Curriculum

When we arrived at school that morning, two women and a man were talking to the headteacher beside a car parked outside the office. When the car left, the headteacher announced that our school had been nominated the cleanest in the county. The County Director of Education would be sponsoring a school trip the following Saturday…to Nairobi, arguably the biggest city that any of the students had ever dreamed of going to.

Truth be told, this school could not be dirtier even if it wanted to. The things we did to get here and the things we’ll do to get out of here, but before we get out of here, we must ensure that we are not spotted, and to prevent our being spotted, we have to assimilate. Oh, yeah, I go by the codename Martin, but my name is not important, but my work is, though. Suffice it to say, my partner and I are art connoisseurs, and we take art from those who don’t deserve it and give it to those who can pay for it. In our line of work, we thrive on anonymity and fuck me for telling you my code name but don’t fret about it: it will be erased from your mind soon enough.

Don’t get us wrong, we don’t steal the Monalisas or the Screams or the Starry Nights. Those are too mainstream, though I personally feel like Van Gogh was not appreciated enough in his time, but in the grand scheme of things, who is? We pride ourselves on the subtle masterpieces: The Marina Abramovic – Rhythm 0, the Rubens – The Honeysuckle Bower, and my personal favourite, The Idle Servant, because I am often an idle servant. 

“Martin, come on! You’re not in your head again, are you?” My partner, let’s call her Stockholm, interjects. “You are late for your next class!” 

“Okay, okay! I am going!” I make a face at her but she has always been a tightass and that’s why we work. I am the quiet one who happens to be good with guns and playing the bad cop, and she is the one who makes all the plans and knows which buttons to press to make me say yes to all her whims. After today’s site visit, I know we’ll be breaking the bed tonight. Oh, before I forget, we are both adrenaline junkies.

“Good morning, class!” I say to my eager students. “Good morning, teacher!” They shout back. “Sit down. Today, we will learn about the art of misdirection in writing…” I start. I try to remember why we are doing this every single day, and honestly, that is what keeps us going. Do not let my demeanor confuse you. I am not a teacher, but I am good with children. They are God’s masterpieces, and all art should be nurtured. And for sure, I know shit about teaching. You’d think that since I have been taught by the universe pretty much all my life, I’d be a run-of-the-mill teacher, but no! Teaching was the lesser evil. It was part of our cover story that I liked. 

We had two options: teaching or plumbing, and you sure know which one we opted for. I was considering being a plumber, but all that oil and grease would damage Rolla, the painting we were to sell to our client later today. Stockholm was good with the male teachers during our interview, and I charmed the female headteacher to a point she invited me to her house later tonight to “review some curriculum.” I kid you not, I am sick to my stomach at the thought of that! I might pop a cap in her for the fun of it.

“Misdirection is making someone think your plot is heading to point A while in truth, you are heading to point H,” I explained. “See what I did there? How many of you thought I was going to say ‘heading to point B’? That is classic misdirection.” The class erupted in laughter. 

“Misdirection is also making people doubt what they know.” I looked around at my students, and they were clinging to every letter I was saying. “How do you know that I am a teacher and not a criminal? How do you know we are the cleanest school in the county? How do you know we’ll be going to Nairobi or Ngong next Saturday? That is something to think about.” 

I saw Stockholm at the corner of my eye plucking a rose from the garden in the middle of the school, and I knew that was our cue to make our way to the rendezvous spot. It was time to wrap up this lesson. “Now, since we’re all about misdirection in writing, let us do an experiment, right? I propose we act out misdirection in real life, don’t you think?” I edged them on. “Yes! Yes!” 

“I have a plan. The headteacher knows that we have a lesson for forty minutes, but we will only learn for ten.” We all looked at the wall clock. “And our ten minutes are all used up, so we will misdirect the administration by not learning for the thirty remaining minutes. You can do whatever you want, but don’t make a lot of noise, okay?”

“Yes, teacher!”

“That is our secret. And if we keep it that way, I’ll be back with sweets!” I cheered along with them and darted out to meet with Stockholm. On the way through the garden, I crossed paths with the headteacher, and she seemed a little too happy to see me. 

“Martin, right?” She stopped.

“Yes, Mrs. Truphie.” I smiled. She has such an old person’s name, but who am I to complain? I am called Martin for fuck’s sake! 

“Is your class over already?” She was being courteous, but I knew where her head was going and her eyes had already beaten them to my nether regions. 

“No. I am going to get some more learning materials. Our lesson today is very practical, and I had insufficient markers.”

“Uhmmm, yeah, yeah. Materials.” She took a sharp breath when I cleared my throat to signal my eyes were up here. “I also need to talk to you about our curriculum after school. You’ll get your overtime, and I presume you’ll be on time?”

“Yes. I will.” I replied as robotically as possible, hoping she could take the hint, but she was as oblivious as ever. I was getting late and couldn’t wait to get this conversation over with.

“See you then!” She winked at me as she went her way before shouting back, “BUY SOME GLUCOSE, TOO!”

I skedaddled across the garden and through the back woods to our spot, and for a second, I felt sad that we were doing our business within the sanctity of nature. The sadness was thrown out the window almost instantaneously when I heard a twig crack twice and knew something was up. Stockholm and I have an insider code for when things are not how they seem, and that code was as well as shouted off from the rooftops with the twig. One crack meant everything was good; two cracks meant something was fishy, and three cracks meant everything had gone to hell. I knew she was close, and she felt that something was amiss, so I approached carefully. 

I drew my gun and removed the safety as I neared the clearing and smelled a repulsive yet familiar female cologne. I hid behind a tree and overheard Stockholm arguing with another lady in a hoodie who seemed too close to call, and yet I couldn’t place her features. I knew I had seen her recently, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember where.

Whomever it was, she was enough to make Stockholm jittery, and we were in too deep to have second thoughts. I heard the third twig snap and looked at Stockhom’s face and saw fear across her eyes and knew that this was it. I cocked my gun in a split second and fired at the woman in a hoodie and her body dropped in the subsequent second. 

Her hoodie came off, and it took my eyes a minute to register who she was. When I did, Stockholm and I cursed at the same time.

It was Mrs. Truphie. 

“Fuck me!” I muttered as I emerged from the bushes.

“Well, she’s definitely not going to now!” Stockholm jeered. “What the fuck have you done? She was the buyer!”

Wait, that’s what she meant by curriculum?

From My Curriculum To Yours

I saw the composition on LinkedIn and I thought, why not give it a shot? (If you did KCPE in 2013, I might have given you PTSD, and I am sorry for that.) I wanted to see if I still had it in me to write within a set timeframe, and I can confirm to you that I do not. I have used 53 minutes, and I surely would have been at loggerheads with my examiner for taking more time than I had been allocated.

I feel like the story is not complete. Do you? If more than five people say they do, I’ll write a part two, and maybe a part three soon enough. 

May babies, may your curriculum be read and revised (see what I did there?). Wink Wink.

In case you missed my newsletter last week, I hope you see the perks of subscribing. I’ve got you covered, though. You can read about how little I knew about dating in my previous blog: Dating 101.