Today was not a bad day, training for a weekend game between Kenya police hockey team and Green Sharks hockey team was not that easy but thanks God i got time to update my blog....
Life in GSU Training school was one of that I will never forget. There are so many details but i will highly summarize and capture what i can remember well.....
After reporting here, the first two weeks were marked
with what the instructors called ‘kutoa Uraia’, to literally mean removing the ‘civilian mind’
in me and inserting ‘an officer’ into my blood stream. We were supposed to move
from one point to another at a double which meant running and never to be found
walking. We would cut grass using our bare hands and take it to a dump site at
terrible speeds where along the way the instructors would practically, whip, and slap and do
all manner of harassment to the recruits as a way to tame our tempers as they
were putting it to us. With all this harassment,
no one was supposed to retaliate or even utter a word however hard we were
harassed! If one dared to act in a manner likely to suggest that he/she was
getting hot tempered, the instructors would leave any other thing that they
were doing and charge onto the recruits, pinching, slapping and doing all that
was possible to inflict pain into his / her body and more so warn anyone who
would be tempted to do so to refrain.
In here, we were taught
how to basically do everything like a cop. From making our beds, washing our
barracks, scrubbing the pavements, walking, shaving our hair, maintaining our
hygiene plus another whole lot of things that we were to do like cops and not
as ‘Raias’, to mean civilians. Notably, we were to stay for more than two weeks
before we were given the police uniform. All this time, we were in our casuals
and anyone who did not have several
pairs was literally surviving in what he/she had. As we were doing this,
one guy disappeared from the training school in a manner that none of us could
explain. I guess he could not stomach the harassment that we were going trough.
We would literally be whipped like primary school kids for no apparent reasons.
Here I met what I would call hell on earth. All manner of abusive language
existed here. Instructors would practically call you anything without caring.
One would be a pastor on Sunday and be someone very different when you met at
the drill square, in the barracks or when we were doing the manual jobs like slashing
glass which is a big component in GSU training.
I was shocked to hear
men past the age of my dad utter the most mannerless words that I had ever come
across. This was shocking to me since as much as I was a bad boy in my hey days,
I never got abusive and never came across such abuses in our family even from
my ever drunk Grandpa. There was nothing much we could do but stomach this
harassment in hope that one day we will pass out and start earning our
salaries.We would later get into
what was referred to as squads which were organized depending on height with
mine being squad 17 commonly refered to as ‘mandururu or Masumuni’ to just
express how short and tiny most of the members were.
Hoping
my memory treats me right:~A normal day would start at
around some minutes after four in the morning where we would be woken up, get into our truck
suits ready for road run. In song and dance we would run in darkness to and
from a distance that the squad in charge felt that was the best we could have
done. We would then get back to the training school some minutes to six, go to
the armory to pick our rifles, have our breakfast, get into our well ironed
uniforms and boots and then proceed for inspection.
At the inspection
stage, anyone who had not polished his / her boots to the required standards,
one who had not ironed the uniform, shaved his beard and basically who could
be said to be dirty in person was the target. If found, this was the beginning of
a bad day because if not thoroughly beaten, one would be told to go round the camp
with the G3 rifle lifted up high, would be told to go down in press up position
for a long time and incase he/she fell down whipped and in other cases would be
sent back to the barrack and be forced to put in all that was given as kit
which included a sweater, a military /smoke jacket, a rain coat, a ground sheet and what we called 58 Kit
and would be taken to the drill square for further punishment where one would
run round with the rifle lifted up, jump up, match and by the time the
instructors were done with him / her, no more tears could be seen flowing down
the cheeks!
Those who had attained
the cleanliness standards would head to the drills square and start the drills
session where we were trained on how to match. This is where comical
episodes existed. Some recruits could take ages to learn how to match despite
tireless efforts to make then learn it. Others, especially the EX NYS did it
with minimal struggles. Some never got it even after being beaten and taken
through extra training.This was the training area dominated by instructors like Pc Mwaria,
Corporal Chai, Pc Ahmed Nassir, Pc Chergut, Pc Kiptoo, Pc Letoya among others who were not jokers and anyone
who missed step during the matching found it rough. (Eight years down the line,
most of these have risen up in ranks and hence may hold different ranks now)
We would then head to
classes where we were taught signals, police practical theory, skills at arms
amongst others and not forgetting the physical training at the Gym. Part of the
recruits would be at the Gym whereas others were attending different lessons. At
the Gym, things were tough and at times one wished the ground would open wide
and swallow him or her! Taking tae kwon do, un armed combat, log exercises and
even obstacle crossing in the open field was not a joke. Looking for what we
called stamina was hell on earth. Failure to complete such tasks attracted
beating which I must say was merciless as we had instructors like Malaria,
Kirinya, Karanga, Mathenge, Gitonga, Kebaya and others who never gave laxity a
chance.
This would later see us
break for lunch, que for the meals that at times was not the best we deserved.
I just remembered times when Ndengu was almost in equal proportion with ‘small
stones’ but we had no option but sort it out that way and call it a meal. Those
who never minded to que for a second share also did so hence we nicknamed them
‘flying squad’. In this case, a recruit was ‘proudly’ referred to as mnyama,to
mean an animal and surely we were treated as such and fed as such too
where instructors said that we exhibited
animal like behaviour. After lunch, we would match to the
respective venues for afternoon training that would later end some minutes to
supper time where we went back to the barracks, picked our plates and then que again for super which marked the beginning of a
sleepless night.
After supper, we were
supposed to start what was known as ‘fatique’. This means cleaning the barracks,
the wash rooms and bathrooms too, cleaning the slabs by scrubbing them with
brush and then applying soap so as to look whitish after they were dry and
other areas that were to be attended to by us. Mugambi who was a University graduate was
the squad leader hence he would subdivide the tasks to all the members of the
squad so as to ensure that work was well done. This would end at around 2045Hrs
which marked the beginning of time to take care of our personal hygiene ready for inspection come the
following morning.
In
the Company of my
close friends nick named Ngahu, Mandaraka a.k.a Kawangware, Tanui, Bajun
ya
Nyeri and others, we would assist each other since others were good at
ironing
the clothes while others were good at shining the boots. In some
instances,
Instructors could sneak into the barrack un noticed which was a crime as
we were expected to shout 'UP' in case one was spotted and bring
recruits to attention and give him a chance to address us. Failure to
notice them attracted beating and all manner of harassment till late
night hours where we
were left to struggle and clear what was left before time for road run.
At
times, this would mean that we trans night where one could have ended to
have not slept
not even a single minute!
In the GSU Training
school standards of personal hygiene and cleanliness are usually high! Trousers and shirts were
to be ironed as we were taught, boots needed to be polished and remain shining like
diamonds and heads clean shaven. The sockets for ironing purposes were less
than ten and were to be shared by over sixty of us residing in the same
barracks. We were at times forced to send the instructors to buy us extension
sockets to make work easier. These were delivered at inflated prices but we
could not do anything much! The Ironing session could be interrupted by our
instructors who quite often came, soaked everything (Uniforms and Military
boots) in water, ordered us to fill all buckets with water and poured the water
under our beds. We would then be ordered to get under and swim as they
mercilessly beat us. They usually came in numbers and I guess our squad
incarge, Cpl Seif loved this as he quite often invited his friends Cpl Katana
and Cpl Jilloh who loved this game and
had perfected in it.
This
could have
resulted from an inspection trip where the Instructors noted that some
areas
were not properly done, someone may have messed the toilets and left
them that
way and even a cigarette filteror any litter could be found on the
floor. This attracted
collective punishment as getting the culprit was not easy. We would
later be
left to clean the barracks at night, wash the uniforms and dry them
using an
Iron, use any means to make dry the military boots and make sure that by
morning inspection parade, they were shining as expected. In other
times, we would have done all that was expected of us but still be
subjected to this treatment.
One nasty day, Cpl
Seif, our squad in charge passed by the toilets and found one messed up and not
flushed. Water was a problem at times but he did not care. He ordered us to get
out of the barrack and each one of us, with our bare hands collect the human
waste and have at least a piece of it and take it to him. In fear, we fought to have
a share and those who were 'unlucky' did not get any hence found it rough and forced us to share what we had! Allow me to
stop there and not to say where we took the ‘Human cow dung’ after showing it
to him! You should have seen how he was grinning as each one of us passed by
him showing him what we had managed to get. Disgusting as it was, that was it!
Most of the times, some
instructors who were known to be notorious drunkards could pass by our
barracks, after the mess was closed, harass us in their drunkerdness and keep
us awake till some minutes to road run time. Sergent Kimutai and Corporal Maganga
were two notable instructors who had perfected in this art. We had to come up
with a way to tame them since their presence in the wee hours of the night meant
that sleeping for three continuous hours was not very possible. At times, we
would contribute Ksh 100 each and send our squad leaders to these instructors
as a means of taming them disguising it as morale! This would result to reduced
disturbances but would only last a while before they were broke and back to
what they did best, making sure that life in the training school was hell on
earth.
Some months down the
line, we were to be paid some cash to keep us moving. This was done using
vouchers where we would be paid some little amount, the other bit was banked on
our behalf ( …banked in whose account, that I can never tell because I do not
know…) and would be paid to us after
pass out parade and the rest was taken away as a deduction to cover costs of
whatever personal kit we were issued with. The shocking details were in what
the deductions would amount to. We felt that we were being overcharged. The
costs of an iron, truck suits, beds, mattresses, bed sheets, sports shoes, the military
version of wooden boxes called AMRA (A poorly done wooden box that would be
used to store our military kit once in the jungle or on transit from one point
to another. Please note that almost eight years down the line, lifting this box
from the ground even when empty is not a joke).
For all these and more,
we were charged amounts that we thought were as much as three times the market
price. All this was coordinated at the Office of the officer Commanding junior
training wing. To me and other recruits, we could do nothing as we feared that
we could be even sent packing in case we dared to ask this legitimate question. Either
way, all is vanity!
After Months of training at GSU Training school, it was
time to leave for field training at Magadi Filed training grounds. See you there......!
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