Village Musings

I proudly declare to the world that I am a typical rural village boy. I grew up in the deepest heartland of Kenya and so it was a big deal that necessitated a clan gathering when time came that for the first time, I was going to visit the City.

Having traversed dusty roads all my life, imagine then the drama it elicited as those who were "widely traveled" (They once were taken to court locked in those dreaded prison vans) tried to explain to me how tarmacked roads look like. I leave out all the various gory descriptions and just give you a sample of the one that came closest to reality. An eager enthusiast told me that to know how tarmacked roads look like, I imagine the classroom blackboards but this time lay down on the road. Tell you what, I indeed imagined but the scenarios I came up with were pictures of cyclists and donkey drivers (Most common means of transport) tumbling and falling over the wooden black boards laid down on the roads. The pictures were horrifying and as such, I wondered why a sane person would consider laying the boards on the road rather than leaving them in the classroom and call that tarmac.

Well, several days later, I was in the City and I got the correct picture of what one Scottish engineer-John Loudon Macadam & his trusted sidekick Thomas Telford invented and today we know as tarmac. (notice the Mac at the end of tar, well these roads were made of a mixture of tar and a lot of other stuff and came to be known as -the tar of Macadam- later shortened to tarmac) aw why am I giving you all this history? Let us just remain with the simple idea of a country boy.

Now when you have such a background and then suddenly you achieve the great feat of visiting the City even if it is to drop your body in the City morgue due to your death, you become an instant Celebrity. In the village, every one knows everyone and news travel faster and wider the modern reach of "thuh internet". As a result, everybody wants a piece of you. Some want just to touch you, others to send you to buy for them coconut porridge, or mitumba, or madodo ya nyanza, or ‘that talking thing’ (TV if you like) and a lot of other stuff, using your money if you don’t mind. What about refund? Well they can always organize something to pay you back like allowing you to watch comedies and wrestling on that TV every time your feet hits the dusty trails of the village at no charges at all. “You should really be grateful for that- your brothers will actually be paying to watch!!” am warned. Better still, some promise to keep a little bit of the porridge so that they will be giving you a cup every time you are around- oh they have no fridges if that’s what you are thinking!! Goodness they don’t even have electricity.

Others make ridiculous requests like, please greet the president for me, or “oh the day you will be passing over here in an aero plane, please look down and say hi to me- I will be at the shamba”, or please go to every house and see if they need a house girl then write a letter to tell me.

I guess I could do all that but the closest I ever has been to the president was when I touched his face!! Oh… that was on the television and I had bumped on the staircase and I fell on the screen. They happened to be featuring him at that very precise moment!! The only other time I have ever met him up close and candid, was when I longingly looked at his face as I gave away the 40/= Coin to the matatu's conductor!

Am yet to get into a plane and IF I do, am not sure it will pass over our home area and IF it does am not sure whether the fella who wants ‘salamu za hewani’ will be in the shamba and IF he will be there, am not sure I will recognize him and IF I do, am not sure I will remember to say Hi and IF I remember, am not sure he will hear me and IF he hears... aww do we have to go on with this conditional IF set-up? On the house girl thing mhh, do you have an idea how many millions of houses are in Nairobi? Well to rub off the guilt, let me simply ask, does anyone need a house help??? Get in touch with me.

OK let's get away from all that. Last year, I went home for my post graduation party attired in my full higher education attire. Honestly, I love the place and the jubilation that came with it. Oh how I regaled in the glory of the 'THOMED' i.e. the learned one… until the advices from the elder statesmen began to trickle in.

First was the counsel on choice of a life partner. “Our son, ensure that your eyes do not wonder far off the outskirts of your locality. We have eye catching, heart warming, breathtaking, daughters of ‘your’ land who can fix you any traditional meal you want in a whiff. In any case, all the wealth you will have to cough up as dowry shouldn’t go to an outsider!” (The dowry…ha… let me put it this way. I am made to understand that by the time I am through; the prospective father in law might actually open a community bank fully licensed by Central bank coz he will be able to exceed all the necessary strict monetary conditions!!!).
“Dear son, a man of your insight and learning is a man of means, this means that you can run several empires at the same time and am sure that many of your father’s friends will only be too willing to provide you with the vehicles that will support such investments.” If you aren’t careful, you might think that you are going to be given capital to start different business empires. But woe unto you the day you discover what kind of an empire you are supposed to build and you give even the slightest hint of backing out.

In short what these statesmen were telling me is that having carefully weighed me on the wealth and status scales, they had come to a unanimous conclusion that I could effectively and efficiently run several family units and that the congregation of the present elders would be willing to part with their daughters who would be the ‘vehicles’ for the said Venture. All I would do is to cough ‘just some few thousands’ as an appreciation fee to the parents for their many troubles in bearing, raising and preserving specifically for me, these beaus.

Out of the blues, I also came to learn of other pre-natal agreements that were signed many months before I even uttered a single cry or even saw the living daylights. These agreements, which were done orally, stated that I was obligated to give so and so and so and so grandchildren as soon as I became- what the Luos would call a man of nyadhi- i.e. a man of means. These ‘agreements’ were considered legal and abiding and I would be in serious jeopardy if I dared ignore them. In other words, before I was born there had been hush-hush men and women talks that if I turned out to be a boy, several people offered to give their daughters to me in marriage if I turned out to be a good man-which they now thought I had become. The so said daughters were probably also not born!!! You talk of prospective investors in Stock Exchange but rethink again. These elders took prospective investing to the ‘extreemest’ sense of the word.

But there’s one piece of advice I was given and which I will not forget. I was told that relatives, neighbors and friends would visit me in the office looking for help. In the eventuality of such an occurrence, I was told that I should never take my coat, throw it over my shoulder and walk out of the office leaving the hapless person looking mesmerized by the exemplary electronic gadgetry in the office. I have no desire of ever doing such a thing and that’s why every time I have a coat, I never take it off just incase I get a visit that necessitates me to take off from the office- without having to fling the coat over my shoulder.

DISCLAIMER: When am above the average rate of thinking mode, I tend to write stuff which am not sure of its beneficial significance to the supposed reader. Today happens to be such of one days!!
Prince Hanniel