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.

Driven

I’m running through a maize plantation on the outskirts of Nakuru town, not after a wild animal; in a break from tradition, I’m disappearing from a scene. I pause for a moment to listen… no heavy police boots crushing the fallen leaves. I’m safe. I hadn’t expected him to come after me, but did not want to take any chances. The thought of being arrested and bundled to court had completely nerved me; I couldn’t stand seeing myself before a judge, charged with… What! Why did I even think of running away? … anyway, damage’s already done, no need to go back and apologize, I don’t think my presence will comfort the hysterical girl, or the guy trying to calm her... I walk to the end of the plantation and peer out. The coast is clear. I thumb a bus home.

My driving instructor was a little too friendly. Every morning, on the first training lap, he would stop at a kiosk and order a packet of milk and a rock cake on my account. Satisfied he would then spit into his palms, rub them together then grab the wheel to drive off to a lonely road… “your turn”

Two weeks later, it was my turn to read out loud the road signs that filled a stretched out wallpaper. A policeman stood slightly to the left, ready to point them out. After having been in the queue for over an hour and witnessed so many folks kicked out, I was nervous and the first sign he pointed out, only a faint croak came out. “Kids.. eeh Children crossing” Gradually, I found my voice. “Go back to the room!”… It sounded like a bark, but I needed to hear it, anyway it sounded. I had passed the first part of the driving test.

The second part was the road test. We were divided into groups of four. I ended up with two other guys and a girl. We climbed into the back of a pick up truck, the test vehicle. The girl was to go first and she skilfully eased the truck out of the traffic inspectorate station and onto the highway. She did well. Satisfied, the policeman ordered her to the back, and called out the next guy. She was thrilled as she clambered to the back. She had passed. All she needed to do now was to enjoy the rest of the ride and collect her interim licence at the station.

The guy had problems with the gear. The vehicle jerked a couple of times before coming to a stop at an intersection. The policeman engaged him in some animated talk and from the look of it; they were not getting to know each other, he was being asked to put on hold his driving ambitions. The door opened and the poor guy crossed over to the side of the road, to wait for a bus. “Next”

I had seen the policeman at the station, but now suddenly looking at him made the driver’s cabin look tiny. His huge frame was slightly turned to look at me as I slid into the cabin. I wondered how my shaky hand was ever going to work the gear without grabbing his leg. I reached for the handbrake… “Forgotten something?”…. “Sorry officer” I reached for the safety belt only to find out the clip was missing. I left the belt lying across my middle and made an attempt at a sheepish smile. He had got me on that one and I was going to make him feel proud.

There was no need for borrowed tricks from the instructor; my hands were sweaty already and as I fumbled for the gear, his 2-way crackled. For a moment, he paused to listen. “What are you waiting for?”... Time for niceties was over. The vehicle lurched, but somehow managed to stay on the road. It suddenly looked like a three lane highway. I was into my third gear when I noticed a vehicle behind me flashing its lights. Was I really on the right lane? The pickup’s rear view mirrors were all the way up the bonnet, not good for the close up view I had been used to and so I stuck my head out. “What do you think you are you doing?” I twisted back but not before confirming that it was a massive truck and that it was closing in on us fast! The loud honk echoed the message around the cabin. I switched lanes and bang! Maize!

Catch 22

The first time I saw the painting, it was on the walls of our village hotel. Since then, I have seen numerous variations of it in rural and urban centres across Kenya. Some introduce fresh characters into the scene; others carry along a short parable but the very first one I saw was bore no written script. Not that it needed to, the message couldn’t have been clearer.

The background is strikingly rich. Halfway out of… or halfway into… the parted hills, the sun rises or sets. A river spirals its way from the hills through lush plains dotted by occasional trees to the foreground. It is the foreground scene that jolts me out of the picnic dreams that creep in every time I see it.

The scene is that of a man, stripped to his shorts, and well into cutting down a tree. From the tree, a large snake slithers down. Whether to escape from the swaying branches and the jarring impact of the axe or to deal with the source of this menace is left to your imagination. Either way, the man has to leave in a hurry; probably swim across the river just south…

Not a good idea, there is a Crocodile fresh out of the water to catch the early morning, or late afternoon sun and would just love the challenge. The sight of the potential meal must have sent all the right signals to its jaws for they are wide open and in disregard to the conventional rule that their tongues are immovable, this one is licking its lips.

Hope lies in sprinting across the plains and up the hills but on a closer look, it is clear that this will only serve to deny the reptiles the lion’s share of himself, for through the tall grass, a lion of no mean stature is closing in as well.

The look on his face is not that of a man resigned to his fate. It is that of a man surprised by it. Thoughts flow through. The long walk from home in search for greener pastures; the tiredness from clearing a new ground to settle a young family and the thoughts of that family anticipating his return with plans for their future in this picturesque site which, on this day is the backdrop for the sunset of his life.