Christmas in the Village

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. 

This opening paragraph from the novel ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ by Charles Dickens nostalgically takes me down memory lane to the events of my childhood. I was in town the other day and Christmas carols were playing so loudly from every stall announcing it’s that season again when people are supposed to spend and eat like it’s the end of the world. Outdoor Christmas lights in major malls shining so bright forming beautiful patterns at night. You see them from a distance and for a moment you think it’s the stars that have fallen.

I grew up in the 90s in some deep village somewhere in Meru. Christmas season in the village back in the day was different to the one I see in the city in more ways than one. The only thing that remains constant is the whimpering from everyone in January. In the city every single day in December from 1^st to 31^st is an event worth celebrating unlike in the village where we only rested on 25^th and the rest of the days were normal working days.

Parents, especially my mother, looked forward to December holidays so we would help her in weeding, fetching firewood, grazing among other chores. Christmas was to us a one day event that we so badly looked forward to.

A week before Christmas mum would make us collect all the rubbish around the compound, uproot all the unwanted plants and sweep every corner including the foot path that led to our home. Home looked so neat that week. We had one mud house that would be plastered (Kûthinga) with a mixture of cow dung and ashes that very week too. This house looked so good and I don’t have an idea of why it was brought down. I just came back for holidays while in high school and I didn’t find it there. So sad! 

Oh and my sisters would stick old newspapers with all sort of news including obituaries on the walls in our sitting room. I remember my younger brother and I being sent to look for glue – a thick, light brown sap on the outside of injured tree trunks on the trees surrounding our compound that we would mix with some water to make a sticky concoction (Maanû) that my sisters used to stick the newspapers with. 

Success cards would be hung on ropes crisscrossing just below the ceiling with a few balloons of different colours that we struggled so hard to fill with air to complete this magnificent look. By the way what happened of those success cards that had pictures of a boy and a girl on the front page posing in a manner most likely to suggest…? How were those images even related to exam by the way? Were they supposed to announce to the candidates that they were of age and could start dating/get married? But this Kenya of ours thou!

My sister, Jane used to make a Christmas tree from the cutting of a fresh cider tree branch. She would decorate it with some balloons and some shinny ribbons - Those ribbons I see you people put on a graduates’ neck. 

On Christmas Eve we would go for the night mass. If you never made it for this mass you would have missed a lifetime event. Many episodes took place here; Skits were acted, poems recited, songs sung and talks given. Dirty things happened there too, guys came to church smelling of booze, cigarettes and others chewed khat in Gods’ house.  Promiscuity happened right in the church compound. There were people who only stepped in church on 24^th and 31^st nights for their own weird undertakings. 

Anyway these nights were awesome for me and my siblings. We used to enjoy every bit of the night and we would reminisce them till another Christmas time. The songs that one Thomas Kîlûûchû (Mpûmpû) used to sing during those night masses are unforgettable. I miss them and I so wish I would make to attend that mass tonight.

îî Njosebu na Maria îî bobaîlî

Njosebu na Maria îî bobaîlî

Yîî bobaîlî x 2

Mûlaika Ngaburieri nue atûmîrwe

Mbbrruuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrr!!!!!

Mass would end some minutes past midnight and we would head home to sleep and wait for the great day. The day we would rock new shoes and new clothes for the years that we were lucky to have been bought new ones.

Christmas day mornings were different from the rest of the days. I don’t know exactly how and why but I just feel if you slept the whole year and you just woke up on 25^th in the morning you would easily tell it was Christmas day. It smelled different, the sun shone differently, the wind blew gently and all the birds released new melodious singles. 

This day was filled with eating, lots of eating and drinking, and this we did too well. Eating was the real event. Chapati was Christmas and Christmas was chapati, if that thing was not there my fren then there was no Christmas. After eating at home we would now go to our relatives who lived nearby to do the obvious, sample their dish. We would go to about 3 homesteads before finally retiring home farting like tired donkeys with our bellies protruding like a five months old pregnancy.

This day was so short though. It used to end even before it starts. You would go to bed and before you even turn you hear mum waking you up to go open the cows’ shed or go to your neighbours to look for fire (Kwîîra monki) because you don’t have a match box. Life would go back to normal until first January when you again would repeat the events of 25^th after which you would then wait for a whole year before you eat some delicacies again.

Wûi tene!

Christmas Long Ago

By Jo Geis

Frosty days and ice-still nights,
Fir trees trimmed with tiny lights,
Sound of sleigh bells in the snow,
That was Christmas long ago.

Tykes on sleds and shouts of glee,
Icy-window filigree,
Sugarplums and candle glow,
Part of Christmas long ago.

Footsteps stealthy on the stair,
Sweet-voiced carols in the air,
Stocking hanging in a row,
Tell of Christmas long ago.

Starry nights so still and blue,
Good friends calling out to you,
Life, so fact, will always slow…
For dreams of Christmas long ago.

 

The Curse that never was

 Standing left, Simon 'Kiau' & Koronya. Squating right, Mwiti & Myself

I always count myself so lucky to have grown up in the neighbourhood that I did and to have attended the schools that I did. Not because it was the best neighbourhood nor were the schools that good. 
I however had the best neighbours and wonderful schoolmates. Everything they did or touched is a story worth being told. 

Allow me to share one exhilarating event that will leave you in stitches. There was one notorious class in school that year. Class 7 Tiger. This class had the brightest yet the most machiavellian boys in the entire school. It had the most beautiful girls in equal measure. I must point out early that I was not a member of this class. I wish I was for obvious reasons.

It was a normal school day and about mid-morning, class 7 Tiger members started getting out one at a time and walking to the middle of the pitch where  Mr. Mwithimbu and Mr. Mugambi had set up a desk. You would think they were taking HIV tests. Back in the classroom there were 2 other teachers who made sure no conversing took place. Those who were attended by the two teachers at the pitch sat under the nearby Mûûtî tree where another male teacher kept watch –Divide and rule tactic.

We kept speculating what crime they could have committed but no one guessed it right. After everyone got interviewed, they all left for home before lunch hour with their books. We sensed danger! It must have been a heinous crime they had committed to warrant them being sent home. 

Due to anxiety and a nose for news that I have always been, I passed by my friends home Simo Kiaû in the evening to get a 411.

“I ntheto indaaya baite” (It’s a long story buddy) He started.

“Carry on” I requested.

Here goes the story as best told by him. I will deliberately leave out girls’ names for various reasons. Most are people’s wives now and I wouldn’t want to break their marriages.

“Last week,” He continued. “One girl insulted Mwenda Rwara in class in the presence of all pupils and we took it as an insult to all the boys in class. We called for a kamunkunji for all the boys and decided in unison that we would revenge. After contemplating on the best way to revenge, Rwara came up with this bright idea. To curse the girls. We approached some girls and sent them to the girl who had committed the crime to apologize but she hesitated.”

“Hold that breath, curse them? Are you elders?” I intercepted.

Traditionally, this used to happen. Not in the 21^st century though. I took it for a joke which it actually was anyway.

“The following day, Mwenda carried some paraphernalia that included two eggs, some ripe Sodom apple, soot and two tins. During break time he remained in class with a few other boys to mix the concoction. We made sure a few girls got wind of what was happening so they would spread the word to the rest of the girls. And just as planned all the girls got the information, came back to class and met the boys busy mixing the concoction. This scared them like hell. 

They then held a consultative meeting and decided to apologize on behalf of their friend. It was too late to apologize. The die had already been cast. Mwenda told them that they would get an answer that afternoon on the way forward. Not before warning them that no one out of that class should be privy to the event or else the curse would be incurable.

During lunch hour we held a small meeting where we decided that we would have an event on Sunday where the girls would come to apologize officially – This would be a very opportune moment for revenge.

In the afternoon Mwenda informed the girls about the planned event to cure the curse. All the girls accepted to be there on Sunday afternoon. Oh! And I offered to provide the venue since my father’s land which was not very far away from school was expansive and had a big thicket in it that we would transact our business unnoticed.” Simo went on. 

“The big day finally came and we made it to the venue. We had raised some money beforehand that we used to purchase some loafs of bread and some avocado for our guests of honours. The girls started streaming in one after the other and when the quorum was okay the meeting kicked off. Not all the class members had come. Some were on their way.

After sharing the bread with avocado escort, the bonafide chairman, Rwara announced it was that moment for curing the curse. He read a list that he hurriedly prepared without consulting anyone pairing a boy and a girl. He then gave instructions that each boy should cure the curse of an individual girl he was paired with. He then grabbed the hand of the girl he had chosen for himself (The most sought after girl in class and by extension the entire school) and disappeared in the bush leaving us confused on the next move.

It did not take us long to decode the message and after a few minutes we all disappeared in different directions into the thicket in pairs. A moment of silence!

Whatever is done in darkness shall be put to light. Hardly had 5 minutes passed than we heard someone summon us to surrender from our hideouts to where he was. 

We all scampered into different directions some leaving behind their linen. It was Mwirîchia – One of the most feared mûthaka in the neighbourhood. We later learnt that a woman who was trespassing through the shamba had seen us and went to call Mwirîchia to come and find out what was going on. He managed to notice a few of us as we ran away.

Today morning, Lûchia (Lucia - the woman who saw us and went to call Mwirîchia – May she RIP) came to school and reported the incidence to Mr. Mugambi. That’s the reason you saw us being summoned one after the other for questioning and to record a statement. In the morning however when we saw Lûchia in school we sensed danger and we hurriedly agreed as a class to deny the allegations and suffer the consequences as a class. 

She had launched a very strong case and we did not succeed in exonerating ourselves. We were sent home to come back tomorrow with our parents. Let’s see how it goes tomorrow.” He concluded.

“Are you not scared?” I asked. He was cheerful all through as he narrated the incidence.

“Kifo cha watu wengi ni harusi bwana!” He answered amid a hearty laughter.

The following day – On Tuesday, they all came with their parents and spent the better part of that morning seated under the Mûûtî tree with a few teachers including the head teacher. After the meeting they got a beating of their life time from all the teachers in that meeting. They spent the rest of the day slashing the grass and watering the bananas as a punishment – An activity I could tell they were all enjoying.

This boy Mwenda was a mafia of some sort. How he could come up with such an idea at his age and get a backing of the entire class remains a mystery. Curing a curse that never was when in real sense he was chasing his vested interests. These are the kind of people who should never be allowed to join the military. They can easily plot a coup d'état. Mtego wa panya huingia waliomo na wasiokuwemo!