Come closer, children of the fire. Move your stools nearer and let the warmth touch your knees. The night is long, and wisdom walks slowly. Let the flames dance before your eyes, and let your ears remain open, for tonight I do not speak of lions, hyenas, or clever hares. No. Tonight I speak of people. I speak of schools. I speak of leadership. And perhaps, if you listen carefully, I speak about ourselves. The elders say, "The person who refuses to learn from yesterday will repeat it tomorrow." Listen.
I am an old man now. My beard has turned the color of ash. My back bends slightly when I walk. The young people offer me a chair before I ask for one. And when I sit beneath the mugumo tree, people assume I have something worth saying. Perhaps it is because I have watched many seasons pass. I have seen children become parents. I have seen parents become grandparents. I have welcomed grandchildren. And I have learned that the world changes its clothes, but human behavior rarely changes its nature. The elders say, "Time changes faces but not always wisdom."
When I was a young boy, school was very different. Education was precious. Not because it was easy to obtain. But because it was difficult. Many families struggled to pay school fees. Children walked long distances. Exercise books were treasured. A pencil was guarded carefully. And learning was taken seriously. Very seriously. If a child failed to understand the lessons, that child repeated the class. There was no shame in it. A child might repeat once. Another might repeat twice. Some repeated even thrice. The parents did not protest. They did not storm into schools demanding promotion. They did not blame the teacher. Instead they said, "Let the child learn properly." The elders say, "Better a slow walker who reaches the destination than a runner who gets lost."
I remember a boy named Njenga. Ah, Njenga. That boy repeated Class Four twice. People joked about it. Children teased him. Yet his father remained firm. One evening, as people sat around the fire, someone asked why he allowed the boy to repeat. His father answered calmly, "If I move him forward without knowledge, whom am I helping?" Nobody argued. Because everyone understood. A weak foundation produces a weak house. The elders say, "The roof collapses where the foundation was neglected."
In those days, parents loved wisdom more than speed. They cared less about certificates and more about competence. They wanted children who could read. Children who could write. Children who could calculate. Children who understood what they had learned. Moving to the next class was not a reward for growing older. It was a reward for growing wiser. The elders say, "Age comes by itself. Wisdom must be earned."
Then time changed. Governments changed. Policies changed. Free primary education arrived. And let me tell you something, children of the fire. It was a blessing. Many children who would never have entered a classroom finally sat at desks. Poor families smiled. Communities celebrated. Doors opened. The village rejoiced. The elders say, "When education enters a village, darkness loses territory." But every blessing must be guarded. And slowly, quietly, a problem entered through the same door.
Children who had not mastered their lessons continued moving forward. Teachers were encouraged to promote everyone. Whether a child understood or not. Whether the foundation was strong or weak. Whether the learning had happened or not. The movement continued. Class after class. Year after year. Like water flowing downhill. The elders say, "A river does not ask whether the bridge is strong before crossing it." I watched children reach the upper classes carrying invisible burdens. Some could barely read. Others struggled to write. Some feared arithmetic like people fear snakes. Yet they continued advancing.
Primary school ended. Then high school began. And there, the weakness appeared clearly. Like cracks in a wall after heavy rain. Students struggled. Teachers struggled. Parents became frustrated. Many children spent four years fighting problems that should have been solved much earlier. The elders say, "What is ignored at the root appears at the branch."
One day, while watching all this, a question entered my mind. It arrived quietly. Like a visitor who knocks gently on the door. The question refused to leave. I asked myself, “Why are we surprised by this?” Then another question followed. “Why do we do the same thing in leadership?” The elders say, "A person who cannot see patterns will keep stepping into the same hole."
During election seasons, I sit beneath trees and listen. I watch rallies. I hear speeches. I observe the excitement. And I see something familiar. Very familiar. I see leaders being promoted exactly the way weak students are promoted. An MCA who achieved little becomes an MP. An MP who served poorly becomes a governor. A governor who disappointed people seeks a higher office. A failed leader is elevated. Then elevated again. Then elevated once more. Not because of service. Not because of achievement. Not because of proven wisdom. But simply because time has passed. The elders say, "Promotion without performance is a ladder leaning against the wrong wall."
Sometimes I ask young people a simple question. "If a carpenter builds a crooked chair, will you hire him to build your house?" They laugh. "Of course not." Then I ask, "If a shepherd loses ten goats, will you give him a larger herd?" Again they laugh. "No." Then I ask, "If a leader failed yesterday, why should failure qualify him for promotion tomorrow?" Suddenly the laughter disappears. The fire becomes very interesting. People begin staring into the flames. The elders say, "Truth becomes uncomfortable when it points at us."
You see, my children, a calabash with a hole cannot hold milk. It does not matter how beautiful it looks. It does not matter who made it. It does not matter how loudly people praise it. If it leaks, it leaks. Likewise, a child without knowledge struggles in life. And a leader without service struggles in leadership. Reality cannot be fooled. The elders say, "The drum sounds exactly as it is made."
Now do not misunderstand me. I am not saying people cannot improve. A child can learn. A student can grow stronger. A leader can change. That is possible. But growth requires evidence. Learning requires effort. Improvement requires work. The answer is not automatic promotion. The answer is preparation. The answer is accountability. The answer is proving readiness before advancement. The elders say, "The fruit is harvested when it ripens, not when the calendar demands it."
As I sit here tonight watching this fire burn, I remember the schools of my youth. I remember the teachers. I remember the parents. I remember the patience. And I wonder. Have we become so obsessed with moving forward that we no longer ask whether we are ready? Do we advance children because they have learned? Or simply because another year has passed? Do we elevate leaders because they have served? Or simply because another election has arrived?
The fire crackles. The night grows deeper. And I leave you with the same question that has troubled me for many years. Why do we promote children who have not learned? And why do we promote leaders who have not served? The elders say, "A question honestly answered can save a generation." That is my story. The fire is dying. The rest is for you to think about.
I am an old man now. My beard has turned the color of ash. My back bends slightly when I walk. The young people offer me a chair before I ask for one. And when I sit beneath the mugumo tree, people assume I have something worth saying. Perhaps it is because I have watched many seasons pass. I have seen children become parents. I have seen parents become grandparents. I have welcomed grandchildren. And I have learned that the world changes its clothes, but human behavior rarely changes its nature. The elders say, "Time changes faces but not always wisdom."
When I was a young boy, school was very different. Education was precious. Not because it was easy to obtain. But because it was difficult. Many families struggled to pay school fees. Children walked long distances. Exercise books were treasured. A pencil was guarded carefully. And learning was taken seriously. Very seriously. If a child failed to understand the lessons, that child repeated the class. There was no shame in it. A child might repeat once. Another might repeat twice. Some repeated even thrice. The parents did not protest. They did not storm into schools demanding promotion. They did not blame the teacher. Instead they said, "Let the child learn properly." The elders say, "Better a slow walker who reaches the destination than a runner who gets lost."
I remember a boy named Njenga. Ah, Njenga. That boy repeated Class Four twice. People joked about it. Children teased him. Yet his father remained firm. One evening, as people sat around the fire, someone asked why he allowed the boy to repeat. His father answered calmly, "If I move him forward without knowledge, whom am I helping?" Nobody argued. Because everyone understood. A weak foundation produces a weak house. The elders say, "The roof collapses where the foundation was neglected."
In those days, parents loved wisdom more than speed. They cared less about certificates and more about competence. They wanted children who could read. Children who could write. Children who could calculate. Children who understood what they had learned. Moving to the next class was not a reward for growing older. It was a reward for growing wiser. The elders say, "Age comes by itself. Wisdom must be earned."
Then time changed. Governments changed. Policies changed. Free primary education arrived. And let me tell you something, children of the fire. It was a blessing. Many children who would never have entered a classroom finally sat at desks. Poor families smiled. Communities celebrated. Doors opened. The village rejoiced. The elders say, "When education enters a village, darkness loses territory." But every blessing must be guarded. And slowly, quietly, a problem entered through the same door.
Children who had not mastered their lessons continued moving forward. Teachers were encouraged to promote everyone. Whether a child understood or not. Whether the foundation was strong or weak. Whether the learning had happened or not. The movement continued. Class after class. Year after year. Like water flowing downhill. The elders say, "A river does not ask whether the bridge is strong before crossing it." I watched children reach the upper classes carrying invisible burdens. Some could barely read. Others struggled to write. Some feared arithmetic like people fear snakes. Yet they continued advancing.
Primary school ended. Then high school began. And there, the weakness appeared clearly. Like cracks in a wall after heavy rain. Students struggled. Teachers struggled. Parents became frustrated. Many children spent four years fighting problems that should have been solved much earlier. The elders say, "What is ignored at the root appears at the branch."
One day, while watching all this, a question entered my mind. It arrived quietly. Like a visitor who knocks gently on the door. The question refused to leave. I asked myself, “Why are we surprised by this?” Then another question followed. “Why do we do the same thing in leadership?” The elders say, "A person who cannot see patterns will keep stepping into the same hole."
During election seasons, I sit beneath trees and listen. I watch rallies. I hear speeches. I observe the excitement. And I see something familiar. Very familiar. I see leaders being promoted exactly the way weak students are promoted. An MCA who achieved little becomes an MP. An MP who served poorly becomes a governor. A governor who disappointed people seeks a higher office. A failed leader is elevated. Then elevated again. Then elevated once more. Not because of service. Not because of achievement. Not because of proven wisdom. But simply because time has passed. The elders say, "Promotion without performance is a ladder leaning against the wrong wall."
Sometimes I ask young people a simple question. "If a carpenter builds a crooked chair, will you hire him to build your house?" They laugh. "Of course not." Then I ask, "If a shepherd loses ten goats, will you give him a larger herd?" Again they laugh. "No." Then I ask, "If a leader failed yesterday, why should failure qualify him for promotion tomorrow?" Suddenly the laughter disappears. The fire becomes very interesting. People begin staring into the flames. The elders say, "Truth becomes uncomfortable when it points at us."
You see, my children, a calabash with a hole cannot hold milk. It does not matter how beautiful it looks. It does not matter who made it. It does not matter how loudly people praise it. If it leaks, it leaks. Likewise, a child without knowledge struggles in life. And a leader without service struggles in leadership. Reality cannot be fooled. The elders say, "The drum sounds exactly as it is made."
Now do not misunderstand me. I am not saying people cannot improve. A child can learn. A student can grow stronger. A leader can change. That is possible. But growth requires evidence. Learning requires effort. Improvement requires work. The answer is not automatic promotion. The answer is preparation. The answer is accountability. The answer is proving readiness before advancement. The elders say, "The fruit is harvested when it ripens, not when the calendar demands it."
As I sit here tonight watching this fire burn, I remember the schools of my youth. I remember the teachers. I remember the parents. I remember the patience. And I wonder. Have we become so obsessed with moving forward that we no longer ask whether we are ready? Do we advance children because they have learned? Or simply because another year has passed? Do we elevate leaders because they have served? Or simply because another election has arrived?
The fire crackles. The night grows deeper. And I leave you with the same question that has troubled me for many years. Why do we promote children who have not learned? And why do we promote leaders who have not served? The elders say, "A question honestly answered can save a generation." That is my story. The fire is dying. The rest is for you to think about.