TEACHERS AND POLITICS: THE SQUABBLE BEHIND THE STAFFROOM CUPBOARD
By Lerte Maxwell
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Intro: Where Chalk Meets Chama Politics
In every rural Kenyan school, beyond the sound of chalk screeching on the blackboard and kids belting out the national anthem off-tune, there exists a world—an intense, dramatic, sometimes hilarious world—where teachers become something else. Forget lesson plans and syllabus coverage. Once inside the staffroom, especially after lunch or just before exams, the air gets thick. Not with chalk dust, but pure politics. Welcome to the kingdom of staffroom politics, a place where egos, gossip, national matters, and village loyalty mix into a steaming pot of human comedy.
Staffroom Nation: Two Political Parties
In every school, there are two main factions—let’s call them the “Sychophants Alliance Party (SAP)” and the “Ever-Arguing Union (EAU)”. These are not official groups; oh no. But they run deeper than the Teachers’ Service Commission.
SAP is made up of those who believe the headteacher is never wrong—even if he says the moon is a vegetable. They nod to everything. If the HM coughs, they declare it’s the new national anthem.
Then there’s the EAU: rebels with no cause. These are the teachers who challenge everything. If the clock says 2 o'clock, they’ll say it's a lie from the colonial system. They argue over timetables, tea break, even the size of mandazi served during meetings.
Mr. Onguso – The Sycophant General
Mr. Onguso is the deputy headteacher. He once taught Kiswahili, but these days, he only teaches loyalty. This man can write a whole composition praising the HM’s handwriting.
He laughs the loudest at the HM’s jokes (even when nobody else gets them). He agrees with every decision. "Yes, bwana mkubwa! Very wise move!"—even when the HM suggests using Form Ones to dig a fishpond in a dry area.
Onguso believes aligning himself with the head is the same as securing an early transfer to a national school in Nakuru. Spoiler alert: he’s been here for 14 years.
Mr. Kipruto – Chairman of EAU
Kipruto teaches CRE but debates like a professor of law. Always seated at the far end of the staffroom, with an old newspaper and a mug of black tea that seems to refill itself.
He never agrees with anything. “Why are we doing PTA meetings on Thursdays? Who decided? Is it legal?”
He once argued about the bell schedule for one whole week until the school had to borrow a new timetable from a neighbouring school.
He doesn’t respect ranks. He once called the HM "bro" during a heated discussion and survived. Legend.
The Great Battle of Tea Sugar
One chilly June morning, a minor war erupted: the Battle of Sugar Measurement. The SAP team insisted that the head’s new rule—one teaspoon of sugar per cup—was brilliant. "We need to watch our health," said Onguso, sipping his sugarless tea with a fake smile.
Kipruto and his EAU crew were furious. “This is slavery! Are we cows? Even Form Ones take more sugar!”
Voices were raised. Cups were banged on tables. Ms. Atieno had to separate Onguso and Kipruto before someone got baptized in scalding tea.
The WhatsApp War
Thanks to technology, staffroom politics migrated to WhatsApp. The group, “School Success Forum 💪📚”, became a battlefield. Arguments were now 24/7.
One evening, someone posted a message suggesting teachers arrive 15 minutes earlier to motivate learners. Within minutes, Kipruto typed 13 paragraphs challenging the Constitutionality of the idea.
Onguso replied with, “Watu wengine hawataki maendeleo.”
It spiraled. Memes were dropped. Voice notes exchanged. Someone posted a photo of a pig wearing glasses labeled “Opposition leader.”
The headteacher, probably sipping uji somewhere in peace, had to post:
> “Let’s respect each other. Remember, we’re role models. Staff meeting Friday 10am. No tea.”
Village Politics and School Drama
Things get worse during election years. Teachers turn into campaign agents. Onguso, of course, supports the incumbent MP because “he gave us books in 2016.”
Kipruto supports the opponent because “real change is coming, not those second-hand atlases.”
During lunch breaks, debates get so heated that the school watchman, who sits by the door peeling sugarcane, acts as the unofficial referee. Once, he blew a whistle when things got too hot. Nobody even asked why he had a whistle.
The Ladies – Peace Keepers or Secret Operatives?
You’d think the female teachers would be neutral, but behind their calm smiles, they know everything.
Ms. Chebet, the maths teacher, always says, “Aki wacha siasa, let’s just teach.”
But somehow, she knows which side will win every staffroom argument. Rumor has it she secretly gives Kipruto debating points on WhatsApp at night.
Madam Njeri, the choir mistress, plays peacemaker. But she also once sent a sarcastic “congrats” card to Onguso after he lost a debate, saying, “May your wisdom continue to mislead you.”
The Election of Staffroom Committee Chair
This was the most dramatic event ever. Every teacher was to vote for a committee chair. Posters were printed. Campaigns were done. Sodas exchanged hands.
Kipruto gave a whole speech under the mango tree promising fairness and more sugar. Onguso promised “cooperation with management” and improved furniture for the staffroom (he meant plastic chairs instead of broken desks).
Voting day came. The ballot box was a Tupperware container.
Someone shouted “Rigging!”
Another demanded a recount.
Eventually, Ms. Atieno won because no one had a problem with her. Typical Kenyan election.
Conclusion: Life Goes On
Despite all the politics, these teachers still teach. They still love their students, even if they argue all morning. You’ll find Kipruto leading a prayer in parade, and Onguso giving an inspiring speech on discipline. After all, teaching is their first love.
When the bell rings for hometime, politics pauses—until tomorrow. Because in a rural Kenyan school, the staffroom is not just a room. It's a parliament, a theatre, a comedy club, and sometimes, a boxing ring.
And as long as the kettle boils, the debates shall continue.
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Bonus Quotes from the Staffroom
“Hii syllabus si ya mama yako!” – Kipruto, mid-argument.
“Me I just teach and go home. Siwezi kuwa na stress juu ya shule ya serikali.” – Madam Chebet.
“You don’t support the HM? Then you don’t support progress!” – Onguso, sipping sugarless tea.
“Next term, I’m transferring myself to another school mentally.” – Anonymous teacher during closing week.
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