Coming up short

The art of eating, to me, is literally a hand to mouth affair, my eyes having long drifted from their oversight role to the less palatable goings-on, on Kenyan TV. I’ve grown on... arguably in mannerism, but I’ve grown all the same. There was a time when I only had eyes for the plate. But then, that was high school.

The school dining hall clears out soon after one. I wash my plate and pile it onto a rising stack and toss the spoon to a tray. Bingo!.. I’m old enough not to wash anybody else’s and in just under two months, I will be in Form three, hardened enough to have the monos’ scurrying around for mine. On a normal day, I would head out to the lawns at the assembly and soak in the sun. It is a normal day. I head to the dorm.

We have three lessons in the afternoon. That is in the minds of the principal, his teachers and to a large extent, the sneaky prefects. We have no plans for classes this afternoon. The bell will go at two, and we will lock ourselves in. The prefects will come ordering us out of the dorms but we will stay put. The principal and his teachers will shout themselves hoarse but we will not budge. That way, the lead dissenters will not be readily identifiable to the authorities, and the cowards will not stray into class.

The sit in is well underway. From my top bunk, I stretch out to peel the curtain slightly. The deputy is pacing from one dorm to the other, slamming a cane into his side. The principal is nowhere in sight, he is probably shaking his large fist at the prefects. He may be one smart guy, but he has seriously underestimated what four hundred young minds can come up with. I have lived to the day when he will finally call us to the assembly, and agree to our demands. For years to come, we will be known as liberators. We are almost at the tail end of this liberation sweeping across schools.

On numerous occasions, a sudden drizzle sends me flying through the dorm window to snap my clothes off the drip-dryer, just a few feet outside. Instinct has me again and yet, this was no drizzle. It was not even to a storm that the door flew clear off its hinges. As someone screams “Police!” I am in mid flight halfway out the window. I suddenly realize I have miscalculated. A cop is guarding this exit too. He has his baton halfway raised when I smash into him, sending us both tumbling to the ground. He is back on his feet back but can only sway his baton helplessly to ducking heads as droves of more students bound out and sprint past him for the gate. That is a dead end.

In less than ten minutes, we are rounded up and herded to the assembly, where the principal stands pensive, with his staff in a neat row behind. The chief and the education officer also grace this occasion. “Gentlemen, you have deeply disappointed me today, but I will still call you gentlemen”...the principal’s tone is surprisingly mild.. “What made you join this school?” ..his gaze sweeps through, if he is hoping to catch an eye, he is riding his luck too hard. “Was it not because it is the best performing school in the district?”... I could hardly argue with that... “It seems you have lost sight of that, you feel that you came here for sideshows. You think the other schools are better than you because they wear trousers? You think the girls look at you as lesser men because you are in shorts?”... that is the raw nerve, right there, if last weekend’s sporting competition was anything to go by... “NO!” ..the bite creeps into his voice ... “I want to be clear, here and now. If you feel that you must wear trousers, pack your bags and leave my school now!. If you choose to stand tall in your shorts, I believe then that you still have a class left for the day... Good day, Gentlemen.”

Sunset...

How i miss the sun!

A Night to Remember

She should be out anytime now. The last lamp had gone out shortly after her father, the burly deputy headmaster made a last lap around the house, a steady beam from his torch carefully sweeping the compound. No shifty shadows behind the trees. He locked the gate and as the dogs did their roving charge around him, retreated back to the house. He was ready to retire. They were ready to take charge. I shift. I had crouched behind a shrub twenty feet from the gate. A little too far for the dogs to pay attention to me but close enough to see the back side of the house clearly. The window should open anytime now.

Thundering beats briefly ride out the wind. The party is well underway. The theme for the night is a dance to celebrate the passage of a right. Circumcision. Tonight, I am going to shock the skins back into fellow graduates when I show up with the deputy’s daughter. The heavily guarded trophy date we all dreamt of but could only argue over who has shaken her hand more. Earlier this morning I ran into her at the miller’s and after boosting my count, I got a word in and she surprisingly jumped to the idea. All I had to do was to sit out this slight hurdle. She will be sneaking out anytime now.

The moon disappears behind a cloud sending the entire compound into darkness. A glow-worm uses the occasion to send out a luminous green signal to potential mates in the neighbourhood. No reply. At least not from my angle of sight. Poor thing, it was quite sharply in contrast to the cricket somewhere beneath the shrub. Seemingly spoilt for choice, it sends out annoyingly loud chirps in reply to dozens more ringing in the night. On behalf of the glow-worm and increasingly, my own. I am going to stamp the lights out of the cricket anytime now.

Just as I am about to decide which foot to thump with, I notice a tiny crack emerge from the window. I wasn’t imagining it. I shift slightly to get a better view. A tiny shift, it is, but I suddenly feel numb. A strange numbness I had never felt before. A prickling sensation runs through my legs. I stagger and the flash light drops to briefly illuminate the ground beneath and roll off to shine its light back to a distant star. In the brief moment, I notice the shrub camouflages a termite mound. A steady stream of soldiers are trooping their way up my shoes and into my trousers. They should be all over me anytime now.

Screaming was certainly on the cards for the night. But that was while dancing the night away, not on a quiet road taking off my clothes fast while fleeing in no specific direction. Even as I round a corner, the dogs are barking their heads off. I pause for a moment to catch my breath. Damn its cold. I rule out trying to get back to my clothes and light. Everyone should be out anytime now.

Prime Time with Grandma

The dusty road winds up to the bus stop. That’s a half an hours walk from home and this morning, I’m seeing my parents off to town. Along the way, I had laid my day’s plans. The fence needed propping up. The compound, tidying.

“Son, you will grow up to be a fine young man! I’ll see if I can pick up something for you.”

“Thanks Dad!”

“and take care of Grand ma!..…”

“Sure Mum! Have yourselves a beautiful day”…

then, I quickly rush back home and jump into my wolf’s clothing.

Evenings are dull. There’s little to say except listen to parental advice. Today’s is special. Stories from the goings on in town. I offer my own day and present a small wound suffered while hard at task. All is appreciated. We then have diner and not too long after, Grandma steps in for the evening prayers.

Grandma thanks the Lord for taking my parents to town and back. More importantly, for finding us all in one piece. She prays for the well being of one kind lady, Susan, for so generously offering to make us lunch… I open one eye... Big mistake. My sister is looking at me. She now knows why her friend skipped the choir practice session at the church. No immediate explanations come to mind. I quickly close my eye and open the other… my mom is nodding. Probably happy that her son is making inroads… probably nothing. She nods a lot during prayer time… I know!... it’s a nasty habit I have… but grandma’s prayers last the better part of an hour and it’s a wise thing to occasionally flex your eyelids... You don’t want to start snoring away… My dad is his usual self. Nothing shows in his face but that doesn’t mean he is not thinking.

She prays for the good health of the young man who rode from far to offer my sister a ride on his bike to church… Breaking News… To tell you the truth, I am beginning to have serious doubts on this choir sessions business. I was a member until last month when the choirmaster’s remarks that I should restrict my vocals to talking left me with little option but to walk out in protest. I didn’t leave empty handed… not if today’s lunch is to go by. I now suspect he is picking up my habits fast. Tomorrow, I will get the graphic description of the young man from gramps and if, as I suspect, …IF!… it fits him, I have some dirt that will ensure he restricts his vocals to church melodies.

Grand ma remembers my parent’s commitment to a lifetime of love and sharing. Every journey has its hiccups…. bumps. The strength of commitment is measured by how one is able to overcome these problems… Now, she may be glossing over things but I’m sure she is talking about some beef between my parents. So the whole trip to town was a bump smoothing affair? Is that why she has paid us an impromptu visit? Is that why they spent last night talking? Whatever it is, they have kept it well under wraps.

After running through our lives, she now dives into crops and livestock and thereafter, the long winding Amen! finally comes. Besides Grandma’s, I’m sure that no other face lifts up. Everyone heads to bed. I think it will be a good idea not to hang around longer for that present. I can always receive it tomorrow.

An Afternoon at the River.

I stick my head out of the water to find out the cause of the commotion. It is a dust devil. Our village has lots of these miniature twisters dancing across the landscape, dusting everything in their way. This one is sizeable; it piles a lot of litter as it spins through the river, spraying water all round. The cows briefly stampede and then resume drinking. I resume swimming.

I take the cows to the river twice a day, mid morning and late afternoon. I don’t keep the exact time; I don’t have to. They come mooing around my crib for their trusted guide... that’s me all right… and today, they jarred me out of a siesta. I took the opportunity to take a dip, and clear my head.

I’m not what you might call a professional swimmer. I’ve got none of the backstrokes, breaststrokes, butterfly’s or sidestroke skills that the fine athletes possess. Rivers don’t produce that sort of breed. There are far too many rocks hidden beneath the murky water to make a leisurely attempt worthwhile, and that’s if you can hold back the surging mass, or the weeds that wrap themselves around you every so often. I’m … sort of…what you might call a swimwrestler. It involves making short back and forth crawls. I make a dozen or so back and forth crawls and momentarily cling to a tree root to avoid being swept downstream. I check on the cows. They are almost done. I look around and in a shocking split second, the water drains out of me as if it had never been.

I’m glad it is the afternoon shift so I decide to stay in the river a while longer. The cows are on me again with long stares and moos. Time to go. I swim some more. From the look of things, they may have to make it back home under their own steam. They give up and troop of one by one, stopping at a neighbouring fence to stick their noses through and snap off at maize leaves.

Its getting cold so I seat on an outcrop to catch the last rays of the sun. I think about life, and how it must have been back in the days of Adam and Eve. I hadn’t read much about them but I remember the pictures from the storybooks, they always had leaves conveniently covering…... I slip behind the rock and swim further up as a villager brings in his cows… Another soon follows; she’s here to fetch water. She wades through the shallow edge upstream, away from the cows muddle. She would have seen me if she wasn’t so lost in telling the man about some loose cows wreaking havoc up the road. They leave together and I detached myself and wade back to my rock. It now hosts a toad. I was going to use some company. I didn’t dare leave the river until nightfall, for part of the debris the twister had spun into space were my clothes.

Sister Act

Tailors are doing good business these days. I can speak for this one. He lives in some up market apartment at Hurlingham. I trudge up the stairs, behind my Sister. She’s into potted plants. She stops to have a long look at some winding weeds at the corridor.” I ring the bell. “It’s open!” I walk in …and freeze.

“Why are you so highly strung today?”… My sister had dropped by for the weekend. She was acting mighty strange, constantly dashing into the kitchen to answer her phone for the better part of the morning. Her conversations were in a hushed tone, but my keen sixth sense had it all figured out. “So”… I encouraged her... “The sissy dumped you? ... we should go out and celebrate, couldn’t stand the lot of you sobbing over that La Mujer soap.” “He’s sweet and sensitive, and you want to say I never seen you cry? “You may have, but that was back in the days when dad wielded the big stick. Nowadays, unless the riot police lob a teargas canister into the crib, you might not be so lucky.

“Oh, by the way, happy birthday.” …by the way… well, at least there was a flickering memory of me… “If you have no plans, we could go out to a movie, then diner? I’ll tell you all about it then.” At last, I am going to get me a real treat! After my friends had called in the morning with quick wishes and excuses, I had resigned to a normal day. “Perfect idea! I have absolutely no plans. My friends seem to be caught up in their dailies. Sue had promised me some outing but she says she woke up with a lump.” “Must be those synthetic shoes you bought her” “I never said it was on her foot, come on, I’m sure you know… okay, we’re even.”

We are at odds, I had suggested she calls me when she was done with her errands but she insisted on tagging me along. “When was the last time you spent a day with your Sister?”... “Well, back in those days when dad wielded the…” “Pleeease”… I spent the afternoon reading magazines at a salon. I then went in and out of boutiques, constantly being called upon to judge over jewellery and shades of make up. We ended up at her tailor’s shop. He had closed for the day. She made a frantic call. She had to pick up her skirt suit for a conference she had told me about. She was in luck. The tailor told her to collect the suit from his house nearby.

I am standing still in the living room. I just cannot believe it. “Surprise!!! Happy Birthday!!!” …So much for my sixth sense. So much for the tailor and suit, the excuses, the calls, sissy boy and …the lump! Every conceivable friend is here. Even as the chorus echoes, the room begins to spin, I manage to turn. My sister is standing in the doorway. I suddenly realize I cannot see her clearly. So long, teargas canisters.

Draft Dodger

He is spaced out between thoughts. He might well be. He’s 85, but that’s my estimate. His memory lights up at landmarks. The landmarks are wars, the Second World War and the Mau Mau rebellion that started seven years after. The arrest of six suspected conspirators sent thousands into the forests around Central Province in what became the fight to liberate Kenya off colonialism. The bloody rebellion was crushed, but the march had began. On October 20^th, every year, we remember these great men, and women. Their stories retold, their plights heard over and over again.

He was a home guard. A hired hand to protect the property of the British and non inclined Africans from the Mau Mau rebels. In short, he was a traitor. Though the now ageing home guards still dot the villages, it takes a while to find one willing to tell his story. “In 1952, that was like putting yourself on death row eeh.” “Haa… look at me, I’m still here!”... It wasn’t a laugh, but I appreciated the effort.

By the late 1940’s, the missionaries and settlers were quite happy here, they had acquired huge chunks of land. We worked on their farms and looked after their animals, they brought Christianity and Education. The settlers had their excesses, and they never seemed to have enough of our land, but we would turn a blind eye, we respected them, they stood somewhat… immortal. During the Second World War, some fellow villagers were recruited to fight alongside the allied forces. They were stationed in Burma. After the war, they returned with tales that portrayed the settlers as vulnerable at war. One day, a settler shot dead a herd of sheep that had been grazing on his farm, a habit he was known for, but on this instance, some villagers raided his farm that night, killing his horses. The exchanges had began, and they gradually escalated and after the arrests of 1952, all hell broke loose.

As much as the British were brutal, he went on, the Mau Mau were no saints. When they invaded a home, they cleaned it… I mean… they burnt the huts, with its occupants screaming inside, killed all the cattle, sheep, chickens, … “I get the picture”… these were fellow Africans, remember!, just because they couldn’t get to the well protected Settlers, some turned against those of us who refused to join the fight. I’m no coward, I did not see all the wanton killing and destruction of property as justified, so when one Mau Mau General “kahiu-itina” (knife-ass, ... besides wearing his sandals backwards to confuse the enemy, he was infamous for his punishment method) sent his men to recruit me, I told them I needed to take my family back to my parents house, that’s ten miles away, then join them. I did, I mean… the family bit. I stayed there for a while not knowing what to do. Word got around that they were looking for me, so I fled to the settler’s camp where I got a job as a warden. I later moved my family to the camp.

I’m not a... “an eye for an eye” kind of person. I have never been. I looked after the rebels who had been arrested and brought to the camp even after I had learned that they had burned my home. I made good friends with them. My wife cooked for them, and still does when they come around for a chat.