment,” he had said.

I relocated to the village – bought a few clothes – and waited.

Two months later I received the good news – a letter had been sent to me through our contact. In the letter, I was asked to report to one of the schools not very far from my village.

In fact, I had been given the latitude to choose which school I wanted – and I chose the village school close to my home where I did not have to cycle to work or pay rent. I would be commuting from home – until the good headteacher decided to house me in the compound.

The paper work would come later

I reported to the school – a small school I must say. It had only two government teachers with the other six being teachers employed by the Board of Management. The headteacher was elated that Nancy Macharia had heard his cries. He told me to get down to work immediately – the paper work would come later.

As usual he did the paperwork which he sent to TSC – and waited for my new employer to write back.

The school post office was in arrears – and so no letters were coming – I came to know about the arrears after visiting the box office after my second month at the school.

I taught religiously for three good months as I waited for my boom. Like any teacher who has just landed TSC ob, I  took loans left right a centre, offered to pay school fees for my relatives, I had fundis repair my mother’s house since money was going to come in just a few weeks.

The money never came – and so I travelled to Nairobi, at the TSC offices to find out what could have been the problem.

I was shocked when the officers said that they had no records of a Mwalimu Tom. I had been conned clean. I had been conned.