KIFARANSA VILLAGE

In Western Kenya, deep in the heart of Shamakhokho stood French School Senende. Its towering buildings, sparkling halls, disciplined routines, and brilliant students earned it the name L’université de VIHIGA
Les gars? Beaux et intelligents. The teachers? Strict et sérieux. Their motto? “Whip stupidity out of you today to build your tomorrow.”

Everyone, including non french students tried to learn some basic French words.
Even the cooks, stirring massive pots of ugali, would greet you with a cheerful “Bonjour!”
In fact we called it LYCÉE FRANÇAIS DE SÉNENDE because of its rich culture française, one would think we were in Paris somewhere in aix merseille village in France .

Episode 1

LA CULTURE FRANÇAISE DE SENENDE
At Senende, French wasn’t just a subject; it was “le mode de vie”. From the principal, Madame Fatou Mata, booming “Mes garçons, soyez prêts pour aujourd’hui!”at morning assembly to the trees we practiced our French with. Every corner of Senende oozed la langue française.

Yes, you heard that right—we talked to trees. “Bonjour, Monsieur l’arbre! Comment trouvez-vous notre set verse?” Games time wasn’t for football; it was for perfecting pronunciation. If trees could judge, Senende ingekuwa na A+.

2017 was the year of Class 722A as the French Set Verse. We rehearsed tirelessly, balancing books, discipline, and des rêves of Nationals. After conquering the Western Regionals, the iconic yellow school bus, KCD 367D, was ready to take us to Kanaïro.

This wasn’t just any bus; it was La Fierté de Senende. Boarding it was a rite of passage. Grâce a la langue française, we boarded It time and again,if not music festivals,then we were going for french exposées to our neighbouring schools like Lycee Keveye. This time,the journey from sugarcane fields to city chaos was filled with songs, jokes from Jemederi the driver, and whispers about the letters we’d deliver to les filles of Keveye and Bunyore.

Ah, ma lei ça veut dire les lettres

Writing to Keveye and Bunyore Girls wasn’t just a hobby—it was an art form. Letters were penned in our finest handwriting, sprinkled with marashi, and delivered by the school’s most charming boys. Inside our letters were sweet French phrases like je t’aime et ma belle. Lazima wangetambua sisi ndo mapro kwa français.

When the bus returned, wah! Sema Tension. Those who received replies strutted like des rois, while the rest of us vowed to improve our French for next time.