Letter from Lena

Two Can Play That Game

“Congratulations! You made it into high school. KCPE, as I remember, was like a giant mountain to me and many others when I was in class eight. I must thus commend you for overcoming that massive challenge. Good job! Welcome to high school! 

Talk about change.  Subjects look different or have multiplied, you are in a new place, new class, new uniform, new teachers and classmates, new rules, the list is endless. It all seems like a lot of big changes happening at once, and everyone expects you to be and act more grown-up because you are “no longer in primary school”. It is a very unnerving experience, even to the bravest. 

Up till now, your support circle has mainly been friends and family, especially parents. Times have changed since many of our parents were in school, however. In secondary school, you are guaranteed to find some challenges that you may not know how to talk to them about dependent on their capabilities, beliefs, and values, and also some that they may be absolutely clueless about, having never experienced them as they exist today. It is left to you to find a way to navigate this new space and, hopefully, emerge unscathed and, having grown positively. 

That’s why I am writing you this letter, to share with you some things that I wish someone had told me when I was in the position you are in right now. It is unfortunate that many young people are today going through some harrowing experiences alone, some with devastating results and deep scarring which may last their lifetime. Through “Letter from Lena”, I share my life experiences and those of my friends, acquaintances, and even volunteer guests to help other young people to anticipate, recognize and make informed decisions should they find themselves in similar situations. Hopefully, this will be insightful for the youth and other stakeholders and enable effective support. 

When I was joining form one, despite having attended boarding school at the primary level, I was still afraid.  My mother went to great lengths to reassure me that everything would be okay.  After getting some counsel from older friends and family who had experienced high school, I felt more prepared. Upon reporting to secondary school, however, I quickly discovered that there were many things they did not warn me about, which turned out to be major challenges for me, and for many other students. I can now clearly see and appreciate how some of these things ended up affecting me, including my choices in life.  

As a learner in a boarding school in primary, the only way we could communicate with our friends in other schools was through letters. Letter writing was a big deal and receiving letters was an even bigger deal. I remember, we used to look for the most decorated writing pads like the white ones that had pink flowers, and when we did not have them, we would decorate the paper ourselves using any available material including colored pens, pencils, flowers, and even perfume.  We took great pleasure in writing long letters to our friends, our very cherished connection to the outside world.  The vivid descriptions of our experiences, flamboyant language, all made it a fun activity. At times it felt like a competition. Now that I think about it, I believe our English teachers would have been so proud to read these unsolicited “compositions”.  Oh, the innocence!  And didn’t we impatiently await those responses!  As I said, it was a big deal! A very big deal. If you received a letter, you instantly became the envy of many. And yes, you reveled in the attention, positive or not. This is what we knew, and this is what we carried into high school.

But when we got to high school, something changed. At first, we wrote to girls and boys alike but as time went by most of the letters were addressed to boy schools. Gradually, the tone of the letters began shifting as well. Instead of the friendly “how are you’s”, the letters became more flirtatious. Writing letters became an activity mainly to communicate with the boy you “liked”. At one point, it accelerated into a scramble where many of my classmates were frantically writing letters to other schools in the hope of getting boyfriends just to fit in. If you got one, then everyone thought you were popular, lucky, and cool. A student who did not have a boyfriend quickly became the butt of the joke with others questioning her worth. 

The boyfriend-girlfriend thing was all very new to me. And just like in primary school, the more letters you got, the more popular you were and the more envious other students were of you. The pressure was on. I also wanted to fit in. I was torn. It felt uncomfortable and yet exciting at the same time. Uncomfortable, yes. I had made a promise to my parents that I would focus on my studies, get into a good university, secure my dream career, all in that order, and only then would I consider engaging in any close relationship with another person. 

Additionally, I was a very shy person. I did not know many boys except my few agemates from back home. I found the idea of flirting with other students I had just met at joint school events like music festivals, math contests very difficult. What would I say to them? What if I started writing and ran out of things to say halfway through the letter? And what if I wrote the wrong last name and it got delivered to the wrong person? What if I did all that and they didn’t even remember me? After all, the longest time I had ever spoken to anyone during joint school functions was like 5 minutes.  Even worse, what if my letters were intercepted by the school administration and everybody got to know about it? Wouldn’t I be skinned alive?

But then again, I felt left out. Many students who were engaged in the letter craze appeared happy. And none had been caught. I really wished to be part of the process.  After racking my brain for a while, I came up with the perfect solution. I would write to many friends and family back home in order to get more letters, then I would hide and claim that some of them were from boys. That way, I would not be left out but I would escape the flirting and relegation to a non-entity. Genius, right? So, I continued in this way and it served me well for a short while. Nobody was interested in my letters but at least I had them and was considered popular. One of the best times of my life for sure.  I was on top of the world. 

Remember how I said writing and receiving letters was a big deal? Suffice it to say that there was even some pomp attached to it.  Partaking of other classmates’ letters by almost the entire class was the norm. Many are the times I shamelessly reveled in the exercise while thinking nothing of it. We would together read the letters, respond to them collectively and get a good laugh while at it. No big deal, right? Personally, I considered myself safe.  I didn’t have a boyfriend and there was no requirement to share the contents of my letters, only if I wished to. And many were willing to share their letters as proof of status.

Well, one day, the mail captain came to my class with a brightly decorated envelope. It was very girthy like it had been stuffed full and could barely contain its contents. The calligraphy on the envelope was extraordinary. Someone had taken their time to accomplish that, I thought. Of course, the whole class was curious and could not wait to know who the receiver of the letter was.  

Guess who the recipient of the captivating package was?  Yours truly. Imagine my shock when the mail prefect walked up to me and handed me the bright envelope!

My whole body broke into a sweat as the entire class edged me on to open and read the letter.  Even I could not contain myself. With shaky hands I slowly opened the letter, taking care not to tear and mess the beautifully done envelope.  Lo and behold, it was a love letter! My first love letter! A confession from a boy in form two from an adjacent boy school! His name was Kenan. He claimed to have seen me at a sports tournament hosted at our school in the previous month and was instantly smitten with me. He also claimed that he would be coming for the basketball tournament that would be held in our school later in the term and wanted to meet me. He even went on to describe who he thought I was, list my “great characteristics”, physical and otherwise in much detail and, express his admiration for me in explicit and extravagant writing. As I read the letter, I wished the ground would open up and swallow me. This was one of many times that I really appreciated melanin.

In a flash, the letter was gone from my hands, and try as I may, I could not get it back. It quickly changed hands.  Some of my classmates took great pride in reading excerpts out loud, especially the juicy parts, while others kept me at bay. The class was abuzz with discussion, indistinct chuckles, and expressions of how they wished to know who this boy was and wanted to meet him. Some even dared to brand me as “taken.”

Then came the nasty part. The response part. This is when I realized that matters were completely out of my control. I had seen it happen numerous times but never did I think I would be the object of that action. Lines were quickly and creatively crafted with the intention of edging on and eliciting another response from the poor boy.  All this left me awash with embarrassment and I felt sorry for that boy who I had never met. On the other hand, I told myself that he had brought this upon himself by writing first.  He had put me in this situation after all. When my classmates demanded to know if I had anything to add to the response, I figured that the letter was probably a one-time thing and that if I just agreed, it would all be over. And so I allowed the letter to be dispatched and completely forgot about it. 

Imagine my shock two weeks later when another letter was delivered! A response from the same boy. It seemed that the perfectly crafted response my classmates had come up with had worked magic and he had taken bait! The second letter was more salacious. It described things I felt like I shouldn’t have been reading. Things that were very much so “for grown-ups”, as my mother would say. And once again, I watched as my classmates read it and drafted a response. Before I knew it, a response with an invite to meet behind the dining hall on the day of the basketball tournament was on its way back to the sender.

D-day did come around fast. I woke up that morning feeling anxious because I knew what awaited me. There had been great excitement through the week and everyone wanted to look their best as boys from different schools would be on the compound. Even those that don’t usually iron their uniforms tried to. Others went as far as borrowing uniforms from the form ones who had the newest uniforms. The games went by fast and were over in no time. No, the truth is that I did not pay attention to the program.  I have no recollection of when the games began or ended. 

As I made my way to the meeting spot, I noticed some of my classmates stationed strategically and pretending to go about their business. A few even gave me a veiled thumbs up to cheer me on. I, at some point, contemplated stopping and running back but I was afraid of my classmates turning against me. Plus, part of me was also curious about the boy who had written those letters. 

I remember having an uneasy feeling especially when a particular group of loud boys who were sitting not too far away from our agreed-upon meeting place suddenly went quiet for a few minutes. A quick assessment of the general area however revealed nothing strange, especially since the chatter of the boys had quickly resumed. There were a few other students from different schools around. Everybody seemed to be occupied, with no care of what else was happening around.  It was safe, I thought.

At the agreed meeting place stood a tall, slim, and well-groomed boy in the expected school uniform. I swear at that moment I felt like I had hit the jackpot. I was elated and even secretly imagined how jealous some of my classmates, who I was sure were watching, would be. As I approached him, I could see that he appeared a little shy and nervous. He kept stealing glances at the large group of loud boys who were now engaged in animated happy conversation. The boy called out my name and I responded in the affirmative.  He broke into a smile that lit up his fairly handsome face. He stretched his hand and leaned in for a handshake. I followed suit without hesitation. Nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.  

Suddenly cheers and shouts of excitement rent the air. I turned to the direction, curious as to the cause of such riotous enthusiasm. Whistling, clapping, jumping up and down, high-fiving, rib-cracking laughter, congratulatory calls to Kenan, calling of bets, catcalls, and even words which it took a while to register were from our letters.  It was all happening right before my eyes. The group of loud boys made no attempt to hide the reason for their excitement. It was obvious that Kenan and I were their objects of interest. 

Have you ever experienced things in slow motion? Where everything seems unreal yet real? When you feel very small and yet very big and visible? That painful feeling of eyes burning holes through you? Not cool. It was like I was in a movie. A horror movie to be exact. Unfortunately for me, I was the main character in the movie. The hunted. And I was now caged. 

What followed honestly remains a blur to this day. I have little recollection of how I got out of that space. Adrenalin must have worked its magic. I do however vaguely remember collapsing on my desk and crying my eyes out until reality hit me once again through a summon to report to the administration block. It was the beginning of yet another nightmare. Those of you who have ever witnessed or faced school disciplinary meetings involving your friends and parents understand. Suffice it to say that it is an experience I wouldn’t wish on anyone, not even my worst enemy.

I was forced to change schools and for a very long time thereafter remained a faucet.  How could something that I had thought to be small and harmless snowball into this big monster? A dented self-esteem, lost friendships and time, a bad school record, negative family perception, fear of people and relationships, were all part of my experience. The fear of students in my new school discovering my past always haunted me. To hide from the world, I immersed myself in books. I devoured information. It was my way of self-preservation. Some good did come out of it though as I aced my high school exams and got into a top university.

I learnt my lesson the hard way. Its effects still influence my life today in many ways. Until now, I have avoided talking about this incident because of the setbacks, pain, and embarrassment it caused me. The scars run deep. Looking back, I realize that books and information played a big role in my healing. I am now older, a little wiser. and more open to counsel. I hope that by sharing my takeaways below from that unpleasant experience I will help to save someone from similar anguish and make many lives better.   

I wish someone had warned me that communal letter writing was the norm in many schools. In my ignorance, I thought that this was ‘a thing’ of our school. Some students do it for the thrill, amusement, as a show of might/conquests, and even to provoke crises. I wish I had listened to the wise counsel about choices and consequences. Life went on for everyone else at school while I suffered loneliness as I bore the consequences of my actions alone. 

I had known from the beginning that I did not want to do this, and yet I did. I knew I was uncomfortable but I let myself be pressured into doing things that I was not comfortable with. And to what end? To fit in? What does that even mean? Fit into what?  Who defines the “what?” I had let other people speak for me and put me in an unsafe position. In hindsight, I realize that this was a typical case of peer pressure.  

When we read or are told about peer pressure it doesn’t seem that serious. We may think that it is pretty easy to not be a victim of peer pressure but sometimes it happens when you are not even aware of it. Peer pressure comes in many forms and colors.  Mine was “forced” relationships.  For others, it can be drug or alcohol abuse, spiritual manipulation, pressure to go places you do not want to go to, giving people things that you don’t want to give, or even doing taxing things on their behalf. 

My dear Form One, please remember you have the power to say No.

Don’t give in to peer pressure just to fit into someone else’s definition of who they think you should be or look like. Practice saying no. If you are not comfortable doing something or going somewhere, say no. If you are feeling pressured to do something that you know or have a feeling is not right, say no. I promise you that you will be the better for it. 

Remember also that there are many who may wish that they could say no and don’t know how to. Anyone who would cut you off for saying no is not a friend.  Keep away from them because good friends don’t make you do things that you don’t want to do.

So as you join high school, this is one of the greatest pieces of advice I can give to you: please remember that you have the power to say no. You always, always have the freedom of choice.  Chose something that will build you positively.

All the best as you begin this journey!

Sincerely,

Lena

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