SAY WHAT?

The women of Kituni village had lessos tied around their waists as some whipped the remaining tears from their eyes just in time to welcome the professional village mourners who steamed through the gates of Mzee Trenks homestead wailing at the top of their voices to mark their territory and register their presence. A throng of in-synch mourning rented the air as they competed on who could wail the loudest. Strange things people do for popularity I tell you.

Men on the other hand gathered in a small circle talking in soft hushed toned like blood from a headless chicken oozing in spurts with their heads bowed down as a sign of respect to the dead. Evil practices and traditions have taught them not to show any emotions and any man who dared do other wise was considered weak, so the best the could do was fold their arms and venture into a trance with a possibility of thinking who would visit the ancestors next. The elderly ones occupied the nuclear of the circle and the younger ones or new men like one George chenenje donned the circles periphery gleaning and cranning their necks with frequent coughs that earn them death stares. The struggle to be recognized as men seeming elusive.

A lot goes around the community during such an occasion and so the rest of the population has to be assigned some duties. The older boys for example had the duty to fetch firewood and water to be used throughout the ceremony. But most of them showed up to mark their presence, capture a savage and protect their territory for the dance session that would take place every other night till Mzee gets laid to rest. The young girls and new women on the other hand made themselves useful in the now open air kitchen trying to prepare meals for the crowd that would soon fill the homestead. They split firewood and sorted out beans as they chatted the time away, oblivious of the gravity of the matter.

The dance popularly known as disco matanga is one really interesting activity. Its more interesting than this clubs young’uns go these days. Its more pocket friendly so to say. No tickets, no VIP lounges, no makeup, no dressing up or applying any cologne. Just sweaty bodies scented with smoke from the kitchen and the bon fire dancing to the beats from a taut isukuti drum, Dr. Dre got nothing on this one. The grownups have no say during this time. The mothers are usually somewhere gossiping and rocking the younger kids to sleep and the men are gathered by their own fireplace discussing politics, burial arrangements and more politics as they sip on their local brew made from fermented maize meal.

It however does not come as a surprise to find some women in the banana plantation muffling their cries and speaking to the dead. Some like Annette Trenk could be in the kitchen looking for food in the wee hours of the night when they ought to be out breaking a leg or two at the open air rave. Others could have as well marked their presence at the ball and snaked out to the maize plantation to finish off from where they started; simply obeying Gods commandment to go into the world and subdue it, literally.

When you mingle with my people you will be forced to look and act like them but it still surprises me that one Jeff Watitwa has been a hard but to crack especially when it comes to this things he tags along from Nairobi e.g that thing he carries in his hands and keeps touching touching the screen, it is said that it is possessed to an extent where he talks through it to someone he calls Mama Naliaka. His wide framed glasses that look like ‘googos’ in the words of my standard six droupout grandmother have over the ages been a subject for discussion by many. The only thing that makes him part of us is that he enjoys the Bukusu circumsision ceremony and that he makes an effort of exercising his two left feet huko disco matanga.

And that my people is how we sent off Mzee Terrence ‘Trenk’ Mukinginyi. The great councilor who had the guts to challenge Mzee Jommo Kenyatta in his own palace. The man who tasted whisky from the presidents table while wearing some short khaki shorts and never looked back since then. The penchant for good things still lives on Grandpa

It started with the lights being on and escalated into a mini argument. Wait, let me rephrase that. I felt like brewing a strong concoction of trouble, am not a trouble maker just to make I clear but if you count the number of times I piss off my siblings then yes, am a trouble maker, a good one at that. Trying to compare my trouble making skills with any of them is like trying to compare the sexual appeal of Liam Hemsworth and Mr. Bean, insane, right? Drama had not followed me for a while and I was getting really bored with all that peace business – pun highly intended.

It was getting rather late, knock out time to be precise, so it went without saying that my malicious rendezvous ghad to be postponed to the next day. Feeling disappointed, I dragged my tired and lazy bones to the bedroom. My night vision has never been in tip top condition, so it was only natural and logical that I switch on the lights, do my business and tuck in for the much needed rest.

“Hurry up with the lights, will you? We were deep in slumber land before you decided to rudely disrupt our little haven.” She said with a rather irritated and commanding voice.

Then, voilà! A brilliant idea sprang up in my head. Why don’t I just annoy them with the lights? – this people hated lights in a nocturnal kind of way, so yes that was such a genius idea. Ooh, by them I mean my elder sister and nephew. We shared a bedroom and they had left for bed earlier than me. I’m always the last to sleep, this explains a lot considering I was born in the dead of the night.

I took my time to change into my jammies that consisted of an old T-shirt and sweat pants, nothing fancy. I then proceeded to annoyingly put one two three things in place making sure I spent the most time while at it. The baby had been sleeping for a while and my switching on the lights and the movement in the room had made him a bit restless. He started wriggling around and let out a few wimpy cries but that did not bother me, it in fact gave me the adrenaline rush I so badly desired. All along, I could feel her piercing eyes throwing daggers behind my back. That thought in itself gave my efforts a thumbs up. *insert an evil laugh*. I was in for annoyance and I had just fulfilled my heart wrenching desire. She looked at me with disgust, sighed and went back to sleep. One man down! I repeat, one man down. I gave myself a pat on the back, plopped in my bed triumphantly and went to sleep. Mission accomplished.

Soon, it was morning. The mood was pensive and a little bit stale despite the cool breeze from Mount Elgon and the rhythmic and melodic chirping of the early birds. She had woken up earlier and gone about her duties silently which was so unlike her. I watched her from the corners of my eyes and noticed she was avoiding contact with me. She was avoiding any form of verbal or physical contact. In an attempt to make a peace offering, I brushed shoulders with her once or twice on the corridor as we went about our chores and only earned death stares as a result so I gave up.

I went about my chores and in a bid to make myself appear extremely busy and useful, I settled on thorough cleaning. the number one go to place had to be our bedroom. The place was in bad shape and I assured myself that it would look like something out of a home makeover magazine once done to my preferred satisfaction. That was enough peace offering to last me a year, so I thought. Sweep, sweep, sweep the broom went as I sneezed in response to the rising dust that had since accumulated from I don’t know when. At least I was a peace doing something with all my heart, something that seldom happens. There were tons of things under those beds; shoes, clothes, combs, money name them. The place was much roomier than I thought. The innocent and harmless me pushed everything under the beds for sorting and organizing and maybe cleaning later on. I went about my work with a million songs in my head. The humming and coughing were so synchronized that I wished I was in some high end studio producing my ‘hit’ single. Then she walked in.

Her eyes spoke volumes of frustration and her hands clenched into a fist in a bid to hold her anger down and behave like the mature one. Her new shoes and some of her clothes were peacefully lying in the dusty crump that was beautifying the center of the room. The look on my face must have been neither comical and carefree or she was just being plain dramatic and paranoid. Either way, she snapped, got overwhelmed with emotions and burst out into a frenzy of words that consisted mostly of insults. I tried to raise my voice to match hers but I was just an exercise in futility. The only thing I could comfortably do was cry. I wanted to hold them down but the just couldn’t be controlled beyond their backs, so I let them flow. You may be wondering where my annoying skills had gone to, but I guess everyone has a soft spot and that was mine. I’m not much of a talker,  more action oriented *wink*. Like that saying “actions speak louder than words” yeah, I’m cool just like that.

There was so much I wanted to say to her but couldn’t get through. She was good with words I tell you. Despite all that, I was relieved that she did not attempt to hit my gorgeous body with the weapons at her disposal (read shoes, broom and clothes). I don’t think I would have lived with that embarrassment.

The owner of the house, the one and only Masakha Trenk, son of Terrence ‘Trenk’ Mukinginyi got wind of the ongoing activities in his house. I had never seen him filled with rage my entire life. Talk of pleasant painful surprises. He came panting like a wounded lion and the mother of all wars took place. Calling it world war three is an understatement punishable by law. Kiboko kilitembea wacha tu

#WCW

No title

bunch of roses

Once all she did was turn up, turn up and more turn up in skimpy outfits to attract men. Time slowly changed. She gradually knew her worth and learnt to value herself as such. She decided to let go of all her mistakes, fake relationships and embraced a new her. She had been betrayed before and now understands the value of true friendship all too well. Long gone were the days when she would cross rivers and lakes just to make people happy, now all that matters is what makes her happy. Her happiness is no longer hinged on others. Her small circle of friends meet up once in a while to enjoy some wine and quality time away from this little “girls” and their drama.

She decided to stop following men and focused on things dear to her. She loved a good book, a book that grew and improved her. Working for her money and getting credit for work done was an uphill task in a prejudiced world, but she did so to maintain her dignity. She earned it so no one said they gave her shit. She turned to God and built a relationship with him, she dedicates all her endeavors to him; literally.

She understood that her house needs to be a home and her entire lifestyle had to change. She learnt some housekeeping skills and her house is ever spick and span. She got into the kitchen and learnt to whip up tasty meals. She knew the way to a man’s heart is through the stomach. Besides, there is nothing satisfying like a well cooked meal. It simply means the cook had you in their thoughts.

Time came when she got married and had kids. They become her number one priority; she struggled to make sure they got the best out of life. She knows that once in this life time she will reap where she sowed and if she doesn’t manage to get that far then at least she will rest in peace knowing that she made them self-sufficient. She appreciates the Sunday family lunches and holds them dear to her heart, she knows they are all so important and every moment she gets to spend with her family is worth every dime. She cannot bare the fact of losing either her children or her marriage.

Even though her life is a circus, Saturday is the day she visits the salon, she makes her hair, face and nails. She knows that first impressions are so important and she has to look the part at all times. She does it not to please anyone but herself. There is no excuse for not looking nice.

She had to juggle between her job, the kids, the house and her husband who was basically another child. Every evening she helped them with their homework; she knew they would become great people even though they were “illiterate”. They turned her into a zookeeper and she lost it at times. She reminded herself that it was not that serious and had to keep her cool and maintain her smile even though it was evident that she is was not doing fine.  After all motherhood is a full time job with no procedure.

She cried when her children grew old and got out of home. She had been playing and praying with them for long time and had since looped them into her life.  It was hard for her to let go. She still hopes for the best for them nonetheless.

Her final league was when she held her grandchildren and told those stories about the hare and the hyena. She had lived and God had been gracious enough to give her the grace to live for many years past seventy. Her hair was greyed and she had so much knowledge and information to pass down to the rest of her generation. This woman had seen the world. There is nothing she had not done; she knew the good, the bad and the extent they could get.

She had lived.