The board wanted a timeline the next morning, but Zawadi refused to let that work replace the problem already in front of them. The host-family option had looked simple on paper and became complicated the moment they applied it to real children and real houses.
Ruth drew a large table on the whiteboard:
`FAMILY / CAPACITY / CONSENT / DISTANCE / TRANSPORT / SAFEGUARDING / STUDENT PREFERENCE`.
“Every box needs an answer,” she said.
“If we verify every house, this will take too long,” Muriithi replied.
“We are not licensing homes,” Zawadi said. “But we must know where a student is going, where she sleeps, how she returns to school and who is responsible.”
Miriam brought more requests. Some were straightforward: an aunt ten minutes away, already listed as an emergency contact, with a spare room and a parent able to provide transport. Others contained gaps: *family friend*, *we will arrange transport*, *there is space*, without details.
“Do not call those rejected,” Zawadi said. “Call them incomplete.”
“What difference does that make to a parent who needs an answer today?” Miriam asked.
“It tells them exactly what information is missing and gives them a path to complete it.”
They reviewed requests one by one. Students were asked whether they wanted the arrangement. That created its own surprises. One parent had arranged for a girl to stay with a cousin, but the student quietly said she did not want to go because an older boy in that household made cruel jokes about her whenever she visited.
Ruth asked no further questions in front of the group. She wrote: `STUDENT DOES NOT CONSENT — DO NOT PLACE`.
“What if the parent insists?” Muriithi asked.
“Then we speak to the parent. We do not move a child somewhere she has told us she does not feel safe and call it a safety solution.”
Another girl with asthma had a suitable host family, but the school bus did not serve the area. Miriam suggested combining transport with two other parents nearby. Zawadi agreed only if every parent confirmed and the school created one official pickup point.
By ten that night, six placements were approved, four were incomplete, two were rejected for capacity, and three were waiting for student preference.
“That is fewer than we expected,” Muriithi said.
“But these six are traceable and defensible,” Zawadi replied.
“And the other sixty-plus students?” Miriam asked.
“They stay under the capped classroom arrangement for now. Host families are an option for some, not a replacement for the school’s responsibility.”
The distinction between equality and fairness became visible. Giving everyone the same option meant little if only wealthy or well-connected families could use it. Giving priority to those with the strongest networks was not fairness either. The criteria had to be visible enough to challenge.
The next morning Zawadi posted a one-page summary: who could apply, what information was required, reasons a request might be approved or declined, and an appeal route. No student names appeared.
“Why is there an appeal?” Hana asked before assembly.
“Because people can make mistakes even when they follow criteria.”
“Who reviews the appeal?”
“The matron and principal, not only the person who made the first decision.”
“That is better.”
“You are becoming an auditor.”
“Maybe because adults have too many forms.”
At noon they built the board timeline. Every event received a date, owner and evidence: roof damage in the old dormitory; decision to use the hall; draft layout; scheduled but incomplete safety walkthrough; student occupancy; Hana’s video; parent complaints; physical inspection; relocation; the privacy problem; contractor delays; host-family planning.
Then they reached the line everyone disliked:
`TEMPORARY HALL OPENED FOR OCCUPANCY BEFORE FINAL SIGN-OFF.`
Muriithi remained silent.
“Who gave the go-ahead?” Principal Wanjala asked.
“Operations said the layout was ready,” Kibet replied.
“I was in that meeting,” Muriithi said.
“But final sign-off belonged to facilities,” Kibet answered.
“And did I know it had not arrived?”
Kibet did not answer directly.
“Do not turn the timeline into a sentence about who deserves blame,” Zawadi said. “Write the facts. Draft layout approved. Walkthrough scheduled. Occupancy began. Final sign-off blank. If there is an email or message showing how the decision moved, attach it.”
They searched the email thread. Two days before opening, the contractor had written: `hall setup substantially complete; final walkthrough pending minor adjustments.` Muriithi had replied: `Proceed with student reception plan; do not delay opening unless critical issue is identified.`
He read his own sentence twice.
“This will look like I told them to admit students.”
“Because in practice it was used that way,” Wanjala said.
“I did not mean skip sign-off.”
“That is the ambiguity,” Zawadi said. “You assumed the process would continue. Operations read your message as permission to continue. There was no hard gate saying: no occupancy until signature X exists.”
Ruth nodded. “Everyone assumed somebody else would stop the process if something was wrong.”
Muriithi sat back. He did not argue that the video lacked context or repeat that the arrangement was temporary.
“Then that belongs in the timeline.”
Before the day ended, the dormitory status board showed water repair `PASS`, electrical test `PASS`, fire-exit verification `IN PROGRESS`, fifty-four beds `DELIVERED`, eighteen `PENDING`.
Students gathered to watch bed frames come off the truck. Hana did not take out her phone.
“No video today?” Zawadi asked.
“I am waiting for the checklist.”
Then Hana pointed at the new complaint box. “There is already a note.”
Zawadi and Ruth opened it together.
`The corridor beside classroom three goes dark for a few minutes when the generator changes over. Someone tripped yesterday. Please do not wait until somebody gets badly hurt.`
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