Pay rise

One day, Karwigi sat and reflected on his job and the pay and decided it was time for a promotion and a pay rise, more so pay rise. He needed to do something in order to get  a salary increment as well as respect for his position. It was high time that his employer refrained from taking the work he did for granted. He was tired of being treated like an uninitiated boy’s mùtura.
Good things come to those who go out and make them happen. He also knew that “whoever is highly esteemed is not easily conspired against”, though he didn’t remember whose words these were – Machiavelli, Marco Polo, or Toro the village drunk. The words held true, irregardless.
That night, he did what needed to be done. Come morning, the head teacher and the school fraternity would marvel at his bravery and he would be the talk of the village for weeks. They would be so pleased with his actions that the BOM would  recommend a pay increase effective immediately plus a token of appreciation to boot.
The first group of pupils to arrive at school found him pacing up and down near the head master’s office. The place was  in so much mess you would think there had been a blast from a massive bomb.  That or a herd of one thousand elephants had squeezed through the gap at night trampling on the flowers and turning the soil upside down.
Karwìgì’s clothes were soiled and  in tatters, his bow was in pieces, arrows were strewn all over. Some arrows were buried deep into the nearby Mùkwurwe tree  where the piece of rail that functioned as the school bell was hung. Other arrows were halfway buried into the ground and some into the headmaster’s office door.
He started explaining to the perplexed pupils who were now milling around the place  what had transpired during the night. He said, still pacing up and down, that a group of robbers had raided the school in a bid to break into the headteacher’s office but he fought them ferociously thwarting their evil machinations. “Tumepambana na wao kutoka saa nane usiku”, he postulated.”Karibu waniue lakini mungu ni mwema kumeanza kupambauka wakatoroka”, he asserted. 
The head teacher arrived and the animated Karwìgì went on explaining ad infinitum though the teacher was visibly not sold to the story. Anyone with an eye keen for detail could tell that the arrows, with an inch or two sticking from the ground, had been driven in the same way you do to a  peg for tethering cows. You would also note that the window panes were intact despite the surroundings looking like a scene straight from Kandahar. 
I saw the head teacher make a mental note of that as he ordered us to disappear to our classes.

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