FEATHER MY NEST.
Far out in the woods, lived a colony of robins - bush robins and farm robins. Farm robins were known for lack of manners, pride and general wildness. Bush robins were good, humble and hardworking birds.
Bob Robin, a farm robin, had reached the ripe age of marriage. It was time to go out and look for a good, faithful and hardworking wife. So out he flew to the bush to fulfil his mission.
Bob Robin came to the edge of the bush and heard a faint, sad and moving song. It was a girl’s song. He strained his ears to capture the melody that almost swept him off the tree he was in. The song ended and, almost immediately, began again. This time Bob Robin missed none of it:
Rain rain wash my tears away
Thunder thunder scare no one today
Wind Wind bring a friend to stay
Without knowing, Bob Robin found himself drifting towards the origin of the song. It was not long before he came face to face with the singer herself, a plain humble looking and very clean bush robin.
“I am Bob Robin,” he started strongly while circling her and chirping excitedly. “Will you come with me to the farm to lay eggs for me, make my nest comfortable and bring up children for me?”
The bush robin blushed, looked down shyly before replying in a soft but clear voice, “First sing me a song.”
Bob Robin looked shocked. He knew his voice as being croaky. He, however, cleared it and made the best attempt to sing his heart and head out.
Rain rain wash …
Wash the evil intentions
off my heart
And make me cleaner than a hat….
Wind Wind…… Blow!
Blow us to the nest..
Blow you east
Blow you west
For me you blow the best!
Lady Robin was struck. Her feathers stood out, clearly impressed by the young bird in front of her. His song was simply lovely. It warmed her heart and she gained courage. She found her voice and spoke softly, “I am Lady Robin. You Bob Robin look a clean and well-mannered bird. It is my pleasure and pride to go and lay eggs for you. I’ll compose songs and together we shall sing them early every morning and late in the evening. We may go.”
Bob Robin was very delighted as off they flew from the bush to the farm where his nest was. He did a jig almost landing on his back.
Lady Robin entered the nest and started cleaning straight away while scolding her husband. “You should eat worms outside the nest and change the grass inside everyday. Shame on you! Now go out and look for fresh grass.”
Out flew the impressed husband to look for clean grass. Blade by blade he carried the brand new grass to his home. After several rounds of this, the nest was clean and spanking new. It smelt of the fields and reminded the two of the size of their love for each other. That night they feasted on fat worms outside the nest and huddled together they sang:
Today is our night
Together we shall pull our weight
And not at all fight
Today is our night
There shall be plenty of light
Other robins heard them and knew that these were two who had just started their life together. Some laughed remembering how they had started their lives together. Most were very impressed by the song.
A week later, Lady Robin laid one egg. This continued for seven days when she stopped laying the eggs and started preparing for the period of hatching, which is preparing the eggs to become chicks.
Meanwhile Bob Robin flew in and out of the nest to bring food for his wife who had to remain inside the nest. It was a hard job but Bob Robin enjoyed it.
After two weeks of hatching, the first egg cracked and a tiny beak broke out. This was repeated for five other eggs while two did not hatch. Bob Robin was a very proud bird. His feathers stood out, his beak proud and pointed to the skies above. He immediately broke out into a song:
Now that I am a father
Let me spread out my feathers
And sing to change the weather.
Now that I am a father
Sing with me all ye birds
Sing to welcome my chicks
Sing my brothers, sing my sisters
Sing with me……………
Now that I am a father.
The nest was filled with uncoordinated chirpings from the chicks. “I’ll teach them how to sing,” said Bob Robin proudly to his wife. They looked at each other, happy that the nest was warm and full of life. He flew out severally to get worms for his chicks. He sang happily as he sped past several trees to his family.
Late in the evening, the tired robin finally squeezed beside his wife. Together they sang to thank God for the wonderful gifts He had given them. Life was good.
Bob Robin had a neighbour called Tom Robin, a young robin who was not yet married. Tom was a wanderer and loved touring the bushes and the forests for adventures and for fruits. It was during one of these tours that Tom Robin discovered that fermented fruits were the sweetest things ever created.
“Bob, come let us go and look for those fruits I told you about. A married bird should eat well so that he can have the strength to feed his family well,” Tom told his friend one day. He went on to describe the fruits, his eyes blinking quickly to show excitement.
Bob immediately protested. “But I have to keep my wife and children company. I also have to be around to fetch food for them.”
Tom was not defeated easily. In a deep voice full of concern, he told his friend, “More the reason why you should eat well, otherwise you will grow thinner everyday.” As Tom said this, he ruffled Bob’s feathers before adding, “ You used to be fatter than this. Once a week to the bushes will restore your strength. Think about it.”
Bob Robin decided to play safe. So he went and told Lady Robin that he was going to the forest to look for wild fruits.
“Come back early,” warned Lady Robin, “and bring some fat worms for us.” Bob Robin made all kind promises to his adoring wife. She looked lovely taking care of those five noisy yet charming chicks.
The two male robins then flew out to look for the fermented grapes that Tom Robin had been talking about all the time. Bob Robin was dying to see and taste these fruits.
It was not long before the two birds reached their destination and straight away descended on the fallen grapes sucking them dearly.
“Wow, what a feeling!” exclaimed Bob Robin as he deeply sucked juice from grape to grape. He kept on chirping excitedly, “This is great!” He and Tom Robin slapped each other in the back, clearly overwhelmed by the fallen grapes.
By late evening, the two birds were completely drunk and could hardly walk, let alone fly. Bob Robin tried singing but the words could hardly come out. So they just lay where they were until late at night when they gathered minimum strength to take off. Took off they did but after crashing into several trees.
Very late at night the two birds came home singing loudly, wildly and completely off key. The whole colony woke up and they were not amused by this disturbance, the first of its kind. Lady Robin was both furious and ashamed of her husband.
“You are a shameful husband. Getting drunk is the only thing you could do. Your chicks remained hungry the whole day because of you and here you come singing at the top of your voice and smelling like a brewery,” Lady Robin complained hysterically. Only the chirping of the hungry chicks stopped her.
The following morning, Bob Robin woke up with a throbbing headache and sour tongue. He was feeling terrible, guilty, and ashamed at what he had done the previous day. He went and apologised to his wife but she could hear nothing of it.
Bob Robin was sorry and vowed never to take fermented fruit again or go to the forest to look for fruits. He became a good and responsible husband for the next few days. Lady Robin forgave him. They went back to their singing as the chicks gained weight and height.
But to Bob Robin the temptation of visiting the forest kept on strongly coming and going. Worse still, it seems like more and more birds were discovering the sweetness of fermented fruits. The colony was getting noisier and noisier. Lady Robin was not too happy with the turn of events.
Tom Robin did not leave Bob Robin in peace. One day, Bob, without the knowledge of his wife, decided to go to the forest briefly. He vowed to himself that he would only take one grape. When he arrived, he found a group of young birds already drunk and singing wildly. He joined them and soon one grape became one too many. Within a short time, he was also drunk.
Late at night the group of young birds came singing and making noise. Bob, who was among them, went to his nest and tried to squeeze in between his wife and chicks. His wife did not allow him to do so. He was chased away to go and look for another place to sleep in. He went to Tom Robin’s nest.
Early in the morning, Lady Robin, who had had enough of drunkards, gathered her chicks and flew out of the nest back to the bush where she had come from. As she flew, she sang:
Rain rain wash my tears away
Thunder thunder scare people today
Wind wind let me alone to stay.
Wind Wind…… Blow!
Blow! Blow you east
Blow! Blow you west
Please blow me from the rest!
Bob woke up from his place of slumber and went straight to the nest. His wife and chicks were missing. The nest was empty.
Bob Robin was sad. First he sat inside the empty nest waiting for his family to come back. “Maybe they will be back in a while,” he comforted himself. They did not come back. Next he flew all over the farm looking for his family but they were nowhere to be seen. He went to the bush where he had met Lady Robin for the first time but she was not there.
Very late in the evening, completely tired and depressed, Bob Robin came back to his nest and sang a very sad song:
Lady lady please be back
Drink and drink has spoilt my luck
Lady lady come be my wife
Drink and drink has ruined my life.
Tears, tears……Flow
Flow! Flow you east
Flow! Flow you west
For me you flow from the nest!
CAT GETS A HOME.
The whole family was silent as they gathered round to listen to their very sick parents. All wanted to hear what the parents had to say.
Father Cat looked around. All his children were there: the Lions, the Leopards, the Cheetahs, the Jaguars, the Tigers, the Pumas, and the youngest, the Cats named after their parents.
"My sons and daughters, our days are numbered. We have called you here to remind you of the unity that has always been our strongest point. Your mother and I want you to strengthen this unity among yourselves,” said Father Cat who went to talk in length about the family history. His children listened keenly.
Three days later, Father Cat and Mother Cat died of old age. The family mourned them deeply.
After some time, Lion called for a another meeting and here duties were allocated to all the members of the family. Animals were given a day in which they would be responsible for feeding the whole family.
The first day was the turn of the Lions to bring food. They set off to the forest while the rest waited at home playing games. The Lions went straight to a herd of buffaloes and managed to kill four of them. They dragged their game home and that day the family had a hearty meal. It was a good beginning.
The following day was the Tigers' turn. They woke up early to go to the lake, where all the animal drank water. The tigers hid behind some bushes before striking. Five gazelles fell and were taken home. That evening everyone was happy. Everyone, except the Lions.
"The meat was too soft and it was not enough,” grumbled one Lion to his sister. "They should have brought buffalo meat which is neither too soft nor too hard." The others agreed entirely with their brother.
The tigers were unamused. "Whenever it is not the Lions' idea, they complain and make a fuss over nothing. As far as we re concerned, we brought food and all managed to eat,” said one angry Tiger.
The following day, the Cheetahs went out to hunt. Out to impress the rest, they went for the buffaloes which were not in a very good mood, especially after losing four of their members to the lions. The buffaloes charged at the Cheetahs and chased them away.
"Wow!" exclaimed one Cheetah. "Those buffaloes are really in a foul mood today. I think we should to for gazelles." But the gazelles were nowhere to be seen. Since it was getting late, the Cheetahs decided to get the antelopes which were readily available. They managed to get six of them.
The others had waited long enough. So when the Cheetahs reached home, the welcome they received was not exactly the best.
"We have our meals at mid-day," said one Lion. "It is way past mid-day."
"And what is this that you have brought?" added another Lioness with disgust written all over her face.
The meat was sweet but insufficient, according to the Tigers. The rest did not mind the meat at all.
The Leopards brought zebra meat, which the Lions, Tigers and Cheetahs dismissed as very tough.
The Jaguars caught a giraffe, which was ruled out as having very long muscles, obviously making chewing a difficult thing.
The Pumas, after much sweating, managed to get two old buffaloes which were too bitter for the rest.
"How can you bring such old and rotten meat for a meal?" screamed one Lion in disgust. The complaint was echoed by all the rest, except the cats which didn't seem to mind the meat.
Finally the turn of the Cats came. Out they went determined to prove to the others that they were capable of doing something. But things were not that simple. After a rough day in which one of them was killed by a buffalo, the Cats finally came home very late in the evening.
"Rats!" screamed the Tigers. "Squirrels!" added the Leopards. All the others refused eat Cats' catch and that day they all went without food. Only the cats ate.
"What is the use of bringing good food when the others only serve rats, squirrels and rotten buffaloes?" asked one Lion.
The following day, the Lions, after several days of resting, were out again to hunt. "We might as well have our meal here and then go back and tell the others that we did not succeed," said one Lioness after they had caught some buffaloes. And that is what they exactly did. The game was on, it was everyone for himself.
Sooner than expected the family scattered into different parts of the forest. Only the Cats were left behind. They found it quite boring being alone and with no one to protect them. So they also left to go and look for a better place.
After many days of travelling, the Cats came to a house. "Let us go and ask for food there," said one hungry Cat.
As they were going to the house, they saw four rats running towards the house. Since they were hungry, they gave the mice a mighty chase. The mice entered the house and the Cats stopped outside wondering whether to go in or not.
Someone from the house screamed. "Get these ugly creatures out of this place!" The Cats moved in fast and gladly gobbled the rats. The owner of the house was happy.
"You have saved me from those filthy creatures which have been terrorizing my family. Ask anything that you want from me," she told the exhausted Cats.
The Cats all asked for shelter and food. Both were granted without any complains. Ever since then, Cats live with human beings while their elder brothers and sisters roam the forests in search of their food.
CHAMELEON'S DAUGHTER.
There was excitement throughout the animal kingdom. It was time for one of the greatest and most awaited occasions of the season: Wedding time.
"Let us see who you will marry this season," Mother Giraffe told her tall and handsome son. "Last season your sister got married to Elephant's son and the two of them are very happy together."
The procedure was simple. Each young male who had attained the age of marriage had to look for a suitable bride and propose to the bride. If the bride agreed then a meeting was to be arranged between the parents of the two. The meeting was to discuss and negotiate the dowry which had to be settled before the Wedding time. Each season there were about twenty animals being joined.
A young lion brushed his fur and combed his long mane. "I'll go for the most beautiful and attractive of all the females. One who has smooth skin, nice legs, white teeth and sparkling eyes," said the young excited lion to his amused mother.
"Listen carefully to me my son. Look for a female with a clean heart because a clean heart means a clean house, and most important of all, a clean heart means clean intentions. My son, beauty alone does not count," the lioness told her son.
The young lion looked at her mother and cheekily asked, "And who exactly do you have in mind, mother?"
"The most humble of all is Chameleon's daughter," replied the lioness who was interrupted by her son's thundering and irritating laughter.
The lioness was hurt and mumbled to herself, "These youngsters of nowadays know nothing about marriage."
The young lion was certainly not alone in his train of thought and dreams. All the other young males saw beauty as the only determining factor in choosing a partner in life. Hence spotted animals like leopardess, animals with beautiful fur like sheep, those with white small eyes like elephant were considered beautiful. No one wanted anything to do with Chameleons, Frogs or Lizards.
The big day was nearing. All the eligible males had already made their choice. One was allowed only one choice. Chameleon's daughter was sad. She was the only female without a partner.
"Mother you told me that I would get a partner. Why hasn't anyone come for me?" Chameleon's daughter asked with tears streaming down her cheeks. Even crocodile's son and python's son who had missed partners did not come to propose.
"Don't worry my dear, someone will come to propose to you. It always pays to be patient," Mother Chameleon consoled her sad and depressed daughter.
But no one came for her. The big wedding party was held and twenty animals exchanged vows. Only three eligible animals did not feature at all: Chameleon's daughter, Crocodile's son and python's son. These three had to wait till the following season to choose other partners.
Unfortunately the following season was the same for Chameleon's daughter. No one wanted to marry her.
"Her eyes are bigger than her feet," commented one young handsome and proud Fox. "She'll frighten the children at night," was the comment given by the big Elephant. Even her closest family friends did not spare her at all. "She'll never reach the market: far too slow for life," was the comment given by Frog's son.
Chameleon's daughter became sadder and more depressed as another year passed by without anyone coming to propose to her. Her parents were also worried by now as it now seemed evident that no one was going to marry their only child. As the days increased so did their worries.
Meanwhile the newly married couples started having their own share of problems. The beautiful ones were just that: beautiful. Most of them proved to be lazy, bad cooks, boastful and annoying to their husbands.
"You just spend all your time walking to and from the marked so that others can admire you. Who are you trying to attract now? You are already a mother of two and very married," a young leopard scolded his vixen wife, who was quite unmoved by the shouts.
Soon most young males started complaining to their about their wives. Only the ones who had married Frogs, Lizards and Tortoises were satisfied with their spouses. The rest were quite unhappy but there was nothing they could as the laws did not allow one to change a partner.
The following season, Chameleon and his wife were shocked to see a long queue of young unmarried male outside their house. They all wanted to have Chameleon's daughter as a partner in life. They had learnt from their elders.
All who wanted Chameleon's daughter were subjected to a very simple test. "What will you give our daughter in life?" was the question all were asked. Most gave funny answers like clothes, food, and a big house. They all failed. Only Tortoise's son passed the test. "I promise to give your daughter two things: happiness and myself."
So Tortoise’s son finally married Chameleon’s daughter. The two became the envy of many.
COCK-A-DOODLE-DO!
The sun blazed fiercely as silence engulfed the whole village. No one moved, nothing stirred. All was silent and peaceful, something which would make one think that the village was deserted.
Moments later, a roar was heard and life sprang into the animal kingdom. The roar was the alarm to wake everyone up. Like all the other days, the roar had come late.
Chief Lion stretched himself and moved out of his house. "My goodness! It is almost mid-day. Quickly gather all the other animals to the gardens," Buffalo was instructed.
Soon all the animals were out of the village, going to work on their gardens which were some distance from the village. They reached there and what a mess they saw. The birds of the forests had invaded their crops again. This was now becoming too much. At this rate, they would soon have no crops.
"Wow!" exclaimed Lion. "We seriously have to do something about this destruction before it is too late."
Leopard was also shocked. "Why not put someone as a guard to keep the birds away?" he asked.
"But this place is too big for one animal or even for a small group," said Zebra. "We all have to guard the place."
There was silence as each animal looked at the damage the birds had wrought. It was true, something had to be done - fast.
Elephant spoke, "I suggest we start work very early in the morning before the birds are up. We should also leave the gardens late in the evening. By this time, the birds will have fed somewhere else, surely not on our gardens."
"Good idea," said Lion. "From tomorrow, we all should be here before sunrise and leave in the evening. The mid-day meal shall be eaten here."
The animals then did their best to remedy all that the birds had made a mess of. It was a hard job, everyday repeating what you had done the previous day. Despite the depressing sight, all the animals worked harmoniously.
The following morning, however, no one woke up early enough. When the animals finally woke up, the sun was already high and the birds had already caused enough damage. The animals were sad.
"We need someone to wake us up every morning, otherwise we will continue with the same trend as before," said Hare sadly.
Hare's suggestion was considered and soon duties were allocated to all the animals. The first day was to be Hare's turn.
Come morning and no one had woken up, not even Hare himself. When he finally woke up, it was late. He went round waking the others who were still deep asleep. When they finally reached the gardens, all was a mess. The damage had been done.
"You have let us down, Hare," said Monkey. "When one is given a job to do, he should take it seriously." The other animals felt the same, now that they had somebody to blame for their lateness.
Naturally, Hare defended himself. "It was not my intention to let you down. Like everybody, I also like sleeping." Hare was right. All the animals loved their sleep dearly, and this was what was causing all the problems.
The days rolled by and no improvement was seen by the animals. Those on duty continued to oversleep and the birds of the forest also continued with their destruction.
"If this continues for one more week, then we shall have no crops left in the gardens. Our harvest will be nil," said Lion thoughtfully.
The next animal to be on duty was Hen. Her husband, Cock, told her, "Let me do this duty for you. I can't stand seeing you blamed for the misfortunes of our crops." Hen did not object, in fact she was relieved.
Throughout the night, Cock did not sleep. He was worried about letting the whole village down. He could not stomach the idea of going a whole season without a proper harvest. As the night wore on, Cock kept on tossing in bed, completely unable to sleep.
Finally he could bear it no longer. He went out and woke up Lion, whose first reaction was to complain that it was still too early to get out of bed. Cock, however, insisted so much that the Chief had no option but to wake up. Lion then gave one of his loud roars to wake up the rest.
"It is still dark," said Cheetah. "I am going back to sleep for some five more minutes." His wife could hear nothing of such. She forced him out of the house.
The animals all woke up complaining of the ungodly hour they had all been woken up. But soon the complains turned to compliments and Cock was widely congratulated for his commendable job. At last someone had succeeded where the others had failed.
For once the birds did not invade the gardens. The animals managed to work without the usual depressing mood. All were happy with what Cock had done.
"He ought to do this everyday," said Lion. "He is the only one who has proved trustworthy and mindful of others' welfare. Cock agreed to do it on a daily basis.
And so every morning, Cock would go and wake Lion who would in turn roar to wake up the others. This continued for some time when Lion thought it unnecessary for Cock to wake him up.
"All you have to do is to call out the animals and they will respond to your calls," Lion told him.
And ever since, Cocks always crow in the morning to wake up others just before the sun rises........ COCK-A-DOODLE-DO!!!!
THE HUNGRY HYENA.
Pangs of hunger interrupted the smooth sleep, which Hyena was having. He woke up, yawned mannerlessly and then clutched his stomach, which looked flatter than Monkey's head.
"I have never been so hungry in my life. The problem with food is that it is always available when I don't need it. Now that I need it, it is nowhere to be seen," Hyena grumbled to himself.
The hungry Hyena dragged his feet and slowly plodded out of his small hut to go and look for food. Just after stepping out of his hut, Hyena came across a dead rotting bird. He looked at it and sneered, "This is too small for me and furthermore it is unfit for animal consumption. I should look for something more substantial and appealing to my eyes."
The dead bird was kicked aside as Hyena went on looking for something, which would reduce his hunger considerably. Next he came across an egg; a large one and he didn't know whom it belonged to. "It looks like a Crocodile's egg to me, or it could be an Ostrich's egg," said Hyena while rolling the egg trying to decide what to do with it.
Hyena, however, decided to leave the egg alone, "Eggs are only good when one has a full stomach. Egg yolk washes down the food in one's intestine and gives one the satisfying feeling that one has really had a meal. I will come back for this when I am full." With those words he was off to search for something of more substance.
After leaving the egg, Hyena then spotted a squirrel and immediately darted for the kill. By now he was completely uncomfortable with his situation. He caught the squirrel quite easily as it looked like a squirrel, which could not run - it was lame.
"Although you are not very big, you will at least serve as a good breakfast," Hyena told the scared squirrel which could not stop squealing in pain.
The squirrel, despite the pain and risk of her life, decided to talk to Hyena. "You should be ashamed of yourself," she told Hyena who was shocked to be challenged by such a tiny creature. "An animal like you should be hunting animals like antelopes, gazelles and buffaloes, not dwarfs like me. There are bigger, fatter and juicer antelopes grazing just by the stream and here you are wasting your time with bones like me," the squirrel added hoping hard that Hyena would be taken in by the challenging and elaborate speech.
At the mention of the words `bigger', `fatter', and `juicer', Hyena released his grip on the squirrel and started off towards the pool. He did not want to miss the antelopes as he had done so many times before. Antelopes were among the sweetest animals in the forests, unfortunately they were also the most difficult ones to capture. Hyena took off, as he didn't want to miss the chance of capturing the fat, sweet and juicy antelopes.
Squirrel smiled to herself as she watched Hyena darting towards the stream. "That was a lame excuse," she muttered to herself. "It is good it fooled him. I didn't expect it to work, least of all on Hyena."
Hyena, as expected, went straight to the stream and there he saw some antelopes drinking water. He took his time as he planned how he was going to strike the six juicy and extremely fat antelopes in front of him. The more he thought the hungrier he became. Finally he could manage his hunger no longer and went straight towards the antelopes.
The well-fed and extremely fast antelopes saw the aggressor and immediately took off. Hyena picked on one antelope and decided to stick to it. There was no way he was going to stop the chase as his hunger was driving him.
The antelope being chased soon became tired and was about to collapse from exhaustion when Hyena gave up the chase. He had just spotted a herd of buffaloes and remembered that the last time he had eaten buffalo's meat, it had lasted him almost a full week. In that week, he had never bothered to hunt at all.
"If I can get only one buffalo, then my hunger will disappear for almost a month," Hyena said as he turned and channeled his remaining energy to the peaceful herd of buffaloes.
The buffaloes saw a cloud of dust coming towards them and wondered what it could be. Soon they realized that it was only Hyena. So the buffaloes snorted furiously, pawed the ground wildly and bellowed loudly enough to bring down even the mightiest of the trees in the forest.
Hyena heard the bellows and immediately came to a stop as he found himself face to face with five mighty and strong buffaloes. The buffaloes went for Hyena, tossed him around and laughed at poor Hyena as he flew from buffalo to buffalo.
The shaken Hyena got a chance and immediately took off from the herd of buffaloes who could not stop laughing. "Don't try to fly before you can crawl,” is all that Hyena kept on hearing over and over again as he sat down under a tree recovering from the shock and wounds he had sustained from the buffaloes.
Hunger now started clawing harder and deeper into Hyena's stomach. He went and looked around for the lame squirrel but he could not see her. The antelopes also were nowhere to be seen. Hyena then went to where he had left the egg and the dead bird but even those were not there.
So as the night wore on, Hyena curled himself under the big tree waiting for the lame squirrel to come that way. Hunger clawed harder and what had began as a hungry day had ended as an extremely hungrier one.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
WONDER 8
WONDER 8
Eight women, who grew up together, married around the same area- Section 58 - and are now in their forties take a peek at life’s intrigues. Of the eight, one, Lillian, has just been expelled from the Chama and one, Veronica, has called it quits. The two, however, remain in touch with the other members of the Chama. Their monthly meeting is due, but before they meet, each has had their own share of woes with life.
Pauline Onyango – 42 years old, restaurant manager, and married to John K’Ogalo, a 47 year old government accountant. They have 3 sons, Pierre who is 15 years old, Keith, 13 years old and Eric who is 4 years old. John is fighting for his life, afflicted by HIV/AIDS.
“Send him upcountry, so as to lessen the burden when he dies,” suggested Jackie when she visited. Quite callous but practical, that’s Jackie for you.
Pauline, always the calm and sober one in the group, looked at Jackie. “Might as well bury him here is Nakuru. Same thing.”
Pauline’s two sons knew what was going on and she had made it her point to explain to them.
“Did Dad get AIDS from a prostitute?” Pierre inquired during Pauline’s briefing to the boys. Pauline was stunned at the bluntness of the question.
“It is not only prostitutes who have AIDS, my son,” Pauline tried to be as assuring as possible.
“Do you have AIDS?” Keith joined in the questioning.
“No,” Pauline replied but somehow she must have not been convincing enough to the boys. Her occasional bouts of heavy coughing had alarmed the boys.
“Are you sure?” Pierre asked rather harshly.
“Are you going to die? asked Eric, the youngest of them all.
Pauline understood their fears and she had to be there for them.
“I think I will become a priest,” Pierre murmured under her breath. It was a promise, not a threat.
Elizabeth Mwende – 40 year old businesswoman, stall No.401A on Koigi’s House, Kenyatta Avenue . She is barren.
Elizabeth came home one evening and found a note on the dining table. It read. “I am sorry things cannot work between us. I’d love to have kids of my own one day. Good luck in your future endeavours.” Signed, Godfrey.
Elizabeth sat down and did not move for a long time. Then she finally tried Godfrey’s number. It was off. So she called the members of her group, most who lived within Section 58.
“Men are dogs,” said Christine, the first one to come to Elizabeth’s house.
Elizabeth was crying. “This is the 3rd man who has left me in 3 years. Why?”
“Adopt a kid or kids if that is the problem,” offered Prisca.
Elizabeth was still low and they all decided to treat her to a movie – on a weekday.
Prisca’s eyes were firmly on the new curtains and nets that Elizabeth had put in the house. They conveniently matched with the gold carpet. Whenever members of the Chama came visiting, Elizabeth always made sure there was something new in the house.
Christine Wakesho – 43 years old single mother of 2 – a 23 year old 2nd year university son, Stano and an 18 year old Form Four student, Tina. The kids have different fathers and they know it.
“Mom, I think there is something I should tell you about Stano,” Tina approached her mom
Christine was immediately on her guard. “Drugs?” Tina shook her head. She paused.
“Worse. He is going out with a sugar mummy.” Tina’s eyes bulged in guilt at letting out her brother’s guarded secret.
It did not sink. “How do you know?” Chrisitine asked her daughter.
“Please promise that you won’t tell him that I told you,” Tina pleaded. She looked behind her shoulders just to confirm that there was no one around.
“Okay, I will try my best.”
Tina showed her mum the sms Stano had sent her. “Hi Sis – imagine I am getting a new car for my 24th birthday! How cool!” Christine could not believe it.
“For how long has this been going on?” Christine asked.
“9 months!”
“What?” Christine went for a cold glass of water, dreading the next question she was going to ask.
“How old is she?”
Tina hesitated but the combination of pain and pity on her mother’s eyes swayed her judgement.
“52!”
Christine choked on her water making Tina rush to her mum’s side.
The tirade followed for the next minute or so. Then Christine sat down and broke down in tears, wailing her heart out. Tina joined her.
Prisca Cheruiyot 47 year old accountant with Serena Hotels. She is married, as a 3rd wife, to Moses Leting, a politician and power broker in the current regime and they have 3 children, 2 sons aged 25 and 21 and a daughter aged 19, who has just completed Form Four. She is building a 7 bedroomed house in the upmarket Milimani Estate.
“Mom, you are soon to be a granny,” JayneRose (JR) declared one night when they were watching news.
“Now which of my randy sons has impregnated a housegirl?” Prisca asked her sons.
Both sons laughed out loudly, before the younger one replied, “Or which houseboy has impregnated your precious daughter?”
“No!” screamed Prisca giving her sons the daggers.
“Yes,” screamed JR. “I will be a mummy just like you!”
“Who?” demanded Prisca.
There was silence before JR exploded in tears.
“It is the neighbour’s houseboy, the kiosk man or a matatu manamba,” said her brother.
“Or all the above,” chuckled the second one as they burst into a stream of prolonged and annoying laughter.
“Stop it boys!” the mum ordered. “Darling, who is the father?”
JR hesitated. “He is called Damien!”
The boys burst out into uncontrollable guffaws again.
“Stop it!” screamed Prisca.
“Why? It is that useless manamba who hangs out the whole day at the bus stop?” said her brother. “He sleeps with anything!”
Georgina Njoroge – 41 year old lecturer at a Kenya Institute of Management College in Nakuru. Married with four children, aged between 6 and 17, but husband has been abroad for the last 5 years without communicating.
“Forget him Georgina,” Patrick, an old time friend told her.
Georgina kept quiet as she fiddled with her wine glass. She gulped the wine. The background music did not register.
“Three whole years and there is no word from him. What if he is dead?” Georgina asked.
“No Kenyan dies in the US without the authorities contacting the family. Forget him. I am here for you,” Patrick stroked Georgina’s hand. She felt safe.
“But he is the father of my children,” Georgina started again, the doubts creeping back.
“An absent father is no father,” Patrick told her. “And you are not growing any younger.”
“Are you calling me old?” Georgina purred.
“Beautiful,” whispered Patrick. “Forget him!”
“Easier said than done,” replied Georgina, squeezing Patrick’s hand in reciprocation.
Jackline Nafula Kiragu – 27 year old, Drama and Music teacher at an International School in Nakuru. She is the youngest in the group and was recruited by her aunt who has since left the group. Jackie has just delivered a bouncing baby girl. Her husband Wycliffe, an engineer with Vodafone, hails from a different tribe with Jackline.
“Imagine when he found out that it was a baby girl, he walked out of the hospital,” Jackie was crying as she narrated to her group members.
“The doctor held him by his shirt and told him, “Man, there are many women who do not make it through this, and there are many people who have no children.”
‘The doctor drew Wycliffe closer to him and whispered, ‘Your mother is not a man!’
“Wycliffe walked away and came back in two hours totally drunk. ‘Where is that fucking doctor who thinks my balls are diluted? Does he know that my family line is made of men: I have four brothers and each of them has a son!’?”
Jackline broke down again as she was narrating the story. Her doctor had warned her against serious baby blues.
Jackie’s auntie, Veronica, walked in and found Jackline in tears. The others were thrilled to see her and everyone stood to hug her. Veronica was one of the founding members of Wonder Eight but she had to leave because of Lillian. That was 8 months back.
“How have you been?” everyone seemed to ask Veronica at the same time.
Veronica was overwhelmed by memories flooding back to the good old days. She became teary as she held Jackie’s baby.
There was knock on the door and without thinking Jackie shouted, “Come in!”
Lillian walked in and there was silence in the room. The tension was palpable. No one spoke, not even Jackie the hostess.
“Hi everybody,” Lillian said tensely before spotting Veronica, who quickly gave the baby back to Jackie and stood to leave.
“I will leave,” Lillian offered as she dropped her gift and beat a hasty retreat.
“Prostitute,” Veronica said as Lillian fled the room.
*
It is a day that Veronica will never forget. Veronica had heard rumours about her husband going out with Lillian. However much she tried, Veronica had been unable to establish the truth behind the rumours until one day when she got a phone call at midnight.
“Lillian is with your husband at Gituamba Night Club, Room 41,” was the message from the caller. Veronica tried calling back for more details but the caller had disconnected his phone.
A call to her husband proved equally fruitless.
With that Veronica’s sleep had gone. She spent the next 10 minutes trying out different things. Finally she decided to call Wonder 8 members.
Only two members responded to her distress call.
“What?” Liz had screamed. “I will be there in 5 minutes.
“Wait for me there,” was Georgina’s reply.
Both ladies were there in less than 10 minutes ready for combat.
“Let’s go,” they dragged Veronica out of the house to Gituamba Night Club.
“I want a room,” Liz told the receptionist. “Number 41.”
“Sorry, it’s taken,” the receptionists replied.
Liz then slid a shs.1000 note and the spare key was in her hands
Veronica, Liz and Georgina made their way to the room. Veronica was a bag of nerves. “What if it is not true?” she asked while holding the stairs railing. The others stopped.
“Let’s go back, this is not right,” Veronica said.
“There is only one way of finding out once and for all,” commanded the combative Liz as she matched to the room.
Veronica stood aside as the two ladies took charge. Liz fitted the key into the hole and noiselessly turned the key and opened the door. Georgina walked in. Veronica had to be pulled in.
Liz switched on the light and the room came to life. It was a small room with a bed on the corner. The air reeked heavily of alcohol and cigarette. Clothes were strewn all over the floor. Veronica recognised the trousers that her husband had been wearing that day. On the bed were two figures partly covered in a blanket.
Veronica lost it and yanked the blanket from the bed, thus exposing the two naked bodies. Veronica went for Lillian and pulled her out from her husband’s embrace.
The three ladies all descended on Lillian, who was far too drunk to know what was going on. The husband stirred from his sleep and thinking that it was thieves, started shouting.
The commotion attracted the security personnel who came and resolved the issue by throwing out the three dressed ladies.
“That is my husband,” Veronica said as she was pulled away from the two naked bodies.
“Go home and wait for him,” was the reply from one of the security men.
Veronica and the two ladies did not go home but instead parked their car outside the club.
“I will not go until they both come out. I have to settle this once and for all,” Veronica told her girlfriends. They pledged their loyalty and stayed in the car with her.
At around 10 a.m, Lillian and Tom, Veronica’s husband walked out of the club, hand in hand.
The three ladies came out of the car. Lillian was the first one to spot them. She turned and ran back to the club. Tom stood rooted to the spot.
Veronica, a bag of nerves, broke down crying.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
Sensing danger, Tom tried aggression. “Stupid woman, you think you can keep me on a leash!” His attempt to beat up Veronica was, however, thwarted by the other two tough women.
“Try touching her and you will see fire,” Liz told Tom, as she positioned herself like a boxer. Georgina’s bag was ready to strike.
“So now the Chama has become your husband,” shouted Tom. “Tell them to make love to you as well.” And with that Tom went back to the club.
That morning, Veronica moved out of Section 58 estate to Free Area Estate with her two children. It is the day that she also left the group Wonder 8, despite the protests from the other 6 women.
A special meeting was convened by the group. Lillian and Veronica did not attend. The meeting resolved to expel Lillian. All the members endorsed the decision.
Eight women, who grew up together, married around the same area- Section 58 - and are now in their forties take a peek at life’s intrigues. Of the eight, one, Lillian, has just been expelled from the Chama and one, Veronica, has called it quits. The two, however, remain in touch with the other members of the Chama. Their monthly meeting is due, but before they meet, each has had their own share of woes with life.
Pauline Onyango – 42 years old, restaurant manager, and married to John K’Ogalo, a 47 year old government accountant. They have 3 sons, Pierre who is 15 years old, Keith, 13 years old and Eric who is 4 years old. John is fighting for his life, afflicted by HIV/AIDS.
“Send him upcountry, so as to lessen the burden when he dies,” suggested Jackie when she visited. Quite callous but practical, that’s Jackie for you.
Pauline, always the calm and sober one in the group, looked at Jackie. “Might as well bury him here is Nakuru. Same thing.”
Pauline’s two sons knew what was going on and she had made it her point to explain to them.
“Did Dad get AIDS from a prostitute?” Pierre inquired during Pauline’s briefing to the boys. Pauline was stunned at the bluntness of the question.
“It is not only prostitutes who have AIDS, my son,” Pauline tried to be as assuring as possible.
“Do you have AIDS?” Keith joined in the questioning.
“No,” Pauline replied but somehow she must have not been convincing enough to the boys. Her occasional bouts of heavy coughing had alarmed the boys.
“Are you sure?” Pierre asked rather harshly.
“Are you going to die? asked Eric, the youngest of them all.
Pauline understood their fears and she had to be there for them.
“I think I will become a priest,” Pierre murmured under her breath. It was a promise, not a threat.
Elizabeth Mwende – 40 year old businesswoman, stall No.401A on Koigi’s House, Kenyatta Avenue . She is barren.
Elizabeth came home one evening and found a note on the dining table. It read. “I am sorry things cannot work between us. I’d love to have kids of my own one day. Good luck in your future endeavours.” Signed, Godfrey.
Elizabeth sat down and did not move for a long time. Then she finally tried Godfrey’s number. It was off. So she called the members of her group, most who lived within Section 58.
“Men are dogs,” said Christine, the first one to come to Elizabeth’s house.
Elizabeth was crying. “This is the 3rd man who has left me in 3 years. Why?”
“Adopt a kid or kids if that is the problem,” offered Prisca.
Elizabeth was still low and they all decided to treat her to a movie – on a weekday.
Prisca’s eyes were firmly on the new curtains and nets that Elizabeth had put in the house. They conveniently matched with the gold carpet. Whenever members of the Chama came visiting, Elizabeth always made sure there was something new in the house.
Christine Wakesho – 43 years old single mother of 2 – a 23 year old 2nd year university son, Stano and an 18 year old Form Four student, Tina. The kids have different fathers and they know it.
“Mom, I think there is something I should tell you about Stano,” Tina approached her mom
Christine was immediately on her guard. “Drugs?” Tina shook her head. She paused.
“Worse. He is going out with a sugar mummy.” Tina’s eyes bulged in guilt at letting out her brother’s guarded secret.
It did not sink. “How do you know?” Chrisitine asked her daughter.
“Please promise that you won’t tell him that I told you,” Tina pleaded. She looked behind her shoulders just to confirm that there was no one around.
“Okay, I will try my best.”
Tina showed her mum the sms Stano had sent her. “Hi Sis – imagine I am getting a new car for my 24th birthday! How cool!” Christine could not believe it.
“For how long has this been going on?” Christine asked.
“9 months!”
“What?” Christine went for a cold glass of water, dreading the next question she was going to ask.
“How old is she?”
Tina hesitated but the combination of pain and pity on her mother’s eyes swayed her judgement.
“52!”
Christine choked on her water making Tina rush to her mum’s side.
The tirade followed for the next minute or so. Then Christine sat down and broke down in tears, wailing her heart out. Tina joined her.
Prisca Cheruiyot 47 year old accountant with Serena Hotels. She is married, as a 3rd wife, to Moses Leting, a politician and power broker in the current regime and they have 3 children, 2 sons aged 25 and 21 and a daughter aged 19, who has just completed Form Four. She is building a 7 bedroomed house in the upmarket Milimani Estate.
“Mom, you are soon to be a granny,” JayneRose (JR) declared one night when they were watching news.
“Now which of my randy sons has impregnated a housegirl?” Prisca asked her sons.
Both sons laughed out loudly, before the younger one replied, “Or which houseboy has impregnated your precious daughter?”
“No!” screamed Prisca giving her sons the daggers.
“Yes,” screamed JR. “I will be a mummy just like you!”
“Who?” demanded Prisca.
There was silence before JR exploded in tears.
“It is the neighbour’s houseboy, the kiosk man or a matatu manamba,” said her brother.
“Or all the above,” chuckled the second one as they burst into a stream of prolonged and annoying laughter.
“Stop it boys!” the mum ordered. “Darling, who is the father?”
JR hesitated. “He is called Damien!”
The boys burst out into uncontrollable guffaws again.
“Stop it!” screamed Prisca.
“Why? It is that useless manamba who hangs out the whole day at the bus stop?” said her brother. “He sleeps with anything!”
Georgina Njoroge – 41 year old lecturer at a Kenya Institute of Management College in Nakuru. Married with four children, aged between 6 and 17, but husband has been abroad for the last 5 years without communicating.
“Forget him Georgina,” Patrick, an old time friend told her.
Georgina kept quiet as she fiddled with her wine glass. She gulped the wine. The background music did not register.
“Three whole years and there is no word from him. What if he is dead?” Georgina asked.
“No Kenyan dies in the US without the authorities contacting the family. Forget him. I am here for you,” Patrick stroked Georgina’s hand. She felt safe.
“But he is the father of my children,” Georgina started again, the doubts creeping back.
“An absent father is no father,” Patrick told her. “And you are not growing any younger.”
“Are you calling me old?” Georgina purred.
“Beautiful,” whispered Patrick. “Forget him!”
“Easier said than done,” replied Georgina, squeezing Patrick’s hand in reciprocation.
Jackline Nafula Kiragu – 27 year old, Drama and Music teacher at an International School in Nakuru. She is the youngest in the group and was recruited by her aunt who has since left the group. Jackie has just delivered a bouncing baby girl. Her husband Wycliffe, an engineer with Vodafone, hails from a different tribe with Jackline.
“Imagine when he found out that it was a baby girl, he walked out of the hospital,” Jackie was crying as she narrated to her group members.
“The doctor held him by his shirt and told him, “Man, there are many women who do not make it through this, and there are many people who have no children.”
‘The doctor drew Wycliffe closer to him and whispered, ‘Your mother is not a man!’
“Wycliffe walked away and came back in two hours totally drunk. ‘Where is that fucking doctor who thinks my balls are diluted? Does he know that my family line is made of men: I have four brothers and each of them has a son!’?”
Jackline broke down again as she was narrating the story. Her doctor had warned her against serious baby blues.
Jackie’s auntie, Veronica, walked in and found Jackline in tears. The others were thrilled to see her and everyone stood to hug her. Veronica was one of the founding members of Wonder Eight but she had to leave because of Lillian. That was 8 months back.
“How have you been?” everyone seemed to ask Veronica at the same time.
Veronica was overwhelmed by memories flooding back to the good old days. She became teary as she held Jackie’s baby.
There was knock on the door and without thinking Jackie shouted, “Come in!”
Lillian walked in and there was silence in the room. The tension was palpable. No one spoke, not even Jackie the hostess.
“Hi everybody,” Lillian said tensely before spotting Veronica, who quickly gave the baby back to Jackie and stood to leave.
“I will leave,” Lillian offered as she dropped her gift and beat a hasty retreat.
“Prostitute,” Veronica said as Lillian fled the room.
*
It is a day that Veronica will never forget. Veronica had heard rumours about her husband going out with Lillian. However much she tried, Veronica had been unable to establish the truth behind the rumours until one day when she got a phone call at midnight.
“Lillian is with your husband at Gituamba Night Club, Room 41,” was the message from the caller. Veronica tried calling back for more details but the caller had disconnected his phone.
A call to her husband proved equally fruitless.
With that Veronica’s sleep had gone. She spent the next 10 minutes trying out different things. Finally she decided to call Wonder 8 members.
Only two members responded to her distress call.
“What?” Liz had screamed. “I will be there in 5 minutes.
“Wait for me there,” was Georgina’s reply.
Both ladies were there in less than 10 minutes ready for combat.
“Let’s go,” they dragged Veronica out of the house to Gituamba Night Club.
“I want a room,” Liz told the receptionist. “Number 41.”
“Sorry, it’s taken,” the receptionists replied.
Liz then slid a shs.1000 note and the spare key was in her hands
Veronica, Liz and Georgina made their way to the room. Veronica was a bag of nerves. “What if it is not true?” she asked while holding the stairs railing. The others stopped.
“Let’s go back, this is not right,” Veronica said.
“There is only one way of finding out once and for all,” commanded the combative Liz as she matched to the room.
Veronica stood aside as the two ladies took charge. Liz fitted the key into the hole and noiselessly turned the key and opened the door. Georgina walked in. Veronica had to be pulled in.
Liz switched on the light and the room came to life. It was a small room with a bed on the corner. The air reeked heavily of alcohol and cigarette. Clothes were strewn all over the floor. Veronica recognised the trousers that her husband had been wearing that day. On the bed were two figures partly covered in a blanket.
Veronica lost it and yanked the blanket from the bed, thus exposing the two naked bodies. Veronica went for Lillian and pulled her out from her husband’s embrace.
The three ladies all descended on Lillian, who was far too drunk to know what was going on. The husband stirred from his sleep and thinking that it was thieves, started shouting.
The commotion attracted the security personnel who came and resolved the issue by throwing out the three dressed ladies.
“That is my husband,” Veronica said as she was pulled away from the two naked bodies.
“Go home and wait for him,” was the reply from one of the security men.
Veronica and the two ladies did not go home but instead parked their car outside the club.
“I will not go until they both come out. I have to settle this once and for all,” Veronica told her girlfriends. They pledged their loyalty and stayed in the car with her.
At around 10 a.m, Lillian and Tom, Veronica’s husband walked out of the club, hand in hand.
The three ladies came out of the car. Lillian was the first one to spot them. She turned and ran back to the club. Tom stood rooted to the spot.
Veronica, a bag of nerves, broke down crying.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
Sensing danger, Tom tried aggression. “Stupid woman, you think you can keep me on a leash!” His attempt to beat up Veronica was, however, thwarted by the other two tough women.
“Try touching her and you will see fire,” Liz told Tom, as she positioned herself like a boxer. Georgina’s bag was ready to strike.
“So now the Chama has become your husband,” shouted Tom. “Tell them to make love to you as well.” And with that Tom went back to the club.
That morning, Veronica moved out of Section 58 estate to Free Area Estate with her two children. It is the day that she also left the group Wonder 8, despite the protests from the other 6 women.
A special meeting was convened by the group. Lillian and Veronica did not attend. The meeting resolved to expel Lillian. All the members endorsed the decision.
MARY AND JOSEPH
Mary And Joseph.
THE FIRST READING.
A READING FROM THE BOOK OF ECCLESIASTICUS VERSE 4 TO 9.
Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work:
If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up! Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.
It was the last Holy Mass that Fr. Joseph was presiding over. He looked at the congregation – his family as he fondly referred to them – and almost choked with love for them. They were simple rural folks who truly believed in God, which is where the problem lay for Fr.Joseph: he had long stopped believing in God.
“The Lord is with you,” the priest invoked, spreading his hands as he had done for the last 28 years.
“And also with you,” the congregation replied reverently, also spreading their hands to the heavens to reciprocate in kind.
“The mass is ended. Go in peace, to love and serve the Lord,” he said softly.
“Thanks be to God,” they all replied in unison. The choir took over to belt out the exit hymn
Nimeahidi Bwana Kukutumikia!
Wewe ubwana wangu
Urafiki pia…..
It was beautiful singing, as usual, the blending of the soprano, altor, tenor and bass reverberating on the walls of the building. The choir was one of the strongholds of the Church. Commitment came without say and Fr. Joseph had witnessed the growth in quality and variety of songs sang.
Fr. Joseph joined the procession of eight altar boys as they made their way out of church. He turned to bless the parishioners who made the sign of the cross as a way of acknowledging the priest’s blessings. When he reached the church’s outer door, he stopped to greet those who had left before him. He blessed rosaries scapulas, and small children who were just happy to be around him and be patted on the head. This took him some time but at least it was his best way of saying goodbye without a fuss.
After some 7 or so minutes of socializing, Fr. Joseph made way to the sacrist. Again here, he heartily shook the hands of each of the 8 altar boys and thanked them for their service and dedication to Mother Church.
The boys had already changed to their civilian clothes, a far contrast from the flowing white robes they had been wearing in church.
“Later, Father,” the boys shouted as they went to complete the rest of their Sunday routine. Only John, the head of altar boys did not move.
“Father, are you okay?” John asked softly. He was an orphan, 14 years of age and lived in one of the nearby informal settlings at the market with his uncle and three siblings. The Church, through Fr.Joseph’s initiative, took care of all John’s academic and material needs. The relationship between the two was a paternal - filial one.
There was a brief stint of silence as Fr. Joseph weighed his words. “Sorry John, some weighty matters are bogging me down my son!” He placed his right hand on the young boy’s shoulder. They were almost the same height. Their eyes locked.
John looked at the priest and said, “I will offer a decade of the rosary for you!” He extended his hand and the priest took it, squeezed it before letting go. He watched sadly as John sauntered off. How was he to tell the young man that today was his last day at the parish?
Fr. Joseph slowly made his way to his residence just within the church compound. Behind the priests’ residence, which housed 4 priests, was the convent of Sisters of Tradition – a congregation of sisters who had been rooting for the return of traditional rites within the church: priests should be in cassocks, collars at all official times; the clergy should dress differently from the laity. It was a battle the nuns had refused to give up on, despite the odds being overwhelmingly staked against them.
There was a knock on the door and the priest mumbled absent-mindedly. “Come in.” He did not turn to see who it was.
“How are you Father?” Sr. Mary asked softly. This time the priest turned and looked at Sr. Mary.
“I am not very fine Sister. I don’t think I can pull this off,” he told the Sister as he turned his gaze to the giant crucifixion picture which adorned the wall.
*
THE RESPONORIAL PSALM IS:
Faithful are the wounds of a friend,
But the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.
Make no friendship with a man given to anger, nor go with a wrathful man, or you will learn his ways and find a snare for yourself. RESPONSE
If you have find honey, eat just enough,
too much of it, and you will vomit. RESPONSE
Seldom set foot in your neighbor's house—
too much of you, and he will hate you.
RESPONSE
Better is open rebuke
Than love that is concealed.
Faithful are the wounds of a friend,
But deceitful are the kisses of an enemy. RESPONSE
*
At 48 years old, Sister Mary – born Mwende Musyoki - had been with the Order her entire life. She was born and brought up at the doorsteps of the convent because her mother – a single parent - for many years worked as a gardener at the Convent. Mwende was a constant companion to the nuns right from the moment she learnt how to walk and talk. She would accompany her mother to the convent where the nuns immediately fell in love with her, and she with them. The nuns’ angelic singing, immaculate robes made a life long impression on the small girl.
“I want to be a nun when I grow up,” was a constant song in the house.
Mwende grew up in a strict Catholic upbringing. She attended Catholic schools, spent her holidays and free time working in the Convent. When she completed her secondary schooling, she shunned a college offer to join the Order as a novitiate. Her mother was ecstatic.
*
Sr. Mary put her hand on Fr. Joseph’s shoulder. His face relaxed, a sign of the effect that she had on him.
“We have been through this so many times, Father. It’s now or never!” she firmly asserted. “You will find me at the town centre – Ukali Building – in an hours time. Please don’t let me down this time!”
She walked out of the room, her immaculate white robes swaying sideways as she moved out. Fr. Joseph stood up and walked towards the picture of Mary, the mother of Jesus, and muttered: “Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for me a sinner, now and at the hour of my death. Amen!”
Twice he had developed cold feet at the crucial time. After 4 years, how could he just walk out of the parish and leave it orphaned? He who had preached in the pulpit about virtues, vices, the 7 deadly sins was now walking out. He who had inspired boys to become priests, girls to become nuns and poor parents to improve their skills was now giving up. He who had taken on politicians head on and made them accountable for injustices was now giving up. What would happen to all those self help projects, like boreholes, irrigation schemes, saving schemes, he had instituted?
Yes, he Fr.Joseph, was spiritually bankrupt, and was shedding his priestly robe to join the laity in the world. It had been a tough 4 years in which he had wrestled with his conscience and his creator. Each year, he had stayed on, only to suffer sleepless nights, tossing around on whether it was better to hang on or to walk out.
The solution had come, surprisingly, in a confession box two years back.
*
THE SECOND READING:
A READING FROM THE BOOK OF
“Bless me Father for I have sinned. My last confession was yesterday,” came the voice which Fr.Joseph had no problem placing as Sr.Mary’s, the Convent’s Vice Superior.
“The Lord has blessed you, my daughter,” the priest invoked.
“I have lost my Faith and my vocation is in trouble,” replied Sr. Mary.
“For how long has this been going on?” the priest probed, shocked that there was someone who was going through the same tribulations like him.
“For close to three years now,” Sr. Mary replied.
“Pray to Our Lady for guidance. You have come a long way to and you will go a longer way,” Fr. Joseph advised, though he felt his words ringing hollow.
“I want to leave the Order!” Sr.Mary muttered softly.
There was silence as Fr. Joseph looked at the woman who had just stolen the words from his mouth.
“And go where? Do what?” the priest asked, more to himself than to the nun.
“I want to get married, have my own children and serve God in a different capacity,” she affirmed.
“Pray more about it,” was all the priest could say.
“I have prayed about it and I am now convinced that this is my path. I shall leave in a month’s time,” were her parting words.
When she left the confession box, Fr. Joseph was in turmoil, his heart pounding with excitement and confusion. Maybe his prayers had been answered. Fr. Joseph did not hear the next person confessing his sins.
The following day Sr. Mary was there again in the confession box. This time she skipped the formalities.
“I did not sleep last night,” she told him. “I kept on seeing this beautiful baby boy calling out to me and saying ‘mummy’! It was so lovely!”
The priest did not tell her that even he had not slept a wink.
“Father, you know I have seen your unhappiness in the last two years and I think you should also leave,” she spoke as an expert.
“Who told you that I am unhappy?” Fr. Joseph asked defensively.
“You are not the same fire brand priest that you were when you came here. You look more troubled,” she continued.
“I will pray about it!” he said weakly.
GOSPEL READING.
A READING FROM THE BOOK OF John 15:12-15
This is My commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends. You are My friends if you do whatever I command you. No longer do I call you servants, for a servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all things that I heard from My Father I have made known to you.
*
Sr. Mary’s words haunted Fr. Joseph for the next two years that the two sparred, the priest always succeeding in convincing the nun that the tribulations were part and parcel of their vocation.
But the priest had his own share of self disbelief, his words ringing hollow each time. Each year was worse than the previous ones. The retreats did not help and the final straw came when he received a letter transferring him to Rome for a 3 years sabbatical. He was to leave in 3 months time.
He shared the news with Sr.Mary.
“Let us leave next week,” she told him.
He agreed and packed his things but lacked the final courage to walk out. He did not make it to their rendezvous – Matiliku Centre - and when they met again in the confessional, she gave him a tongue lashing.
“I did not know that you are such a coward,” she chided him.
“It is more of courage to stay on,” he defended himself.
“Do you or don’t you want to leave?” she asked him fiercely.
She took his silence as a sign of approval for their plans.
A week later, he again failed to make it and this time she, for the first time, screamed at him.
“You are wasting my time Fr. Joseph!” It is the first time in almost a year that she had ever referred to him as Fr. Joseph. She always called him Joe or Dear. He got the message.
The third time, just after mass, she walked out of his office with the parting words. “I am gone and this time I am not coming back.”
“Where will you go?” he asked her.
“To start a new life!” she replied as she looked at him. “At my cousin’s place in Matuu! I leave town at exactly 2pm!”
For the third time in as many months, Fr. Joseph packed his belongings. This time he knew he was going to leave – the heaviness in his heart was absent and the regrets were few!
He left the books, mementoes, the car and all worldly things he could think of. The Church compound was deserted as he walked out, through the metallic gate that was never manned. He locked the gate and walked to the roadside where he stopped a town bound matatu.
“Father, where is your collar today?” asked the matatu tout, who was one of the products of the Youth movement in Church.
Fr. Joseph smiled at the young man. “Today is my day off as a priest!”
The young man laughed.
The priest removed his bible and started reading.
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away
It took less than an hour to reach the town centre. Fr. Joseph alighted from the vehicle, thanked both the driver and the tout for the smooth ride.
“Be blessed,” the tout replied, “and I promise to come for mass next Sunday!”
Fr. Joseph walked his way to Ukali building. There was a restaurant on the 1st floor. He slowly took to the stairs, wondering what the future had in store for him. It was 1:45 pm.
She was there. At the furthest corner, huddled over a book was the familiar figure of Sr. Mary. She was reading a book.
“Hi Mwende,” Fr. Joseph croaked.
“Hi Joe,” she smiled back, a genuine 180 degrees smile that almost knocked the priest off his feet. Gone was the veil and in its place was beautifully plaited African hair – just the way he loved it. In his sermons, he had always admonished fakeness and encouraged women to shun those ugly weaves and chemicals that made them look plastic.
Sr. Mary stood up and gave him a hug. He responded, a long and tight hug that seemed to summarise that turmoil over the years.
“Let us go,” she said as she held his hand and led him away out of the restaurant.
He followed her, just like Adam had followed Eve.
THE FIRST READING.
A READING FROM THE BOOK OF ECCLESIASTICUS VERSE 4 TO 9.
Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work:
If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up! Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.
It was the last Holy Mass that Fr. Joseph was presiding over. He looked at the congregation – his family as he fondly referred to them – and almost choked with love for them. They were simple rural folks who truly believed in God, which is where the problem lay for Fr.Joseph: he had long stopped believing in God.
“The Lord is with you,” the priest invoked, spreading his hands as he had done for the last 28 years.
“And also with you,” the congregation replied reverently, also spreading their hands to the heavens to reciprocate in kind.
“The mass is ended. Go in peace, to love and serve the Lord,” he said softly.
“Thanks be to God,” they all replied in unison. The choir took over to belt out the exit hymn
Nimeahidi Bwana Kukutumikia!
Wewe ubwana wangu
Urafiki pia…..
It was beautiful singing, as usual, the blending of the soprano, altor, tenor and bass reverberating on the walls of the building. The choir was one of the strongholds of the Church. Commitment came without say and Fr. Joseph had witnessed the growth in quality and variety of songs sang.
Fr. Joseph joined the procession of eight altar boys as they made their way out of church. He turned to bless the parishioners who made the sign of the cross as a way of acknowledging the priest’s blessings. When he reached the church’s outer door, he stopped to greet those who had left before him. He blessed rosaries scapulas, and small children who were just happy to be around him and be patted on the head. This took him some time but at least it was his best way of saying goodbye without a fuss.
After some 7 or so minutes of socializing, Fr. Joseph made way to the sacrist. Again here, he heartily shook the hands of each of the 8 altar boys and thanked them for their service and dedication to Mother Church.
The boys had already changed to their civilian clothes, a far contrast from the flowing white robes they had been wearing in church.
“Later, Father,” the boys shouted as they went to complete the rest of their Sunday routine. Only John, the head of altar boys did not move.
“Father, are you okay?” John asked softly. He was an orphan, 14 years of age and lived in one of the nearby informal settlings at the market with his uncle and three siblings. The Church, through Fr.Joseph’s initiative, took care of all John’s academic and material needs. The relationship between the two was a paternal - filial one.
There was a brief stint of silence as Fr. Joseph weighed his words. “Sorry John, some weighty matters are bogging me down my son!” He placed his right hand on the young boy’s shoulder. They were almost the same height. Their eyes locked.
John looked at the priest and said, “I will offer a decade of the rosary for you!” He extended his hand and the priest took it, squeezed it before letting go. He watched sadly as John sauntered off. How was he to tell the young man that today was his last day at the parish?
Fr. Joseph slowly made his way to his residence just within the church compound. Behind the priests’ residence, which housed 4 priests, was the convent of Sisters of Tradition – a congregation of sisters who had been rooting for the return of traditional rites within the church: priests should be in cassocks, collars at all official times; the clergy should dress differently from the laity. It was a battle the nuns had refused to give up on, despite the odds being overwhelmingly staked against them.
There was a knock on the door and the priest mumbled absent-mindedly. “Come in.” He did not turn to see who it was.
“How are you Father?” Sr. Mary asked softly. This time the priest turned and looked at Sr. Mary.
“I am not very fine Sister. I don’t think I can pull this off,” he told the Sister as he turned his gaze to the giant crucifixion picture which adorned the wall.
*
THE RESPONORIAL PSALM IS:
Faithful are the wounds of a friend,
But the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.
Make no friendship with a man given to anger, nor go with a wrathful man, or you will learn his ways and find a snare for yourself. RESPONSE
If you have find honey, eat just enough,
too much of it, and you will vomit. RESPONSE
Seldom set foot in your neighbor's house—
too much of you, and he will hate you.
RESPONSE
Better is open rebuke
Than love that is concealed.
Faithful are the wounds of a friend,
But deceitful are the kisses of an enemy. RESPONSE
*
At 48 years old, Sister Mary – born Mwende Musyoki - had been with the Order her entire life. She was born and brought up at the doorsteps of the convent because her mother – a single parent - for many years worked as a gardener at the Convent. Mwende was a constant companion to the nuns right from the moment she learnt how to walk and talk. She would accompany her mother to the convent where the nuns immediately fell in love with her, and she with them. The nuns’ angelic singing, immaculate robes made a life long impression on the small girl.
“I want to be a nun when I grow up,” was a constant song in the house.
Mwende grew up in a strict Catholic upbringing. She attended Catholic schools, spent her holidays and free time working in the Convent. When she completed her secondary schooling, she shunned a college offer to join the Order as a novitiate. Her mother was ecstatic.
*
Sr. Mary put her hand on Fr. Joseph’s shoulder. His face relaxed, a sign of the effect that she had on him.
“We have been through this so many times, Father. It’s now or never!” she firmly asserted. “You will find me at the town centre – Ukali Building – in an hours time. Please don’t let me down this time!”
She walked out of the room, her immaculate white robes swaying sideways as she moved out. Fr. Joseph stood up and walked towards the picture of Mary, the mother of Jesus, and muttered: “Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for me a sinner, now and at the hour of my death. Amen!”
Twice he had developed cold feet at the crucial time. After 4 years, how could he just walk out of the parish and leave it orphaned? He who had preached in the pulpit about virtues, vices, the 7 deadly sins was now walking out. He who had inspired boys to become priests, girls to become nuns and poor parents to improve their skills was now giving up. He who had taken on politicians head on and made them accountable for injustices was now giving up. What would happen to all those self help projects, like boreholes, irrigation schemes, saving schemes, he had instituted?
Yes, he Fr.Joseph, was spiritually bankrupt, and was shedding his priestly robe to join the laity in the world. It had been a tough 4 years in which he had wrestled with his conscience and his creator. Each year, he had stayed on, only to suffer sleepless nights, tossing around on whether it was better to hang on or to walk out.
The solution had come, surprisingly, in a confession box two years back.
*
THE SECOND READING:
A READING FROM THE BOOK OF
“Bless me Father for I have sinned. My last confession was yesterday,” came the voice which Fr.Joseph had no problem placing as Sr.Mary’s, the Convent’s Vice Superior.
“The Lord has blessed you, my daughter,” the priest invoked.
“I have lost my Faith and my vocation is in trouble,” replied Sr. Mary.
“For how long has this been going on?” the priest probed, shocked that there was someone who was going through the same tribulations like him.
“For close to three years now,” Sr. Mary replied.
“Pray to Our Lady for guidance. You have come a long way to and you will go a longer way,” Fr. Joseph advised, though he felt his words ringing hollow.
“I want to leave the Order!” Sr.Mary muttered softly.
There was silence as Fr. Joseph looked at the woman who had just stolen the words from his mouth.
“And go where? Do what?” the priest asked, more to himself than to the nun.
“I want to get married, have my own children and serve God in a different capacity,” she affirmed.
“Pray more about it,” was all the priest could say.
“I have prayed about it and I am now convinced that this is my path. I shall leave in a month’s time,” were her parting words.
When she left the confession box, Fr. Joseph was in turmoil, his heart pounding with excitement and confusion. Maybe his prayers had been answered. Fr. Joseph did not hear the next person confessing his sins.
The following day Sr. Mary was there again in the confession box. This time she skipped the formalities.
“I did not sleep last night,” she told him. “I kept on seeing this beautiful baby boy calling out to me and saying ‘mummy’! It was so lovely!”
The priest did not tell her that even he had not slept a wink.
“Father, you know I have seen your unhappiness in the last two years and I think you should also leave,” she spoke as an expert.
“Who told you that I am unhappy?” Fr. Joseph asked defensively.
“You are not the same fire brand priest that you were when you came here. You look more troubled,” she continued.
“I will pray about it!” he said weakly.
GOSPEL READING.
A READING FROM THE BOOK OF John 15:12-15
This is My commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends. You are My friends if you do whatever I command you. No longer do I call you servants, for a servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all things that I heard from My Father I have made known to you.
*
Sr. Mary’s words haunted Fr. Joseph for the next two years that the two sparred, the priest always succeeding in convincing the nun that the tribulations were part and parcel of their vocation.
But the priest had his own share of self disbelief, his words ringing hollow each time. Each year was worse than the previous ones. The retreats did not help and the final straw came when he received a letter transferring him to Rome for a 3 years sabbatical. He was to leave in 3 months time.
He shared the news with Sr.Mary.
“Let us leave next week,” she told him.
He agreed and packed his things but lacked the final courage to walk out. He did not make it to their rendezvous – Matiliku Centre - and when they met again in the confessional, she gave him a tongue lashing.
“I did not know that you are such a coward,” she chided him.
“It is more of courage to stay on,” he defended himself.
“Do you or don’t you want to leave?” she asked him fiercely.
She took his silence as a sign of approval for their plans.
A week later, he again failed to make it and this time she, for the first time, screamed at him.
“You are wasting my time Fr. Joseph!” It is the first time in almost a year that she had ever referred to him as Fr. Joseph. She always called him Joe or Dear. He got the message.
The third time, just after mass, she walked out of his office with the parting words. “I am gone and this time I am not coming back.”
“Where will you go?” he asked her.
“To start a new life!” she replied as she looked at him. “At my cousin’s place in Matuu! I leave town at exactly 2pm!”
For the third time in as many months, Fr. Joseph packed his belongings. This time he knew he was going to leave – the heaviness in his heart was absent and the regrets were few!
He left the books, mementoes, the car and all worldly things he could think of. The Church compound was deserted as he walked out, through the metallic gate that was never manned. He locked the gate and walked to the roadside where he stopped a town bound matatu.
“Father, where is your collar today?” asked the matatu tout, who was one of the products of the Youth movement in Church.
Fr. Joseph smiled at the young man. “Today is my day off as a priest!”
The young man laughed.
The priest removed his bible and started reading.
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away
It took less than an hour to reach the town centre. Fr. Joseph alighted from the vehicle, thanked both the driver and the tout for the smooth ride.
“Be blessed,” the tout replied, “and I promise to come for mass next Sunday!”
Fr. Joseph walked his way to Ukali building. There was a restaurant on the 1st floor. He slowly took to the stairs, wondering what the future had in store for him. It was 1:45 pm.
She was there. At the furthest corner, huddled over a book was the familiar figure of Sr. Mary. She was reading a book.
“Hi Mwende,” Fr. Joseph croaked.
“Hi Joe,” she smiled back, a genuine 180 degrees smile that almost knocked the priest off his feet. Gone was the veil and in its place was beautifully plaited African hair – just the way he loved it. In his sermons, he had always admonished fakeness and encouraged women to shun those ugly weaves and chemicals that made them look plastic.
Sr. Mary stood up and gave him a hug. He responded, a long and tight hug that seemed to summarise that turmoil over the years.
“Let us go,” she said as she held his hand and led him away out of the restaurant.
He followed her, just like Adam had followed Eve.
KAUZI.COM
KAUZI.COM
What’s ours is ours; what’s yours is also ours.
Three buddies – Kariz, Onyi and Kip - grew up in the compound of Thika Prison: their parents were prison wardens. The three boys interacted and ran errands for some of the death row inmates, often being paid handsomely for petty errands. The valuable lessons they learnt as children paid dividends years later.
Behind the three hardened thugs, is a serious obsession with the women in their lives.
Wedding Bells.
Thomas Kariz Kariuki – 25 year old budding musician, though he is more into stealing other peoples lyrics and beats. He has a turbulent relationship with his childhood sweetheart – Caroline Nafula.
Friday.
“How are you Kariuki?” the priest asked the nervous groom, who kept on checking his watch and his phone.
“I am not fine, Fr.Charles! This will be the fifth time the wedding is bouncing,” replied Kariz as he turned and looked at his older cousin, Mwangi ‘Mwas’, his best man at the wedding. They were only the two of them, Kariz’s bosom buddies in crime, Kip and Doc all having other tight schedules that did not allow them to attend the wedding. Doc had dismissed the wedding from the first day, telling Kariz to just move in with the girl. But Caroline’s parents had insisted on a wedding. And a big one for that matter.
“The other four were all because of your missions or mishoni as you call them,” replied the priest who had seen the young man grow up inside the walls of a prison. He knew him from confessions as well, though it was quite a long time since he came for confession.
“You call her,” Kariz told the priest, “since she is not picking my calls!”
The priest tried but could not succeed.
“It’s now more than an hour. Shall we call it off?” the priest asked practically, well aware of the on off relationship that Kariz and Caroline had was not about to end soon.
“Sure!” Kariz asked as he motioned Mwas to follow him. It was time to go back to business.
“Tomorrow I have some mishoni in Nairobi,” Kariz told Mwas as they entered the car and drove out of the Church compound to the Town centre.
Socrates ‘Dr.’ Onyango – 26 year old Msc in criminology. Pursuing his Phd in the same field. The master mind in the group. His older brother, Odhiambo, is a cop and they have a love hate relationship which tends to spill over. He is very attached to his mom, Appolonia Apondi, who is suffering from breast cancer.
“What are the results?” Doc asked the doctor on duty at the Aga Khan Hospital Kisumu.
The doctor spread the x-rays on the panel and showed him the places the cancer had spread to.
“It is quite advanced,” he said solemnly.
“Will she die?” Doc asked, afraid that he would lose his mum.
The doctor kept quiet before philosophically adding, “We all will die one day. She might even outlive some of us!”
Doc held the doctor’s sleeves fiercely. “If she dies, you and your family die as well!”
The two looked at each other and the doctor, who did not know Doc’s reputation, yanked his sleeves and shouted at him.
“Don’t you ever threaten me!”
The shouting attracted the security guards who came running into the room. They all knew Doc very well.
“What’s up Doc?” the security man asked, ignoring the real doctor.
The two docs spoke at the same time.
“Nothing, I was just finishing with daktari!”
“He threatened me!” stammered the doctor.
Doc walked out of the room and went to see his mum in the wards.
Doc opened the door to the private room his mum was in. He walked in only to come face to face with Odhiambo, his older brother who was the District Police Commissioner in charge of Nakuru District .
“What are you doing here?” Doc barked his dislike for his brother quite evident.
“I have come to see my mother if you do care to remember,” Odhiambo answered coolly.
“Stop it you two,” the mother managed to whisper, her face contorted with both physical and emotional pain.
“I will see you tomorrow. I have to rush to Nairobi to complete some business,” Doc told the mother.
“Legal business I hope,” Odhiambo replied.
Doc did not answer. He banged the door and left the hospital.
Kiprono ‘Kip’ Mutai – 24 year old marathon champion who wins money on the road but always messes. He dropped out of school in std.6 to pursue his running career. He has a restraining order from FIDA not to move within 100 metres from his girlfriend – the mother of his 4 year old daughter. He’ll do anything to get his daughter back.
The bell had just rang and the children screamed at the prospect of the end of the day and the beginning of the weekend.
Kip slid past the eager parents and went to the classroom. The teachers all knew him.
Chemutai saw her dad and immediately ran towards him. “Hi Papa!” she squealed as she jumped onto him. Kip was happy as he carried his daughter to the on waiting taxi.
“Mr. Kip,” a voice called behind him. He turned to face the headteacher of The Alphabet Nursery school. She was a matronly figure, generously endowed with flesh in all areas.
“Yes, madam!” Kip replied knowing very well that a fight was about to take place.
“I have instructions from your wife that you are not to take Chemutai anywhere,” the headteacher said as she showed him the letter.
“Is it a court order?” he asked.
“No,” replied the headteacher who did not look amused at having been drawn into these endless couple squabbles.
“Goodbye,” Kip said as he got into the taxi and zoomed off with his daughter.
“Where are we going?” Chemutai asked.
“To see grandma,” Kip replied.
“Yipee, I love grandma, especially her stories of how prisoners behave,” Chemutai replied.
Kip’s phone rang. His girlfriend Carol was on the line. He ignored the call.
Saturday.
The three kauzis were at Socrates’ place in Makongeni Estate, Thika, finalising their mission. They were seated round the exquisitely furnished dining table, sipping soft drinks. Socrates did not believe in drinking while at work
“Please go over the plan once more,” Socrates ordered Kariz, the executor of all hatched plans.
“Come on Doc, we have been through this a million times. It’s time for action. And this juice is very bitter, can’t we have a tot,” Kip complained.
“Kip, this is not like stealing chicken in the village,” Kariz shot.
Kip was hurt knowing that it will be very hard to shake off the tag of chicken thief.
“A thief is a thief,” Kip declared, “whether from a wedding party or from a chicken’s roost.”
Kariz ignored him and quickly went through the drills.
“There are 12 targeted weddings in Nairobi today. Wedding gifts start arriving from as early as 11am and go all the way to almost 7pm. All the transporters should be at the go down latest 8pm.”
Doc rubbed his temple. “What about the transport managers?”
“They all are taken care of. They will be kept busy. My girls are on site,” replied Kariz.
Doc looked at his watch. It was 4:25pm. “Okay, let us move to the go down.”
Kip was still brooding. “A thief is a thief!” he muttered as the three childhood buddies moved to the parking lot and boarded Doc’s state of the art car.
Kariz made the follow up calls and by the time they reached the warehouse, all 12 sites had confirmed being in control. They passed by MoW Sports Club in South C to check on the proceedings. The lorry was well packed behind the gifts tent and the driver was busy recording all the gifts being put in.
“Hi baby,” Kip told one of the ushers.
“Hi!” she replied coyly. “Can I show you around?”
“Sure. Why not?” Kip relied.
And with than Kip parted ways with his busy buddies who were inspecting the grounds.
It took about five minutes for Doc and Kariz to realise Kip’s absence.
“Where is Kip?” Doc asked. “Call him, we better be on our way to the go down!”
“The first batch is on its way – there were too many gifts so he has to make two trips,” Kariz reported. “Kip is not picking his phone!”
“Bloody fool! We set women on our victims and he is the first one to take a bite! Let’s look for him,” Doc said.
Kip was found at the car park waxing lyrical to the bemused girl.
“Come on Kip, let’s jog out of here!” Doc commanded as Kariz held Kip’s hand and pulled him away from the beauty.
“I will call you,” Kip blew a kiss at her. He entered the car and then turned on his friends. “What is the meaning of pulling me out?”
“We have a job to do and that girl is not that job,” replied Doc.
By 5pm, the first consignment had reached. Another three were on its way.
The lorry carrying the assortment of gifts was quickly emptied and the driver given his share of loot, which he counted carefully.
“Two sites have run into problems as the transport managers have insisted on accompanying the vehicles,” Kariz reported.
“Let them come here we roast them,” Kip, who believed in direct confrontation, declared.
“No,” chipped in Doc, “call Johnny and tell him where to be.” Johnny was a renowned carjacker.
By 7pm, eleven lorries had docked their wares at the go down. One more to go. Johnny had met his end of the bargain.
“One is missing,” Doc complained. “Who is it?”
“Bob,” Kariz replied.
“Call him,” ordered Doc.
“He is mteja.”
Kip laughed. “He has stolen from thieves. I told you, a thief is a thief!”
Doc rubbed his temple again. “Set Johnny on him. No one steals from us!”
“On the wife and kids or on his aged parents?” Kariz asked.
Kip bolted. “Don’t touch the kids. You two don’t know what it means to lose your own child!”
Doc ignored him. “Set on the kids first, it hurts the most!”
“No,” screamed Kip.
They both ignored Kip as Kariz went ahead and dialled Johnny’s number.
“Kaloleni estate Block K15,” Kariz gave the directions of Bob’s house.
“Kip, call the supermarket manager and tell him his loot is ready.” Doc ordered. Kip was still brooding muttering to himself over and over.
Within two hours, four huge unmarked lorries had cleared all the wares and paid for the goods in hard cash.
“Bob’s family moved out today in the morning,” Kariz relayed Johnny’s message.
“We’ll get him. Kenya is a village,” Doc replied.
The three retired to their hideout neutral place in South B – a 3 bedroomed house.
They spent the next hour counting and recounting their loot. It was a hoping Kshs.6 million exact in shs.1000 notes.
“We split the money equally,” Kip reminded them.
“We always do that,” Kariz confirmed.
Doc’s phone rang. He looked at it.
“My brother,” he whispered. “Yes Police Commissioner,” Doc mocked his brother.
His brother went straight to the point. “We have arrested a lorry full of wedding gifts in Naivasha on its way to Busia.”
Doc put the phone on speaker phone. “Why call me?”
“The driver, Bob, says he was running an errand for you.”
“He cannot prove it,” Doc told his brother.
“Here is the deal, brother, you release all the goods that you have taken and I won’t press charges,” Doc’s brother said.
“And here is the deal, brother, you release the lorry and the driver and I won’t send your pictures in Mombasa to your wife and children.”
There was a pause.
“Fuck you,” Doc’s brother said.
“I have the brains brother, better get used to that. I want that lorry and drive delivered to me in an hour’s time.”
Doc hang up.
What’s ours is ours; what’s yours is also ours.
Three buddies – Kariz, Onyi and Kip - grew up in the compound of Thika Prison: their parents were prison wardens. The three boys interacted and ran errands for some of the death row inmates, often being paid handsomely for petty errands. The valuable lessons they learnt as children paid dividends years later.
Behind the three hardened thugs, is a serious obsession with the women in their lives.
Wedding Bells.
Thomas Kariz Kariuki – 25 year old budding musician, though he is more into stealing other peoples lyrics and beats. He has a turbulent relationship with his childhood sweetheart – Caroline Nafula.
Friday.
“How are you Kariuki?” the priest asked the nervous groom, who kept on checking his watch and his phone.
“I am not fine, Fr.Charles! This will be the fifth time the wedding is bouncing,” replied Kariz as he turned and looked at his older cousin, Mwangi ‘Mwas’, his best man at the wedding. They were only the two of them, Kariz’s bosom buddies in crime, Kip and Doc all having other tight schedules that did not allow them to attend the wedding. Doc had dismissed the wedding from the first day, telling Kariz to just move in with the girl. But Caroline’s parents had insisted on a wedding. And a big one for that matter.
“The other four were all because of your missions or mishoni as you call them,” replied the priest who had seen the young man grow up inside the walls of a prison. He knew him from confessions as well, though it was quite a long time since he came for confession.
“You call her,” Kariz told the priest, “since she is not picking my calls!”
The priest tried but could not succeed.
“It’s now more than an hour. Shall we call it off?” the priest asked practically, well aware of the on off relationship that Kariz and Caroline had was not about to end soon.
“Sure!” Kariz asked as he motioned Mwas to follow him. It was time to go back to business.
“Tomorrow I have some mishoni in Nairobi,” Kariz told Mwas as they entered the car and drove out of the Church compound to the Town centre.
Socrates ‘Dr.’ Onyango – 26 year old Msc in criminology. Pursuing his Phd in the same field. The master mind in the group. His older brother, Odhiambo, is a cop and they have a love hate relationship which tends to spill over. He is very attached to his mom, Appolonia Apondi, who is suffering from breast cancer.
“What are the results?” Doc asked the doctor on duty at the Aga Khan Hospital Kisumu.
The doctor spread the x-rays on the panel and showed him the places the cancer had spread to.
“It is quite advanced,” he said solemnly.
“Will she die?” Doc asked, afraid that he would lose his mum.
The doctor kept quiet before philosophically adding, “We all will die one day. She might even outlive some of us!”
Doc held the doctor’s sleeves fiercely. “If she dies, you and your family die as well!”
The two looked at each other and the doctor, who did not know Doc’s reputation, yanked his sleeves and shouted at him.
“Don’t you ever threaten me!”
The shouting attracted the security guards who came running into the room. They all knew Doc very well.
“What’s up Doc?” the security man asked, ignoring the real doctor.
The two docs spoke at the same time.
“Nothing, I was just finishing with daktari!”
“He threatened me!” stammered the doctor.
Doc walked out of the room and went to see his mum in the wards.
Doc opened the door to the private room his mum was in. He walked in only to come face to face with Odhiambo, his older brother who was the District Police Commissioner in charge of Nakuru District .
“What are you doing here?” Doc barked his dislike for his brother quite evident.
“I have come to see my mother if you do care to remember,” Odhiambo answered coolly.
“Stop it you two,” the mother managed to whisper, her face contorted with both physical and emotional pain.
“I will see you tomorrow. I have to rush to Nairobi to complete some business,” Doc told the mother.
“Legal business I hope,” Odhiambo replied.
Doc did not answer. He banged the door and left the hospital.
Kiprono ‘Kip’ Mutai – 24 year old marathon champion who wins money on the road but always messes. He dropped out of school in std.6 to pursue his running career. He has a restraining order from FIDA not to move within 100 metres from his girlfriend – the mother of his 4 year old daughter. He’ll do anything to get his daughter back.
The bell had just rang and the children screamed at the prospect of the end of the day and the beginning of the weekend.
Kip slid past the eager parents and went to the classroom. The teachers all knew him.
Chemutai saw her dad and immediately ran towards him. “Hi Papa!” she squealed as she jumped onto him. Kip was happy as he carried his daughter to the on waiting taxi.
“Mr. Kip,” a voice called behind him. He turned to face the headteacher of The Alphabet Nursery school. She was a matronly figure, generously endowed with flesh in all areas.
“Yes, madam!” Kip replied knowing very well that a fight was about to take place.
“I have instructions from your wife that you are not to take Chemutai anywhere,” the headteacher said as she showed him the letter.
“Is it a court order?” he asked.
“No,” replied the headteacher who did not look amused at having been drawn into these endless couple squabbles.
“Goodbye,” Kip said as he got into the taxi and zoomed off with his daughter.
“Where are we going?” Chemutai asked.
“To see grandma,” Kip replied.
“Yipee, I love grandma, especially her stories of how prisoners behave,” Chemutai replied.
Kip’s phone rang. His girlfriend Carol was on the line. He ignored the call.
Saturday.
The three kauzis were at Socrates’ place in Makongeni Estate, Thika, finalising their mission. They were seated round the exquisitely furnished dining table, sipping soft drinks. Socrates did not believe in drinking while at work
“Please go over the plan once more,” Socrates ordered Kariz, the executor of all hatched plans.
“Come on Doc, we have been through this a million times. It’s time for action. And this juice is very bitter, can’t we have a tot,” Kip complained.
“Kip, this is not like stealing chicken in the village,” Kariz shot.
Kip was hurt knowing that it will be very hard to shake off the tag of chicken thief.
“A thief is a thief,” Kip declared, “whether from a wedding party or from a chicken’s roost.”
Kariz ignored him and quickly went through the drills.
“There are 12 targeted weddings in Nairobi today. Wedding gifts start arriving from as early as 11am and go all the way to almost 7pm. All the transporters should be at the go down latest 8pm.”
Doc rubbed his temple. “What about the transport managers?”
“They all are taken care of. They will be kept busy. My girls are on site,” replied Kariz.
Doc looked at his watch. It was 4:25pm. “Okay, let us move to the go down.”
Kip was still brooding. “A thief is a thief!” he muttered as the three childhood buddies moved to the parking lot and boarded Doc’s state of the art car.
Kariz made the follow up calls and by the time they reached the warehouse, all 12 sites had confirmed being in control. They passed by MoW Sports Club in South C to check on the proceedings. The lorry was well packed behind the gifts tent and the driver was busy recording all the gifts being put in.
“Hi baby,” Kip told one of the ushers.
“Hi!” she replied coyly. “Can I show you around?”
“Sure. Why not?” Kip relied.
And with than Kip parted ways with his busy buddies who were inspecting the grounds.
It took about five minutes for Doc and Kariz to realise Kip’s absence.
“Where is Kip?” Doc asked. “Call him, we better be on our way to the go down!”
“The first batch is on its way – there were too many gifts so he has to make two trips,” Kariz reported. “Kip is not picking his phone!”
“Bloody fool! We set women on our victims and he is the first one to take a bite! Let’s look for him,” Doc said.
Kip was found at the car park waxing lyrical to the bemused girl.
“Come on Kip, let’s jog out of here!” Doc commanded as Kariz held Kip’s hand and pulled him away from the beauty.
“I will call you,” Kip blew a kiss at her. He entered the car and then turned on his friends. “What is the meaning of pulling me out?”
“We have a job to do and that girl is not that job,” replied Doc.
By 5pm, the first consignment had reached. Another three were on its way.
The lorry carrying the assortment of gifts was quickly emptied and the driver given his share of loot, which he counted carefully.
“Two sites have run into problems as the transport managers have insisted on accompanying the vehicles,” Kariz reported.
“Let them come here we roast them,” Kip, who believed in direct confrontation, declared.
“No,” chipped in Doc, “call Johnny and tell him where to be.” Johnny was a renowned carjacker.
By 7pm, eleven lorries had docked their wares at the go down. One more to go. Johnny had met his end of the bargain.
“One is missing,” Doc complained. “Who is it?”
“Bob,” Kariz replied.
“Call him,” ordered Doc.
“He is mteja.”
Kip laughed. “He has stolen from thieves. I told you, a thief is a thief!”
Doc rubbed his temple again. “Set Johnny on him. No one steals from us!”
“On the wife and kids or on his aged parents?” Kariz asked.
Kip bolted. “Don’t touch the kids. You two don’t know what it means to lose your own child!”
Doc ignored him. “Set on the kids first, it hurts the most!”
“No,” screamed Kip.
They both ignored Kip as Kariz went ahead and dialled Johnny’s number.
“Kaloleni estate Block K15,” Kariz gave the directions of Bob’s house.
“Kip, call the supermarket manager and tell him his loot is ready.” Doc ordered. Kip was still brooding muttering to himself over and over.
Within two hours, four huge unmarked lorries had cleared all the wares and paid for the goods in hard cash.
“Bob’s family moved out today in the morning,” Kariz relayed Johnny’s message.
“We’ll get him. Kenya is a village,” Doc replied.
The three retired to their hideout neutral place in South B – a 3 bedroomed house.
They spent the next hour counting and recounting their loot. It was a hoping Kshs.6 million exact in shs.1000 notes.
“We split the money equally,” Kip reminded them.
“We always do that,” Kariz confirmed.
Doc’s phone rang. He looked at it.
“My brother,” he whispered. “Yes Police Commissioner,” Doc mocked his brother.
His brother went straight to the point. “We have arrested a lorry full of wedding gifts in Naivasha on its way to Busia.”
Doc put the phone on speaker phone. “Why call me?”
“The driver, Bob, says he was running an errand for you.”
“He cannot prove it,” Doc told his brother.
“Here is the deal, brother, you release all the goods that you have taken and I won’t press charges,” Doc’s brother said.
“And here is the deal, brother, you release the lorry and the driver and I won’t send your pictures in Mombasa to your wife and children.”
There was a pause.
“Fuck you,” Doc’s brother said.
“I have the brains brother, better get used to that. I want that lorry and drive delivered to me in an hour’s time.”
Doc hang up.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
41 reasons why I am 41 years old!
41 reasons why I am 41 years old.
1) All dogs come from bitches. Bitching is, therefore, the mother of dogging. Consequently, the ratio of dogging to bitching is 1:5.
2) Your dreams are inversely proportional to your achievement. Hence your life is a nightmare.
3) However much you earn, the bloke next door seems to earn more and seems a lot happier than you.
4) Some things like smiling, laughing, parenting, making love can not be taught.
5) That your parents never told you their problems does not mean that they did not have any. You only realize the shit they went through once you become a parent.
6) Living with someone who is not your relative for the rest of your life is either the bravest or most foolish thing ever done by a human being.
7) Bitching about your boss in public is like scratching your balls in public – embarrassingly satisfying.
8) Spouses earning will never be the same. As a result, the one earning less will always take advantage of situations.
9) It’s easier to curse than to praise.
10) Your mum drummed into your head that men never grow up. Your dad did not stop singing that women are like children. That makes you the offspring of a child and an underage man.
11) The fuel tank, gas cylinder, phone credit, ATM cards, and children all seem to have a common name: CONSPIRE.
12) Even the guy who has lent you some chums had to borrow from someone who had to borrow…. We all are in debts.
13) When we were kids, we envied adults. Now that we are adults, we envy kids.
14) The most influential people in my life have been: (a) My dad for his visionary thinking; (b) My late bro for his endless humour and positivity; (c) My Strathmore teachers for their selflessness. All these had one thing in common – they did not have much but they were MUCH.
15) The least influential people in my life are politicians.
16) Men will bitch about a langa during daytime only to hover around her abode at night.
17) Men mutter the words “I love you” because not saying them will lead to a ‘never ending war’.
18) Majority sometimes means that all fools are on one side.
19) Your wallet is always full of everything else but money.
20) Publicly we all loathe politicians but secretly we would not mind being paid so much for doing so little.
21) The end of month pay day euphoria usually lasts for less than 24 hours. Reality checks in and the cycle begins.
22) Men were born unlucky. You cannot fake an orgasm; you are never sure if the kids are yours, alimony applies only to men and we are poor at arguing.
23) All our parents are shagsmondozz. That makes you a shagsmondozz-in-law.
24) Your spouse and your relatives are mutually exclusive.
25) The best part of dogging is being caught. Beating the system or trying to beat it is always the exciting part of the game.
26) You are only well dressed when you wear the clothes she bought.
27) You start living the moment you realize that you will die soon.
28) Great minds listen to ideas; great hearts listen to people.
29) Money cannot buy intelligence, but it can hire intelligent people.
30) That he is ‘small’ is a comment made by those who are ‘wide’. And vice versa.
31) However long a log stays in water, it will never become a crocodile. If you are bilaz, you are bilaz.
32) The people who hurt you the most are the people closest to you.
33) What do politicians tell their children when they are going to school?
34) Burying a loved one is the biggest pain ever invented by God. It hurts sooooo much that 10 years later the wounds are still there.
35) That we all seem to favour the paths of least resistance;
36) Technological advances seem to expose more of man’s weaknesses than strength. Cellphones, remote controls, computers;
37) At your age, where were your parents. At my age, my dad was a father of 5 and I was 4 years old. He seemed ancient.
38) Let he who has no sin cast the first stone. Don’t utter such words in a mjengo.
39) If you can win the arguing battles of the sexes, then rest assured that your relationship wont last. Girls have to win.
40) In the end we all die and then other fools take over to make the same mistakes that we made in life.
41) Kila Mtu Ni Celeb.
1) All dogs come from bitches. Bitching is, therefore, the mother of dogging. Consequently, the ratio of dogging to bitching is 1:5.
2) Your dreams are inversely proportional to your achievement. Hence your life is a nightmare.
3) However much you earn, the bloke next door seems to earn more and seems a lot happier than you.
4) Some things like smiling, laughing, parenting, making love can not be taught.
5) That your parents never told you their problems does not mean that they did not have any. You only realize the shit they went through once you become a parent.
6) Living with someone who is not your relative for the rest of your life is either the bravest or most foolish thing ever done by a human being.
7) Bitching about your boss in public is like scratching your balls in public – embarrassingly satisfying.
8) Spouses earning will never be the same. As a result, the one earning less will always take advantage of situations.
9) It’s easier to curse than to praise.
10) Your mum drummed into your head that men never grow up. Your dad did not stop singing that women are like children. That makes you the offspring of a child and an underage man.
11) The fuel tank, gas cylinder, phone credit, ATM cards, and children all seem to have a common name: CONSPIRE.
12) Even the guy who has lent you some chums had to borrow from someone who had to borrow…. We all are in debts.
13) When we were kids, we envied adults. Now that we are adults, we envy kids.
14) The most influential people in my life have been: (a) My dad for his visionary thinking; (b) My late bro for his endless humour and positivity; (c) My Strathmore teachers for their selflessness. All these had one thing in common – they did not have much but they were MUCH.
15) The least influential people in my life are politicians.
16) Men will bitch about a langa during daytime only to hover around her abode at night.
17) Men mutter the words “I love you” because not saying them will lead to a ‘never ending war’.
18) Majority sometimes means that all fools are on one side.
19) Your wallet is always full of everything else but money.
20) Publicly we all loathe politicians but secretly we would not mind being paid so much for doing so little.
21) The end of month pay day euphoria usually lasts for less than 24 hours. Reality checks in and the cycle begins.
22) Men were born unlucky. You cannot fake an orgasm; you are never sure if the kids are yours, alimony applies only to men and we are poor at arguing.
23) All our parents are shagsmondozz. That makes you a shagsmondozz-in-law.
24) Your spouse and your relatives are mutually exclusive.
25) The best part of dogging is being caught. Beating the system or trying to beat it is always the exciting part of the game.
26) You are only well dressed when you wear the clothes she bought.
27) You start living the moment you realize that you will die soon.
28) Great minds listen to ideas; great hearts listen to people.
29) Money cannot buy intelligence, but it can hire intelligent people.
30) That he is ‘small’ is a comment made by those who are ‘wide’. And vice versa.
31) However long a log stays in water, it will never become a crocodile. If you are bilaz, you are bilaz.
32) The people who hurt you the most are the people closest to you.
33) What do politicians tell their children when they are going to school?
34) Burying a loved one is the biggest pain ever invented by God. It hurts sooooo much that 10 years later the wounds are still there.
35) That we all seem to favour the paths of least resistance;
36) Technological advances seem to expose more of man’s weaknesses than strength. Cellphones, remote controls, computers;
37) At your age, where were your parents. At my age, my dad was a father of 5 and I was 4 years old. He seemed ancient.
38) Let he who has no sin cast the first stone. Don’t utter such words in a mjengo.
39) If you can win the arguing battles of the sexes, then rest assured that your relationship wont last. Girls have to win.
40) In the end we all die and then other fools take over to make the same mistakes that we made in life.
41) Kila Mtu Ni Celeb.
Rest In Piss
THE GRAVEDIGGER.
You start dying the day you are born.
Kamau has been a grave digger at Nairobi’s Langata Cemetery for the last 21 years. He has seen it all, from the high and mighty humbled by death to the low and lowly finding their moment of fame at the cemetery.
Rest In Piss.
It was close to 7pm and Kamau was about to call it quits. Saturdays were the busiest days for him. On this particular day he had overseen over 50 burials and he could remember all of them. The uniqueness of each, from the dressing to the coffins, was permanently etched in his mind.
As Kamau locked the door to his weather-beaten office at Langata Public Cemetery, a shabbily dressed man staggered in past the rickety dirty white gate and went straight to Kamau’s office.
“How are you?” the man slurred.
Kamau remembered the face too clearly. He had been present during one of the earlier controversial yet colourful burials of a church Pastor.
“What can I do for you?” Kamau asked, hoping that it was not one of those coffin robbers he had to deal with. On a number of occasions, a few had tried bribing him to get coffins but he had remained firm: the dead also needed respect.
The man opened his wallet and produced a shs.1000 note. “Take me to his grave,” he told Kamau.
Kamau knew the grave too well. It was one of those he had to dig personally after disputes from the deceased’s parents, his legal wife and two mistresses who had appeared on the burial date, threatening to stop the burial if they did not get a share of the man’s estate.
“We are also his wives and have children with him,” one of the vocal ones was heard saying.
Some Church elders had called the women aside and whispered something to them. The animated discussion had delayed the service by a couple of minutes but it seemed like a consensus had finally been reached.
The parents of the deceased wanted the grave to face the gate, claiming that a man who had died without building a permanent house upcountry had to be buried in that position.
The legal wife wanted the grave on the right hand side of the main gate.
“This side, unfortunately, is full and there is nothing I can do about it,” Kamau had told her.
“How much?” she had asked Kamau.
“Nothing, unless you want him buried on top of other graves,” had been Kamaus reply.
Finally Kamau’s orders had prevailed and he had gone ahead to personally dig the grave. He also made it a point to be there at the time of burial. The church members, both male and female, were dressed in snow white long robes with a green belt and green sashes. The coffin was also white in colour.
It had come as a shock to Kamau to note that during the burial service, amidst the crying and wailing, one smiling man, in a grey suit and loose hanging tie, had stood out. It was a first one for Kamau. He had never in his 21 years service to the dead seen a happier face at a burial.
The man’s smile had grown wider as the body was being lowered. Kamau gaze had not left the man.
It was therefore shocking and amusing that less than three hours after the burial, the same smiling man was back at the cemetery.
“You know your way?” Kamau asked, not sure what had brought the man back.
“Yes,” he replied as he staggered towards the freshly filled grave, a 50m distance from the Kamau’s office. Kamau followed him, but from a distance.
The man reached the site and to Kamau’s horror he unzipped his trouser and started peeing on the grave, the piss hammering the soil with the fury of a jilted Kenyan hailstorm. As he did so, he kept chanting and Kamau had to strain to hear what he was saying. “Malaya wewe!”
It was the longest pee Kamau had ever seen, the slurping sound decreasing to a gentle trickle. The guy just didn’t seem to run out of piss. He made sure that he had peed on each and every corner of the grave. He vigorously and furiously shook his manhood to make sure that the last drops found their mark of permanency on the grave.
When he was through, the man farted loudly and then staggered away without saying a word. Kamau followed him and watched as the man boarded a matatu and melted away into the city.
The following day, a group of ladies from the Pastor’s church came to tend to the grave and replace the flowers. Kamau was there to observe them. One particular grieving lady stayed longer than the rest, continuously shaking her head and clicking. “Why?” she kept on asking, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was not amongst the ladies who had harassed Kamau about the burial spot. She was the last one left and Kamau, accustomed to emotional breakdowns at the cemetery, approached her.
“Is he a relative?” Kamau asked.
The lady paused before replying, “He is the father of my three sons!” Kamau did not understand but he did not want to be too pushy. So he let it be.
“My husband does not perform,” the lady started in a whisper, her eyes fixed on the fresh grave.
“He is a certified alcoholic, a committed daily drinking officer and this has affected our sexual life. I cannot forget how he humiliated me one day. As usual, he came home in the middle of the night and demanded his conjugal rights. In the process, he lost direction and ended up screwing the old tattered mattress that we slept on.
“Wow that is the best sex I’ve had in ages! What did you put down there?” he had slurred.
Kamau’s face turned in shock. He did not believe that there were such men still dotting the surface of the earth.
“I cried and he thought it was because of the great sex we had had. I shared this with the Pastor and he was very sympathetic. Too sympathetic to father my three sons! I miss him,” the lady concluded, wiping tears off her face.
Kamau remained mute.
For the next five days, the peeing ritual was repeated, each time the peeing session getting longer and the abuses getting more and more colourful. As long as the man did not touch the grave, Kamau did not mind. After all, he was getting his daily cut.
Finally on the sixth day, the man came late, as usual. He was driving an old pick up. By now Kamau had become accustomed to the man’s timing. This time, however, he came with an epitaph. It was too dark for Kamau to read the inscription on the epitaph.
The peeing and abusing ritual was repeated just like before. When the man was done, he turned to Kamau and spoke for the first time in many days. “Today is the last day I am coming here. Thanks for your help,” he slurred.
Finally Kamau got to ask the question. “Why?”
The man laughed a dry one. “He is the father of my three sons!
“My wife joined this church some 5 years ago and became fanatical about it, dedicating every ounce of her energy to the church and pastor. That was the last time we had any meaningful relationship. I took to heavy drinking because many things were not working. I neglected my wife and myself. Then she conceived and things became worse. We drifted way apart, the child taking my entire wife’s time and the drinks taking all my time.
A year passed and she conceived again. Another boy. By this time my businesses had started picking up and I could afford some luxuries in life. But my wife refused to let me into her life, still preferring the warmth of the church. Two years later and another boy was born.”
Kamau was itching to ask another question but he let the man talk.
“She only slept with me three times in 5 years and those three times apparently led to her conceiving,” the man continued.
“Then one day I came across this letter.” The man removed a crumpled letter from his pocket. “It is too dark to read it but I know its contents.”
“It’s a letter from the Pastor to my wife explaining the tough financial situations that had rocked the church and how he wanted them to elope to the US after he had secured a green card!
“The letter also told my wife that the passports were ready and she could go ahead and destroy the ‘fake’ birth certificates that were in my house!”
The man took a swing of the drink he was carrying. Kamau was very interested in what happened next.
“I called one of the thugs I grew up with and told him that the Pastor was sleeping with his girlfriend.”
Kamau gasped.
“Two days later, the Pastor was found murdered. He had been lured to a drinking den in Kawangware. The rest, as they say, is History!
It took time for the message to sink to Kamau.
“Does your wife know all these?” Kamau asked.
“No! I don’t know about the children and the USA trip and she doesn’t know about the pastor. We are even!”
With the help of Kamau, the man went ahead to fix the epitaph. Finally he looked at the grave one more time and left.
The following morning, the same group of women from church were there to tend to the grave. The same woman who had talked to Kamau called out. It was more of a scream than a call.
“What is this?” she demanded as she pointed at the epitaph that had been installed the previous day.
Kamau bent down to check on the inscription on the epitaph. It read: R.I.P M.B.A. Below was a fine print which read. Rest In Piss Malaya Bila Aibu.
Kamau chuckled.
You start dying the day you are born.
Kamau has been a grave digger at Nairobi’s Langata Cemetery for the last 21 years. He has seen it all, from the high and mighty humbled by death to the low and lowly finding their moment of fame at the cemetery.
Rest In Piss.
It was close to 7pm and Kamau was about to call it quits. Saturdays were the busiest days for him. On this particular day he had overseen over 50 burials and he could remember all of them. The uniqueness of each, from the dressing to the coffins, was permanently etched in his mind.
As Kamau locked the door to his weather-beaten office at Langata Public Cemetery, a shabbily dressed man staggered in past the rickety dirty white gate and went straight to Kamau’s office.
“How are you?” the man slurred.
Kamau remembered the face too clearly. He had been present during one of the earlier controversial yet colourful burials of a church Pastor.
“What can I do for you?” Kamau asked, hoping that it was not one of those coffin robbers he had to deal with. On a number of occasions, a few had tried bribing him to get coffins but he had remained firm: the dead also needed respect.
The man opened his wallet and produced a shs.1000 note. “Take me to his grave,” he told Kamau.
Kamau knew the grave too well. It was one of those he had to dig personally after disputes from the deceased’s parents, his legal wife and two mistresses who had appeared on the burial date, threatening to stop the burial if they did not get a share of the man’s estate.
“We are also his wives and have children with him,” one of the vocal ones was heard saying.
Some Church elders had called the women aside and whispered something to them. The animated discussion had delayed the service by a couple of minutes but it seemed like a consensus had finally been reached.
The parents of the deceased wanted the grave to face the gate, claiming that a man who had died without building a permanent house upcountry had to be buried in that position.
The legal wife wanted the grave on the right hand side of the main gate.
“This side, unfortunately, is full and there is nothing I can do about it,” Kamau had told her.
“How much?” she had asked Kamau.
“Nothing, unless you want him buried on top of other graves,” had been Kamaus reply.
Finally Kamau’s orders had prevailed and he had gone ahead to personally dig the grave. He also made it a point to be there at the time of burial. The church members, both male and female, were dressed in snow white long robes with a green belt and green sashes. The coffin was also white in colour.
It had come as a shock to Kamau to note that during the burial service, amidst the crying and wailing, one smiling man, in a grey suit and loose hanging tie, had stood out. It was a first one for Kamau. He had never in his 21 years service to the dead seen a happier face at a burial.
The man’s smile had grown wider as the body was being lowered. Kamau gaze had not left the man.
It was therefore shocking and amusing that less than three hours after the burial, the same smiling man was back at the cemetery.
“You know your way?” Kamau asked, not sure what had brought the man back.
“Yes,” he replied as he staggered towards the freshly filled grave, a 50m distance from the Kamau’s office. Kamau followed him, but from a distance.
The man reached the site and to Kamau’s horror he unzipped his trouser and started peeing on the grave, the piss hammering the soil with the fury of a jilted Kenyan hailstorm. As he did so, he kept chanting and Kamau had to strain to hear what he was saying. “Malaya wewe!”
It was the longest pee Kamau had ever seen, the slurping sound decreasing to a gentle trickle. The guy just didn’t seem to run out of piss. He made sure that he had peed on each and every corner of the grave. He vigorously and furiously shook his manhood to make sure that the last drops found their mark of permanency on the grave.
When he was through, the man farted loudly and then staggered away without saying a word. Kamau followed him and watched as the man boarded a matatu and melted away into the city.
The following day, a group of ladies from the Pastor’s church came to tend to the grave and replace the flowers. Kamau was there to observe them. One particular grieving lady stayed longer than the rest, continuously shaking her head and clicking. “Why?” she kept on asking, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was not amongst the ladies who had harassed Kamau about the burial spot. She was the last one left and Kamau, accustomed to emotional breakdowns at the cemetery, approached her.
“Is he a relative?” Kamau asked.
The lady paused before replying, “He is the father of my three sons!” Kamau did not understand but he did not want to be too pushy. So he let it be.
“My husband does not perform,” the lady started in a whisper, her eyes fixed on the fresh grave.
“He is a certified alcoholic, a committed daily drinking officer and this has affected our sexual life. I cannot forget how he humiliated me one day. As usual, he came home in the middle of the night and demanded his conjugal rights. In the process, he lost direction and ended up screwing the old tattered mattress that we slept on.
“Wow that is the best sex I’ve had in ages! What did you put down there?” he had slurred.
Kamau’s face turned in shock. He did not believe that there were such men still dotting the surface of the earth.
“I cried and he thought it was because of the great sex we had had. I shared this with the Pastor and he was very sympathetic. Too sympathetic to father my three sons! I miss him,” the lady concluded, wiping tears off her face.
Kamau remained mute.
For the next five days, the peeing ritual was repeated, each time the peeing session getting longer and the abuses getting more and more colourful. As long as the man did not touch the grave, Kamau did not mind. After all, he was getting his daily cut.
Finally on the sixth day, the man came late, as usual. He was driving an old pick up. By now Kamau had become accustomed to the man’s timing. This time, however, he came with an epitaph. It was too dark for Kamau to read the inscription on the epitaph.
The peeing and abusing ritual was repeated just like before. When the man was done, he turned to Kamau and spoke for the first time in many days. “Today is the last day I am coming here. Thanks for your help,” he slurred.
Finally Kamau got to ask the question. “Why?”
The man laughed a dry one. “He is the father of my three sons!
“My wife joined this church some 5 years ago and became fanatical about it, dedicating every ounce of her energy to the church and pastor. That was the last time we had any meaningful relationship. I took to heavy drinking because many things were not working. I neglected my wife and myself. Then she conceived and things became worse. We drifted way apart, the child taking my entire wife’s time and the drinks taking all my time.
A year passed and she conceived again. Another boy. By this time my businesses had started picking up and I could afford some luxuries in life. But my wife refused to let me into her life, still preferring the warmth of the church. Two years later and another boy was born.”
Kamau was itching to ask another question but he let the man talk.
“She only slept with me three times in 5 years and those three times apparently led to her conceiving,” the man continued.
“Then one day I came across this letter.” The man removed a crumpled letter from his pocket. “It is too dark to read it but I know its contents.”
“It’s a letter from the Pastor to my wife explaining the tough financial situations that had rocked the church and how he wanted them to elope to the US after he had secured a green card!
“The letter also told my wife that the passports were ready and she could go ahead and destroy the ‘fake’ birth certificates that were in my house!”
The man took a swing of the drink he was carrying. Kamau was very interested in what happened next.
“I called one of the thugs I grew up with and told him that the Pastor was sleeping with his girlfriend.”
Kamau gasped.
“Two days later, the Pastor was found murdered. He had been lured to a drinking den in Kawangware. The rest, as they say, is History!
It took time for the message to sink to Kamau.
“Does your wife know all these?” Kamau asked.
“No! I don’t know about the children and the USA trip and she doesn’t know about the pastor. We are even!”
With the help of Kamau, the man went ahead to fix the epitaph. Finally he looked at the grave one more time and left.
The following morning, the same group of women from church were there to tend to the grave. The same woman who had talked to Kamau called out. It was more of a scream than a call.
“What is this?” she demanded as she pointed at the epitaph that had been installed the previous day.
Kamau bent down to check on the inscription on the epitaph. It read: R.I.P M.B.A. Below was a fine print which read. Rest In Piss Malaya Bila Aibu.
Kamau chuckled.
THE MISSING SEATS
OCCURRENCE BOOK (O.B)
Justice be our shield and defender…
Missing Seats.
There were five people already waiting outside, all seated on the bench just next to the flagpost. The blue, yellow and red colour of the police force dominated the serene compound. There was evident tension amongst them, punctuated with continuous accusations and counter accusations.
“What is the problem now?” the shorter and heftier policeman asked the crowd as he opened the gate to the counter. All five walked in behind the two smartly dressed policemen.
“Who came first?” the taller – though still short by military standards, asked.
An old man with a walking stick, straw hat and heavy boots rose up and spoke. “I was the first one here with this young boy.” He pointed at the ‘boy’ who did not look amused by the reference.
“State your problem,” the policeman invited.
The old man, like all villagers, started his story right from the beginning. “I have eight children, five male and four female.”
“Just state the problem omusakhulu, we don’t have the whole day,” cut in the taller policeman.
The old man looked hurt but he skipped the details. “We buried my daughter yesterday. And today these people claim that fifty of their plastic chairs are missing! He wants to be paid shs.50 000 for the missing chairs!”
“So the problem is the missing plastic seats,” concluded the first policeman as he turned to the ‘boy’.
“I am not through yet. Today, this ‘boy’ came to my village with ten men and took away two of my biggest bulls,” the old man added. “Mannerless young men with no respect for elders!”
The accused stood to defend himself, “I have my records here,” he interjected as he produced a neat exercise book.
“Who told you to talk?” the taller policeman peered at the man. He quickly apologised and sat down.
The policeman satisfied with his powers now declared, “Now you may speak! But first, is it true that you took away his bulls?”
The man produced his book. “Here are the records of the seats borrowed.”
“Young man, did you hear my question?” the policeman reminded him in a very low tone that spelt impatience.
“Yes, I had to take two of his bulls because 50 of my chairs are missing,” the young man defended himself.
“So you are now a policeman, prosecutor and judge? You have taken our job,” the taller policeman told the young man in the same tone as before.
In the village set up, there are very few secrets. Everyone knows everybody’s else’s story. Soon the other three who were waiting along joined in the debate.
“It is said that they hire out seats and then steal them so that you can pay for them,” one villager muttered as a matter fact.
This time the policemen did not interrupt. They seemed to know something as well.
Another woman joined in the fray. “Last month they claim to have lost a total of 250 seats during funerals, yet they still hire out more seats. Where do these seats come from?”
The accused was up to defend himself. “I replace them immediately. This is business and I have to survive!”
“Or you have your own people who steal the seats from the functions,” replied the lady. “You know, women talk and the women from your village are talking.”
The two policemen were definitely enjoying themselves. “And what have the women in the village been saying?”
The lady now buoyed by being the centre of attraction at the police station went on with her story. “Each time there is a function, men are contracted to steal the seats which they are paid for. The going rate is shs.100 per seat returned.”
The old man, who obviously had not heard such stories before, shot up. “I want my bulls right now!” he bellowed.
“You will get your bull omusakhulu,” the taller policeman assured him. He turned to the young man. “And how many people have you defrauded?”
“None!” he exclaimed. “I am a law abiding Kenyan and I swear by the grave of my mother that I have not stolen from anybody.”
“Should we lock you up and then go the village to investigate this matter?” the shorter policeman asked.
There was silence as the young man contemplated the prospects of being in cell.
The policeman took the silence as a sign of consent. “You have up to tomorrow evening to return all the money that you have collected from people illegally.”
“But let him start with my two bulls,” the old man pleaded.
“Of course, he will start with your bulls.”
And with that the party walked out of the police station to go and start the process of recovering stolen goods.
Justice be our shield and defender…
Missing Seats.
There were five people already waiting outside, all seated on the bench just next to the flagpost. The blue, yellow and red colour of the police force dominated the serene compound. There was evident tension amongst them, punctuated with continuous accusations and counter accusations.
“What is the problem now?” the shorter and heftier policeman asked the crowd as he opened the gate to the counter. All five walked in behind the two smartly dressed policemen.
“Who came first?” the taller – though still short by military standards, asked.
An old man with a walking stick, straw hat and heavy boots rose up and spoke. “I was the first one here with this young boy.” He pointed at the ‘boy’ who did not look amused by the reference.
“State your problem,” the policeman invited.
The old man, like all villagers, started his story right from the beginning. “I have eight children, five male and four female.”
“Just state the problem omusakhulu, we don’t have the whole day,” cut in the taller policeman.
The old man looked hurt but he skipped the details. “We buried my daughter yesterday. And today these people claim that fifty of their plastic chairs are missing! He wants to be paid shs.50 000 for the missing chairs!”
“So the problem is the missing plastic seats,” concluded the first policeman as he turned to the ‘boy’.
“I am not through yet. Today, this ‘boy’ came to my village with ten men and took away two of my biggest bulls,” the old man added. “Mannerless young men with no respect for elders!”
The accused stood to defend himself, “I have my records here,” he interjected as he produced a neat exercise book.
“Who told you to talk?” the taller policeman peered at the man. He quickly apologised and sat down.
The policeman satisfied with his powers now declared, “Now you may speak! But first, is it true that you took away his bulls?”
The man produced his book. “Here are the records of the seats borrowed.”
“Young man, did you hear my question?” the policeman reminded him in a very low tone that spelt impatience.
“Yes, I had to take two of his bulls because 50 of my chairs are missing,” the young man defended himself.
“So you are now a policeman, prosecutor and judge? You have taken our job,” the taller policeman told the young man in the same tone as before.
In the village set up, there are very few secrets. Everyone knows everybody’s else’s story. Soon the other three who were waiting along joined in the debate.
“It is said that they hire out seats and then steal them so that you can pay for them,” one villager muttered as a matter fact.
This time the policemen did not interrupt. They seemed to know something as well.
Another woman joined in the fray. “Last month they claim to have lost a total of 250 seats during funerals, yet they still hire out more seats. Where do these seats come from?”
The accused was up to defend himself. “I replace them immediately. This is business and I have to survive!”
“Or you have your own people who steal the seats from the functions,” replied the lady. “You know, women talk and the women from your village are talking.”
The two policemen were definitely enjoying themselves. “And what have the women in the village been saying?”
The lady now buoyed by being the centre of attraction at the police station went on with her story. “Each time there is a function, men are contracted to steal the seats which they are paid for. The going rate is shs.100 per seat returned.”
The old man, who obviously had not heard such stories before, shot up. “I want my bulls right now!” he bellowed.
“You will get your bull omusakhulu,” the taller policeman assured him. He turned to the young man. “And how many people have you defrauded?”
“None!” he exclaimed. “I am a law abiding Kenyan and I swear by the grave of my mother that I have not stolen from anybody.”
“Should we lock you up and then go the village to investigate this matter?” the shorter policeman asked.
There was silence as the young man contemplated the prospects of being in cell.
The policeman took the silence as a sign of consent. “You have up to tomorrow evening to return all the money that you have collected from people illegally.”
“But let him start with my two bulls,” the old man pleaded.
“Of course, he will start with your bulls.”
And with that the party walked out of the police station to go and start the process of recovering stolen goods.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)