THOSE DAYS....
The days when innocence was
our second name and you were wrong if you didn't include 'ignorant'
in you description.
The days when life was all
about crying so that Mbula could construct for me 'tiret', a
traditional tyre made from tree branches for boys. Mbula was loyal.
He would disappear to the bushes of Kapchebusit and come back with a
set of flexible tree branches(they called them torotwet). Those were
the raw materials needed to produce what would comfort my heart and
keep me busy. I would go riding my 'tiret' on the road while making
funny sounds imitating a car. If you never shouted
ndruuuunnn....ndruuuuu.... and didiiiiidnn in your days then you
don't know what am talcking about. And then there were these
irritating mannerless neighbours who would stop just to ask you, “Mi
gaa obot iplangat ooh?” Though I kept my respect I never used to
answer with my mouth coz my mouth was busy with the ndruuu... and
didiii... business. A nod in the affirmative would do the job.
Now came the time to go to
school. Nursery school must have been one hell of a place. Colleagues
would stare at you with surprised eyes whenever you shit on yourself
yet they were not exceptions in this impromptu business of doing poo
poo. Mine was never different from theirs. Gazing was what they did
best. But my time would come to also stare at their embarrassment.
Our teacher, a young lady, would stand before us under that
tree(Uswet), a black board hanging on a tree behind her. She would
sing for us those “a, e, I, o u” things and then finish with
“A,B,C,D,....” stuff. Those were the lessons taught the whole
year. Boring. End year was approaching and when it finally came,
number 32 out of 33 was appropriate for me. Number 33 had not done
the exams. So bad I wasn't gifted in ABCDs.
Then there was this teacher.
They use to call him D.C but due to my age I had to say “Mr DC”.
He was a good neighbour. A good neighbour not because of his
personality nor character. Of course he was away most of the time and
thus his character and personality was also away. He would come back
in the evening with a distorted gait while speaking more than he knew
He was a good neighbour because he used to send me with a
five-shilling coin to buy him two rolls of cigarette from the local
shop. Two of them cost four shillings and fifty cent and the
remaining fifty cent was always my commission for the transport
services offered. I then would speed like an antelope, my 'tiret'
rolling with speed too in front of me. Of course I wasn't speeding.
The prospect of me being fifty-cents richer was actually speeding me.
That was big money then. With one shilling you would get yourself 10
pieces of coin-size biscuits and a fifty-cent coin was thus enough
for five of them which would take me some good days to finish. Not
that they were too many for me but because I had to employ some speed
governor lest I finish them before “MR D.C” sends me for another
two rolls. I never understood why they sold two at Kshs 4.50/-. In
fact I don't remember buying one piece. Mr D.C used to call me
“Captain”. I don't know why, but whenever I had his voice
shouting “Captain!! Captain!!”, I always knew I was about to get
richer by fifty-cents.
Now, weekends were the most
interesting days. There was no going to school and thus no singing
those Maasai songs that Mr Museveni, the headmaster liked so much.
They called him Museveni and I suspect his cows were also stolen like
his counterpart across L. Victoria. May be not by Pokots but probably
by the maasais coz he liked Maasai songs more than he liked himself.
I was telling you why weekends were so good before this Museveni
thing interrupted me. Yes, on weekends there was no wearing of that
khaki school short that revealed the geography of my sitting
apparatus. Never mind the same Museveni thing still dervived joy in
hitting hard at the same place and I would be reeling in pain. That
happened when I failed to remember the stanzas of the silly maasai
dirges. Weekends, there was no being laughed at by friends for
shiting on yourself. Most importantly, weekends were also time to do
business. We would collect weaving sisal, place them in bundles big
enough for mamas to carry them on their backs. Each bundle went for 5
shillings. That was millions believe me. Millions enough to buy 50
pieces of biscuits. Of course we needed balance diet and whenever we
had lucky occasions like this we would budget the money to
accommodate sweets and chewing gum. This was the eating order:
Biscuits were eaten first(literally eating). Then followed the
business of chewing those plastic like elastic things called Sitkam.
We were professional chewers then. We had mastered the different
styles of making 'ntyolntyol' sounds at intervals while chewing. And
then blowing them to produce bubble-like balls. So good. Abduba
Dida's laws of nutrition never applied in this case. There was no
one-third-water-one-third-githeri bulshit. There was no “pungs of
hunger” theory. Finally, sweets would be the only consolation when
a disagreement ensued over who was finishing his share of biscuits
earlier than the rest. To finish fast meant you were likely to borrow
from others. A very bad idea.
And then you would go home
to meet an angry mother. Angry that you didn't come home for lunch.
Angry that you went to people's houses(korikab bik) without
permision. Angry that you most likely did “bad things” to “tetyo”
or “chelel”. Of course “obot tetyo” (mama tetyo) would be
yelling the loudest at your doorstep the following morning. Not that
you had really done anything but because you had the potential of
doing it and that they were justified to believe you actually did.
How else could we explain why “tetyo” had not eaten supper the
previous day? Never mind each one of us were giving her our share of
biscuits and she was munching like she was in an eating competition.
Those were the bird things we were capable of doing....
It's 10.00 o'clock the same
day and 'tetyo' is right there......
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