Madam Nansubuga sat behind her desk with her hands folded over a blue file. Rose stood beside the filing cabinet, while Peter had taken a chair far from Daniel, as if distance itself could stop blame from travelling from one side of the room to the other.
“Before we draw any conclusions,” Madam said, “I want to understand what happened without anyone raising their voice.”
Daniel placed the letter on the desk. “This letter says I requested a transfer yesterday.”
Peter put his copy beside it. “And I received instructions to start here today.”
“I have read your letter,” Madam said. “It carries a district stamp.”
“The stamp does not answer the question of who made the request,” Daniel said.
Rose stepped closer. “There is an entry in the system.”
“When did you see it?” Daniel asked.
“Yesterday evening. The letter came in after normal office hours. I received it at the registry and put it in Madam’s tray.”
“Did it have an attachment?”
Rose hesitated. “It had three pages.”
Daniel looked at Peter. “Were you given three pages?”
Peter opened his file. “I was given this letter and the letter appointing me to take the post. There was no other page.”
Madam turned to Rose. “Bring me the system printout.”
Rose left the room. Daniel remained half-standing, unable to settle into his chair. The fatigue of the hospital still sat on his shoulders, but he did not want anyone to use it as proof that he was weak or overemotional. The previous night he had watched the ward clock every few minutes, trying to remember whether he could really return to teaching that day. Now his body had brought him back to the classroom before his mind had understood whether he still had a place there.
When Rose returned, she carried four pages. One contained the application number, another the transfer details, the third a list of documents, and the fourth was an attachment headed “Applicant’s Statement.”
Daniel picked up the page. His name appeared on it. The text said he had requested a transfer because of “family changes and the need to move closer to relatives.”
Daniel gave one short laugh, without amusement.
“Which family?” Madam asked.
“My sister Sarah lives on the northern side. I live here in the staff quarters. I have made no request to move closer to her.”
Rose extended a hand. “Perhaps the information came from an old file.”
“An old file does not know that I was in hospital yesterday.”
Peter shifted in his chair. “Mr Kato, I did not create these documents. They were simply given to me.”
“I know you did not create everything,” Daniel said. “But you arrived with a document that can remove me from my job.”
“And I will leave my old job because of this.”
“Did you agree to go?”
“I paid processing costs.”
Madam raised a hand before the exchange could become an attack. “Daniel, do you have proof from the hospital?”
Daniel took a folded receipt from his wallet. He placed it beside the discharge note. The date was clear. His admission time was 4:40 p.m. the previous day. The application showed a submission time of 2:12 p.m.
Peter’s expression changed when he read it. “That cannot be right.”
“That is what we are saying,” Daniel replied.
Madam asked Rose to open the system history. Rose sat at the computer and entered Daniel’s number. The screen faced her, but Daniel could see lines of dates and names. Rose frowned.
“The application was entered using the district liaison’s account,” she said.
“Not a teacher’s account?” Daniel asked.
“Not necessarily. Some applications are entered by the office.”
“But the statement says I gave it.”
Rose opened the attachment. “This was uploaded at 2:12 p.m.”
Madam looked at Daniel. “Does anyone have access to the old personnel forms?”
“Many people,” Rose said. “During last year’s payroll update, we requested copies of signatures.”
Peter exhaled sharply. “If this is false, why does it have a receiving stamp?”
“Because a document can pass through an office without being verified with the person named in it,” Daniel said.
Madam stood and walked to the window. The school yard was full of students running between lessons. She remained silent for a moment.
“I do not want this class left without a teacher,” she said. “And I do not want to send Peter away under an accusation that has not been proved.”
Daniel felt the word protect cut him. “How am I protected?”
“By putting the dispute in writing,” Madam said. “Today.”
She wrote a short memo: Daniel Kato denied requesting a transfer; Peter Lwanga had arrived with a document appointing him to the post; final implementation would wait for verification of the request’s source and date. She asked both men to read it.
Daniel read every line. At the end he added: “The attendance register and Form Four timetable must remain under the school’s supervision until the authorities verify the change.” He would not allow the students to become part of an experiment in administrative failure.
Peter asked for a sentence stating that he had arrived intending to carry out official instructions, not to seize the job by force. Daniel looked at him for a second, then said, “Put it in.”
Rose printed copies. Daniel signed his. Peter signed his. Madam stamped the school seal on both.
“There will be shared access for now,” Madam said. “Daniel will continue teaching. Peter will accompany Rose when reviewing the records, but he will not be given the class as his own until we have an answer.”
Peter stood. “I will look like someone who arrived without authority.”
“And I look like someone who asked to leave,” Daniel said.
Madam looked at them both. “That is why you will stop speaking like enemies and start preserving every step.”
When they left the office, Peter walked beside Daniel.
“You wrote that I should not be blamed,” he said.
“Because that is what the memo says.”
“People will not read the whole memo. They will say I came to take the post.”
“People speak before they read.”
Peter shook his head. “I was told Mwangaza was a good placement. I paid a facilitator to make the process move quickly. I did not know it involved someone who had never asked to come here.”
Daniel stopped in the corridor. “Who did you pay?”
“We can discuss that after we get copies of everything.”
“Do not change your account. Give Madam the facilitator’s details.”
Peter looked ready to refuse, but then nodded.
Daniel returned to the classroom. The students were still waiting. Aisha asked whether Peter would be their teacher.
“I am here today,” Daniel said. “And I will be here tomorrow, until you receive an official notice.”
He began writing a new example on the board. Beneath the numbers, his phone rang. Rose had sent a photograph of the missing attachment in Peter’s file.
The page carried his old signature, his personnel-file number, and a family description he had never written.
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