Wednesday 22 November 2017

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 21st 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!

Monday 20 November 2017

Boyhood



Loliondo (Lamuria) Fruits
Rules are made to be broken. I am breaking one today. In the words of Stephen Grellet, Any good thing, therefore, that I can do or any kindness that I can show to any human being, let me do it now, in his name, and for his sake! Let me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again. I shall pass through this world but once. 


This is the very reason I am writing this, breaking the rules because I believe it is a good thing.
 
I woke up quite early that Sunday morning anxiety written all over my face. I usually attended morning mass but that Sunday was different. I convinced mum that I would attend the second mass which normally started at ten in the morning. Permission granted! Little did she know that I had a very important occasion to attend! I went to my friends’ home and met him waiting for me, ready to take me for the days’ adventure. We walked to the nearby shopping centre (Kabaune) where we met 6 other boys and off we went. Destination, Kuani hills.

I was one of the few boys in class who had not undergone the highest level of the Meru tradition boy’s initiation – Nchiibi (educational rite in which boys were instructed in basic social values, their meaning punched home by a string of maledictions and curses should they ever misbehave). It was my turn to undergo the rites and save myself the humiliation I was going through. I gave in to pressure and consulted a friend - Mwiti who organized and mobilized a few boys to accompany me to the mysterious mountain.

We arrived at the venue where the ritual was to be performed. All the 7 boys accompanying me agreed that since there was no stranger amongst us, (They were all my friends) they would take me through a shortcut to the procedure. This ritual should be strictly performed when one is in his birth suit. However, my friends agreed to break this rule and take me through without necessarily subjecting me to the ordeal.
The event of the day finally kicked off. I was taken through the process from the first stage to the last – mostly theory. They explained to me bit by bit what happens practically. It feels good to have true friends who care for you and understand you. I would tell from their explanations and the terrain that practically it would be a very difficult and torturing process. It was a sunny day, very dusty, I was hungry and thirsty. That would have made it even more difficult for me. It is not a walk in the park to be a man, a real man for that matter.

Shetani naye ni nani! No sooner had I finished the process than a dozen boys appeared. They were from Lailûba and Ngeyu. I knew three of them who had completed class 8 in my school the previous year - Muthee, his brother Kinoti and their neighbour Kadogo.
Muthee was a ruthless brat. The previous year when he finished his KCPE together with other bunch of boys, they mercilessly beat girls they accused of being snitches. They beat them so badly that one got hospitalized. Maybe there was more to it than just the beating. Just saying! I remember the thrashing that he et alia received from the head teacher and the deputy in January when they came for their results in presence of their parents. 

Oh! And I regularly meet Muthee by the way. He is now a man of the cloth ministering in Laare and running his empire.  He is always clad in shiny, bright and coloured suits, with coats long enough to sweep sins from here to Timbuktu. His bed-sheet of a suit is complemented with ‘sharp-shooter’ shoes that can easily be used to slaughter a goat. It’s like this dress code brings pastors closer to God. How people change? Ama kwa kweli Mui huwa mwema!

I digress! You would have seen how I was trembling when those boys arrived.
“Kobia, nûû bûkûrutaa nchibi?” (Kobia, who were you taking through the process?) Muthee asked one of my friends.
“I Kaburu” (It’s Kaburu) He answered.
“Yaani Kaburu ataumîte nchibi?” (So Kaburu had not yet undergone the ritual?) He retorted.

Things were now thickening. Muthee instructed that I would repeat the whole process together with other 3 boys they had brought from Lailûba.
“Ichiûchie kaîyî na waarûke aa!” (Strip to your birth suit and get down here) He yelled.

It was around noon, hot like hell. My blood sugar had literally gone down. I felt starved. If only I had the slightest energy left in me, I would have ran away. I did as instructed without questions. All my friends went mum. The king of the jungle had arrived. No one talks when the king is talking.

The whole process that my friends had earlier taken me through theoretically in less than 30 minutes now took more than 2 hours practically. It is not an event for the faint hearted. It is an event you start as a boy and finish as a BOY – If you know what I mean. We got thrashed like beans. We actually took turns in thrashing one another – The four of us. Muthee handed us a nyahunyo (Kiboko kea mpuria) that we took turns in thrashing each other with. I was lenient to my colleagues but when I realized they were not reciprocating my gentleness I became more lethal than they were. I unleashed all the energy that was left in my bones to thrash them whenever it was my turn.

The process came to a halt. I thanked God for seeing me through alive. I thought I would die in the process. It was tougher than the clips you watch on YouTube of soldiers training in a desert (Of course I have exaggerated). This process was not free of charge for your information. I had negotiated and the fee was agreed to be 400 shillings. I had 200 bob with me that Muthee demanded I should give him which I did and my friends went drying. On our way home my friends demanded that I should give them the other 200 shillings once I got it. Which I obliged and paid in instalments till I settled the whole debt – Mwîyî atîtanawa na îrandû ria iyîyî (No footnote). 

Before I forget I must mention that I was assigned one of the boys as my ‘dad’ (Baaba o nchiibi). Key among his duties was to teach me nchiibi ballads and monitor my behaviour should I be breaking the rules (îchwa) so he would fine me. This boy never disappointed, he sung so melodiously. I spent all my break times with him behind the classes so he would teach me the songs. Beautiful songs they are and the tune is so captivating. 

As we walked downhill, we plucked some Loliondo fruits – Lamûria (Carissa_carandas_fruits) that we ate to at least get some energy to reach home. I was so dusty, I looked like someone who had just come from Chalbi desert. I couldn’t go home that way, mum would have swallowed me alive. You would have seen my walking style, you would think I was bazokizoing as I walked. My sitting apparatus were so swollen I wouldn’t dare sit. That nyahunyo had temporarily done to my ‘hey-day’ what plastic surgery permanently did to Vera Sidika’s. 

We decided to pass by River Kwathumara, (I hear those who went to school refer to it as River Ewasomara) take a swim and at least wash away the dust. Wait a minute! I invited the mother of all troubles when I immersed my body into that water. What I felt it’s only God who knows. I first thought the water had pepper in it only to realize that I had thorn pricks all over my body. Every part of me was itching.   

After the swim we made our way to Muthara Primary School compound where there was a football match between St. Cyprian Boys High School (My alma mater) and some Italian odieros who had come as volunteers in the nearby Tigania Hospital in the fall of that summer. That match saved my day. It was so publicized that everyone in the village knew about it. You would think it was Arsenal playing Harambee Stars. Of course what do you expect when Italians are playing Kenyans?

I arrived home about seven in the evening after the match and cheated mum how that game was so important that I couldn’t afford to go home for lunch after church and risk missing a space in the pitch that was expected to be so full. And just like that Rosallia bought my story.

I changed immediately so she would not notice how dirty my Sunday best was – An oversize Tokyo trouser I had inherited from my elder brother and a white t-shirt (Now turned brown) with the words ‘Minnesota’ on the breast that my lovely mum had bought me in Kianjai Market (Kathama ka aindi). After eating, I went straight to bed and slept like a small child. I woke up the following morning with pain everywhere. I had to pretend all was well though. That’s how men are made from small boys; through pain, sacrifice and endurance.

Yes, I broke a rule. We got a stern warning that day not to document the events. Life is too short though not to, besides I have got zero chills to give. Kîrumi kia iyîyî kîtîwataa nthaka.
Over and out!!