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Dear readers, I'm sorry I lied about why Branton went to his mother
Well, if Catherine wants Branton to go to Marrell Academy—or any other expensive school—then she must pay.
A few weeks ago, I narrated how Branton, the boy who is not my son but whom I accepted to stay with as part of my CSR to the world, left to stay with his mother in Kakamega.
In that narration, I claimed that his mother came for him after Fiolina gave up on him.
While it is indeed true that Branton joined his mother in Kakamega, that story contained several inaccuracies. So today, Sunday, April 27, 2025 (the year of our Lord), I want to set the record straight.
It’s a long story but allow me to start from last year. As you know, the boy sat his KCPE in 2023 at Mwisho wa Lami and scored marks that clearly proved he is not my son.
If you recall, Honda—my brother-in-law Tocla’s daughter, was Branton’s classmate. They sat KCPE together. I don't want to say she passed with flying colours—there were neither colours nor any flying involved—but she performed better than Branton. What's more, Honda has remained a disciplined and dutiful girl. She accepted her results with humility and promised to improve.
Branton, on the other hand, was arrogant. We had long discussions with both of them. Honda promised to work harder in future, while Branton remained silent. I suspect he was just happy to be done with school.
Fiolina didn’t waste any time. She insisted that Honda was a good girl with great academic potential. She searched for a school and found a place for Honda at St Theresa's Girls. I even took a loan, travelled to Kakamega, and took her to school—with full shopping: two pairs of uniforms, shoes, and all.
I did not know what to do with Branton and his 108 marks. By February, he was still at home. Soon, it became the talk of the town.
"Imagine, a teacher’s son hasn’t joined secondary school!" That was the gossip behind my back. Even my father visited, urging me not to shame the family. My sister Yunia and my brother Pius also called me. Then one day, Caro—my sister and Mwisho wa Lami’s CS for Misinformation, Miscommunication, and Broadcasting Lies—paid me a visit.
With Caro around, I didn’t need a calculator to know this matter would soon be public. That evening, when she visited (allegedly for dinner but really to gather information), I asked Branton, with Caro listening, what school he wanted to go to.
"Starehe. That’s the one I want," he said confidently, adding that he would excel if given the chance. “Nitalenga juu,” he added—claiming to live by the school’s motto.
I couldn’t even laugh. That was a dream beyond his reach. “If I can’t go to Starehe, then Kakamega High. I hear they love footballers,” he added.
Now, that might have been an option, but Branton is not even average in football.
"You should take Branton to a school of his choice," said Caro. "It would be a shame for someone from our family not to attend secondary school. Branton is university material."
I told her I would think about it but added that Branton wasn’t even college material—and I doubted any secondary school would accept him.
The next day, Caro did what she does best—told everyone that I refused to take my son to secondary school.
I tried looking for a school, but the only one that accepted him was Mwisho wa Lami Day. We enrolled him there.
If I thought that would silence my critics, I was wrong. It only added fuel to their fire—starting with Caro, who went around claiming Fiolina had sat on me.
“Huyu alikaliwa chapati na Fiolina,” she said to anyone who would listen. “How does he take his wife’s brother’s daughter to a boarding school and his own son to a day school?”
People began looking at me suspiciously whenever I moved around the village. Even my dad asked, and I explained that Branton’s marks landed him at Mwisho wa Lami Day School, while Honda had earned her way to St. Theresa’s.
A few days later, Branton’s mother, Catherine, called me.
“Is Branton going to school, or is he your wife’s maid?” she asked.
“He goes to school,” I said. “But you don’t expect him to sit idle after school. He helps with house chores.”
“I’m not a fool, Dre,” she said. “So you took Honda—your wife’s daughter —to a boarding school, and your own son is in a day school, and cooking for you? What kind of man are you?”
“Stop your nonsense,” I replied. “Honda is not Fiolina’s daughter.”
“Everyone knows Electina and Honda are Fiolina’s daughters, whom she got before marrying you,” she said. “Open your eyes, Dre.”
“Anyway,” she continued, “I will not allow my son to go to a day school and cook for you and your lazy wife. My son must go to a secondary school.”
I stood my ground. Branton was in Mwisho wa Lami Day the whole of last year. At the end of the year, while Honda tremendously improved, Branton had gotten worse – completing the year at the bottom of his class.
This year, I saw no need to take him back to secondary school. I sold a cow which was enough only for Honda fees. Branton stayed at home, which he seemed happy about. In early February, I took him to Mwisho wa Lami Polytechnic to study carpentry.
On hearing this, his mother Catherina hit the roof. She reached out to him and told him that she will take him to a good boarding secondary school. Branton became very excited at the idea of going to boarding school—and that’s when he changed. He became rude to Fiolina and I, did not do any work, and even became abusive to us - and that’s how he found himself with his mother in Kakamega.
So while it’s true that Branton left us to stay with his mother, I was economical with the truth about how he left. And for that, I am sorry to have misled you, dear readers. Please forgive me.
Last week, after I returned to Mwisho wa Lami from a two-day state visit to Nairobi, I found Branton at home. I hadn’t expected him and asked what he wanted.
“My mother sent me,” he said, handing me an envelope. Inside was a fee structure for Marrell Academy and a shopping list. The second term fees alone was over Sh55,000, and the shopping needed plus uniform was coming to over Sh20,000.
“What does your mother expect me to do with this?” I asked.
Branton pulled out a phone, called his mother, and said, “Mum, please call me back. He’s back from Nairobi,” then quickly hung up.
She called back immediately. “Umetoka Nairobi kuona wanawake wako?” she asked before I could respond.
“I’ve taken the effort of finding a good school for our son,” she continued. “Please plan to pay the school fees—I will handle the shopping.”
“You must be joking,” I said. Even universities don’t charge that much. Sh55,000 per term? I cannot. " She disconnected me mid-sentence. She sent me an SMS saying that if I had sold a cow to take Honda to school, I could sell another to take Branton, for he was my son, while no one knew Honda’s father.
Well, if Catherine wants Branton to go to Marrell Academy—or any other expensive school—then she must pay. If I have to pay, it’ll be for Mwisho wa Lami Day School or a similar institution that I can afford. I will not sell a cow to take another cow to school!