I never imagined that, 31 years after finishing high school, I would need to prove that I had indeed finished high school. However, a potential employer recently made that very request. I had not seen my high school leaving certificate since I tucked it away decades ago, and it had not 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. I thought I was collecting a document. I ended up collecting a great many memories as well.
A Walk Down Memory Lane
Picking up the certificate meant setting foot on 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 inside the compound, which I suppose speaks to the quality of the original construction. They do not build them like they used to.
With every step, the memories arrived. I walked past my old Form 1 and Form 2 classrooms and remembered the awkwardness of those early high school years. I peeked into the biology lab, where we did our KCSE Biology practical exam, and could almost smell the formaldehyde lingering in the air. I saw the designated pick-up spot where I would wait eagerly for someone to collect me at the end of the day. Most vividly, I stood outside the grand hall where I once belted out pirate tunes with great enthusiasm 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 will 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 also 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. It is exactly where it was in my teenage years, and standing there brought 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 commanded attention with three sharp, echoing claps. We did not need lectures or long speeches; those three claps were enough. If we were chattering when it was time for silence, we fell quiet. If we were running in the halls, we immediately started walking like poised young ladies. This was where I picked up my long-awaited high school leaving certificate. The whole visit was a powerful wave of nostalgia, a reminder of the formative years that shaped the person I have become.
Contrasting Memories
The visit brought back many fond memories, but it would be dishonest to say they were all sunshine and roses. Some of them carry a tinge of sadness and a sense of discomfort, and it is those less pleasant experiences that had the most lasting impact on how I saw myself back then.
Most of them stemmed from the overwhelming feeling of being an outsider. Some context is needed here. I had not always been a student at Loreto Convent Msongari. I started high school at a rural boarding school in Kirinyaga. It was not 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. The move came with its own set of challenges. I was joining a school year that had already begun, and the social circles had already formed.
One of the first memories to resurface 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 were not about to waste money on new ones. During an English lesson, the teacher asked us to submit our assignments for marking. I remember the embarrassment and humiliation as my long exercise book stood out like a sore thumb in 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 a turn to read aloud. When my turn came, the teacher looked at me with a flicker of doubt in her eyes that seemed to say, “I wonder if she can even read.” I was 13 and perfectly capable of reading, so the silent judgment came as a surprise. I read my assigned passage. In her expression I sensed a mixture of surprise and a hint of disappointment, as if she had 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. I was a shy and insecure girl, and these moments reinforced the idea that I did not fit in and that I was not good enough. They made me doubt my worth and feel that 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 it were, 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. Your quirks and your unique personality are the things that make you special.”
I would 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 would 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.”
Then 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.” I might also mention that nobody will ever again refuse to read her work because of the size of the paper.
Of course, I know I cannot go back and change the painful parts of the past. Looking back now, though, I can see those experiences as stepping stones that helped shape who I have become.
The Power of Self-Belief
Ultimately, I realised that the greatest gift I could have given my younger self was an 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 had truly understood her own strength and worth, perhaps the unkind words and actions of others would not have cut quite so deep.
It is my hope that sharing this story helps someone out there. If even one person reads it and believes in themselves a little 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. And keep your certificates somewhere you can find them. You never know who will ask, 31 years later.