MACHARA PRIMARY SCHOOL
Chapter 3
If you ever think exams were scary, you clearly never attended Machara Primary during Toilet Cleaning Day. That day had its own kind of terror — a blend of fear, disgust, and national service gone wrong. Long before the government invented "National Sanitation Day," we were already its unpaid pioneers.
Our toilets looked like crumbling shrines — mud walls, grass roofs, and open-air ventilation that let the world witness your misery. Inside? Pure chaos. Students relieved themselves everywhere like abstract artists on caffeine. The rats there were not normal. These were confident village bodybuilders walking majestically, unbothered, like they paid rent.
When cleaning day came, the whole school united under Operation Sanitation Thunder. We carried soil using anything available — bare hands, porridge plates, old sufurias, even broken slippers. The goal? To cover every "artwork" with soil and pretend the place was clean. Supervising the mission was our head boy, simply because he owned "shoes" — tired Nairobi leftovers that granted him power.
By noon, we'd proudly declare the toilets sanitized, though the smell could still knock out a goat. Those who skipped were punished by cleaning alone the next day — face-to-face with rats and regret. Looking back, that day didn't just toughen us — it trained future engineers and sanitation officers the hard way.
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