I never imagined, 31 years after finishing high school, that I would need to prove that I had indeed finished high school. However, a potential employer recently made that very request. I hadn’t seen my high school leaving certificate since I tucked it away decades ago, and it certainly hadn’t been relevant in my career for a long time. So, I found myself on the phone with my alma mater, Loreto Convent Msongari in Nairobi, requesting a new copy of my certificate. Little did I know the simple task of retrieving this document would spark a whirlwind of memories.
A Walk Down Memory Lane
Picking up my certificate meant setting foot back onto the grounds of Loreto Convent Msongari for the first time in over three decades. To my surprise, the school looked almost exactly the same. Time seemed to have stood still within the school compound. I suppose this speaks to the quality of its original construction. They certainly don’t build them like they used to!
With every step, I was flooded with memories. I walked past my old Form 1 and Form 2 classrooms, remembering the awkwardness of those early high school years. I peeked into the biology lab and could almost smell the formaldehyde lingering in the air. That was the lab where we did our KCSE Biology practical exam. I saw the designated pick-up spot where I’d eagerly wait for someone to pick me up at the end of the day. Most vividly, I stood outside the grand hall where I enthusiastically belted out pirate tunes during our production of “The Pirates of Penzance”.
The most poignant memory surfaced when I passed the piano rooms. It was here that I learned to play, progressing all the way to advanced levels. I’ll never forget the kind nun who first encouraged my musical inclinations. Aside from teaching me the piano, she was the first person to introduce me to computers and typing – skills that would prove invaluable in my future life and career. She was the first adult who looked at me and genuinely said, “You are awesome.”
Finally, I reached the principal’s office, the very heart of the school. Its location remained exactly as it was in my teenage years, bringing back a mix of excitement and the slightest hint of trepidation. Back in my day, the principal was Sister Pauline, a stern woman whose reputation preceded her. She had a unique way of commanding attention with three sharp, echoing claps. We didn’t need lectures or long speeches; those three claps were enough. If we were chattering when it was time for silence, we’d fall quiet. If we were running in the halls, we’d immediately start walking like poised young ladies. This was where I picked up my long-awaited high school leaving certificate. The whole experience was a powerful wave of nostalgia, a reminder of the formative years that shaped the person I’ve become.
Contrasting Memories
While visiting Loreto Convent Msongari brought back many fond memories, it would be dishonest to say they were all sunshine and roses. The truth is, some of my memories carry a tinge of sadness and a sense of discomfort. It’s these less-than-pleasant experiences that had the most lasting impact on how I saw myself back then.
These not-so-pleasant experiences stemmed largely from the overwhelming feeling of being an outsider during my time at Loreto Convent Msongari. It’s important to provide some context here. You see, I hadn’t always been a student there. I actually started high school at a rural boarding school in Kirinyaga. It wasn’t a good fit for me, and thankfully, I was able to convince my parents to transfer me to Loreto Convent Msongari, a day school closer to home. However, this transition came with its own set of challenges, as I was joining a school year that had already begun, and existing social circles had already formed.
One of the first memories that resurfaced involves something as seemingly insignificant as a notebook. My previous school had used the longer, A4 exercise books for all subjects. Not knowing any different, I arrived at my new school with those same books. My parents weren’t about to waste money on new ones! During an English lesson, the teacher asked us to submit our assignments for marking. I remember the feeling of embarrassment and humiliation as my long exercise book stood out like a sore thumb amidst a sea of the smaller A5 notebooks my classmates used. The teacher berated me for not having the correct supplies and refused to mark my assignment until I brought the “right” notebook.
Another incident involved that same English teacher. We were reading “Pride and Prejudice” in class, each student taking turns reading aloud. When it was my turn, the teacher looked at me, a flicker of doubt in her eyes that seemed to say, “I wonder if she can even read.” Imagine my surprise at this silent judgment, considering I was a 13-year-old perfectly capable of reading. Yet, when I did read my assigned passage, I sensed a mixture of surprise and a hint of disappointment in her expression – as if she’d been hoping to prove me incapable.
These interactions may seem trivial to someone who has never felt like an outsider, but they cut deep for me. As a shy and insecure girl, these moments reinforced the idea that I didn’t fit in and that I wasn’t good enough. They made me doubt my worth and feel like adults were out to embarrass and undermine me.
A Message to My Younger Self
Standing outside my old school, I found myself wishing that time travel were possible. If I could, I would go back to those days and find that shy, timid 13-year-old girl. I would sit down with her and offer the words of encouragement and love that I desperately craved back then.
I would tell her, “Don’t be afraid to be yourself – you are wonderful just the way you are! Embrace your quirks and unique personality; those are the things that make you special.”
I’d urge her, “Make friends, reach out to others, and don’t spend too much time worrying about kids or even adults who might be mean-spirited. Their negativity doesn’t define you.”
Most importantly, I’d reassure her, “You deserve all the good things in life. Don’t let anyone, for a single moment, make you feel like you’re not worthy of happiness and success.”
I would smile and tell her, “Life turns out pretty amazing! You’ll find a wonderful man who loves you unconditionally and build a beautiful family with three incredible children. You’ll have a career that challenges you, fulfills you, and allows you to make a difference in your field. You’ll see the world, experience different cultures, and make friends who will become like family.”
Of course, I know I can’t go back and change the painful parts of the past. However, looking back now allows me to see those experiences as stepping stones that helped shape who I’ve become.
The Power of Self-Belief
Ultimately, I realised that the greatest gift I could have given my younger self was the unwavering belief in her own potential. Had someone told me back then about my future, I might not have believed them. But if that shy 13-year-old girl truly understood her own strength and worth, perhaps the unkind words and actions of others wouldn’t have cut quite so deep.
It’s my hope that sharing this story helps someone out there. If even one person reads this and feels empowered to believe in themselves more, then putting these memories out into the world will have been worth it. Never let anyone dull your sparkle or make you question your potential. Your future holds limitless possibilities, and the path to unlocking them begins with unwavering self-belief. My hope is that by sharing my story, I can help even just one person realize their incredible worth and start writing their own beautiful life story.
