Memories of an African Childhood: Girls’ Dance Night

I was startled from my slumber by light drizzles. I must have slept for a whole day. Ouch! I am hungry. Where am I? Oh my, you mean I have been sleeping here all alone?  Thank heavens, when did John Boss join me? Faithful dog, he could not leave his pal alone!

Standing, stretching and yawning followed. My shadow was long, it must have been around 4 PM or so.  But this is the season of joie de vivre and nobody cares about time. No cattle to herd, no water to fetch no school to think of, life is an endless dolce far niente! 

Plodding back to the party house, I noted that I was not the only one who had succumbed to the beckoning winks of sweet sleep. Half the people were in various stages of sleeping. A few were coiled in the armchairs, with saliva drooling from their mouths. Some were snoring like dogs about to bite each other. Others were dreaming, I think of eating, going by the way they chewed and swallowed in their sleep. The remaining half is the beer diehards and acolytes of the holy drink. An old man, Kipchekek, was squinted swigging from a straw that never left his mouth. His face assumed a depression on his cheeks; I feared his squint and depression would be permanent. The rest were slugging from tins, Mr. Sirma’s moustache had trapped some dregs to assume a white color. You should have seen the drunkards laugh; (which was too often) their teeth were plastered invisible with white dregs of beer. Thank God kissing was nonexistent then, I would have pitied their wives no end.

 Music was in the normal volume even though our venerable DJ was half asleep, half awake. A boy and a gal competed on the dance floor even though all they did was salute with the right hand on the forehead as the left hand held the stomach. It was like they wanted to communicate in a subtle way that their heads were throbbing and not forgetting a bad case of stomach upset. They were dancing anyway.

Ouch, I am so famished! I dashed to the kitchen and was served with ugali and beef stew. If I had stayed for a minute longer, I would have died. James’s mom told me to trace my friend Kipsang and my brothers after eating my full.

Sporadic ululations of ariri riiiiiiiiiiiiii! kongoi James here and there. Mr. Sirma is ululating too, coiled in his seat, head dropped to his shoulder, eyes closed. I wondered whether he was dreaming or it was a deliberate act. All the same he mumbled aririri riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! Kongoi James!

Empty beer pots were sprawled outside in the shade, no wonder everybody was out of their senses. A dutiful looking group of girls are washing dishes. I pitied them though they seemed to enjoy what they were doing. There is something with girls, whenever they do anything, they make it seem effortless and delightful. I have never quite understood how somebody could enjoy working.

I caught up with my brothers and Kipsang in the maize store, dead asleep. I gave them each a poke on the ribs. They persisted on sleeping, I insisted on rousing them. They woke up with a personal style each. One just stretched, another farted while the other did both. They all had bloodshot eyes.

 It was time to get moving again. Thanks to the drizzles, we would have been late for the girls’ dance night, now just an hour away.

It will be a busy night unlike the previous night. Girls dances are full of action unlike their male counterparts whose difference with the rest of the crowd was Korosiot tightly clutched on the chest sans movement. With girls it was music, song and dance. Pageantry, dance and a fashion show all at once, indeed, pomp and glamour was the axiom.

Our first job was to make a quick itinerary. First stop: Kap Pewa. Chemolel, Kipsang ex-lover was the initiate and from the rehearsal reviews, was tipped to be the best dancer in the entire Rotik village .Besides; it was my school desk-mate Chesiliot’s home. The second port of call would be Kap Jonathan where Memo, Kipsang’s cousin was an initiate. They are our close family friends too. Third home would be Arap Korir, Chebet and Cherono, identical twins were the other big attraction of the night. After that we go to the next village of Takitech where all the initiates would meet for the final dance of the night.

The plastic watch in my brother’s wrist reads 5.30 PM.

When you descend the path that passes through Juliana’s house and ascend to the hillock by Obot Samwel’s house and take the road by momonik trees, over the white shiny stones, and cross the road that connects to Kissii, you arrive at Kap Pewa.

Kap Pewa’s large grass-thatched mud house stands on a level dug-out red earth ground but from the road where we approached it, is a sloping high ground. When you sit down on the green grass, you would see all the actions in the compound without the risk of anybody seated in front obstructing you. It was like a stadium though it was hardly planned to be so.

 When we got there, we found a few women and children already seated on the terraces. We secured a place in front and sat waiting for the action to start. We could not afford to wait!

Chemolel, the initiate is standing in the centre of the arena, near mabwaita, having her final touches done. Not touches of make-up or coiffure, no, the regalia that was the dancing costumes. Chemolel was too cute for any make-up and initiates shave off all hairs before initiation. (All hairs except eye lashes and eye brows!) I could hardly recognize her, save for the brown color of her ears and thighs. ( Kipsang was more acquainted with her thighs more than me and he went on to describe to me in finer details how the thighs looked at the intersection above).

On her wrists, hang two black whisks (ngotinik) made from the tails of wildebeests. On her shoulders were suspended hairy furs (koroitik) made from colobus monkey skins. She was wearing a very skimpy trouser tied round with a blue cloth. On her bum hang loose a beaded skin with shiny decorations (ng’oisit). Like a tail, though very broad. On both thighs were mounted a bunch of metal jingles (kipkururoik) and a single jingle on each ankle. She wore a shiny shirt with green sashes across her bosom (botisiot). On her face was a mask made of ivory (keldet). On her head was a blue cloth head gear (chepkulet) with support inside to stand leaning backwards. It was mounted a small blinking torch bulb that swung whenever she moved her head.

A whistle (sirimbit) and a flute (kondia) hang suspended from her neck on strings. A white hanky was pinned to her shirt by the boobs. She wore blue rubber shoes and spotless white socks. Chemolel simply looked piquant!

We just sat there staring at her.

She blew her whistle and jumped about, just a taste of what to come. The crowd was agog. Her escort, a   younger girl (non-initiate who accompanied her on the dance) stepped on the arena, whistle in mouth, and dared her for a dance. They sized each other like two fighting cocks, dancing around each other. The crowd cheered. People nudged each other and started talking about her delectable dance moves.

Whoa! Whoa! They were just testing the costumes. The man responsible for dressing her (in most cases a man who will eventually marry her) ushered her to stop and made a few adjustments. Assured that all was working, he gave her the go-ahead to do the dance proper.

By mabwaita, where a fire was lit as usual, the initiate made a few rounds of dancing. All was quiet except the music made from her jingles, jumping and the whistle. Her steps were bewitching. Music in the house was stopped. Men and women streamed out, holding tins of beers. All were excited. They danced around Chemolel saying: “sing baby sing!”

It is getting dark. The monkeys in the hill of Arap Sigei are yapping kiauu! In quick succession. The echoes reverberate all over the ridge. I imagined they were cheering the dance too and felt sad that nightfall will cut them off the action. The crowd is numbering close to two hundred people now, all are seated.

Her companion steps into the arena. A dance of leaping and claapping thighs ensues. No singing yet. It is like a mime with a whistle and the thud thud of steps as accompaniment.  They dance round Chemolel’s mom, around her dad and finally round the shrine.

 It is some minutes past 7 PM. The monkeys are quiet in the hill. I am grateful to be human!

 A brief consultation between the initiate and her companion. (Unlike boys, girls have a dance routine that took months of rehearsing. They also learn old songs as well compose their own.) After consultation, they blew whistles and danced to different directions, they then danced round in a circle making to catch each other yet evading contact whenever they got close. They then danced back to the center where Chemolel pelts out the classic song ‘sarah sarah’:

Initiate: Sarah Sarah oh Sarah non chebo Mosoin oh Sarah (Sarah oh Sarah the daughter of Mosoin)

Crowd: Sarah Sarah oh Sarah non chebo Mosoin oh Sarah

Initiate: amose che u buch sarah ko nyolji koinyon oh sarah (I will pass the circumcision easily as befit our home)

Crowd: Sarah Sarah oh Sarah non chebo Mosoin oh Sarah

Initiate: amose che u buch sarah sindanut ak usit oh sarah (I will make minced meat of it like sewing with a needle and thread)

Crowd: Sarah Sarah oh Sarah non chebo Mosoin oh Sarah

Initiate: kibire che u buch sarah ye rorwech kebwan gaa oh sarah (we will pass it like it is nothing but if it is not equal to us we just come home)

Crowd: Sarah Sarah oh Sarah non chebo Mosoin oh Sarah

At this juncture, spectators are on their feet, some are swaying while others are jumping in tandem with Chemolel. Chemolel’s mother assumes the role of soloist. Chemolel dances around her and sings the chorus with the rest.

Soloist: tun iwe Chemolel sarah, tun iwe Chemolel sarah konyolchi koinyon o sarah

Crowd: Sarah Sarah oh Sarah non chebo Mosoin oh Sarah

Soloist: mebarte mamang’ung sarah koriran en chepkomon oh sarah oh (don’t betray your mom and make her cry along the hedge towards home in shame)

Crowd: Sarah Sarah oh Sarah non chebo Mosoin oh Sarah

Soloist: ak tun iwe cherukwen sarah ak iwe cherukwen sarah kwa kekas en Cheboyo sarah oh( may you pass you middle born till it is heard afar in Cheboyo)

Crowd: Sarah Sarah oh Sarah no chebo Mosoin oh Sarah

Chemolel’s mom is overcome with emotions and burst into tears leaving the scene. Chemolel is sweating and she wipes her face with her white hanky. Men are screaming and brandishing swords menacingly. The crowd press close to Chemolel but a man threatens them with a whip shouting sois! Sois!  (Meaning ‘space’)

Chemolel and her companion entertain the crowd with flutes as they take a breather.  The crowd, many of whom are drunk rock to the tune. Drunken mothers with hapless babies jump around tossing the otherwise would- be- asleep babies up and down. Chemolel decided to pelt another song, a classic called Kabindegei ‘airplane’. (This song was composed by a woman who was awed by a scene of an airplane spraying tea bushes in Kericho- a 70 kilometer journey from our village.)

Chemolel: Kabindegei ie oee robonchin chai, elego lolego, elego lolege, lolego iee! (oh aeroplane raining on the tea bushes…)

Crowd: Kabindegei ie oee robonchin chai, iee

Chemolel: kibire cheu buch, kibire che u buch tangoitab kobtige iee ( we will pass that small issue of women holding each other- girls are circumcised one holding the other)

Crowd: Kabindegei ie oee robonchin chai, iee

The song goes all the way to a climax. This is the best song for a dance and Chemolel wows everybody with her steps.( How an initiate sings and dances is not just entertainment on her part. It is used to weigh who can make a good wife. Women use this opportunity to scout wives for their sons. The sulky and reluctant are struck off the list of possible brides. The cheery and passionate are recommended and thereafter a race to win her heart and her mom’s assent begins in earnest.)

Tired, the initiate is brought for soda to quench her thirst. Another song, ‘teigot inye johana ak iwe Kericho’ – ‘just build your house Johana and leave for Kericho’. This song is a figurative advice to a man to make sure that her newly-wed has conceived before he leaves for work in the distant town of Kericho.

The fourth song is the most dramatic of them all. It is called kete ng’o garit?  -‘Who rides the vehicle’?  The crowd is very interested in knowing who will eventually marry the initiate after she graduates. So they will ask her in a song who ‘rides the vehicle’? The initiate employs all diversionary tactics to evade the question by giving indirect answers. Finally when the crowd becomes intransigent, she would name the lucky husband-to-be.

Soloist: kete ng’o karit kete ng’o kwandap malakwen kete ng’o? (who rides the vehicle or is it the father of Malakwen?- read anybody)

Initiate: kete ng’o karit kete ng’o kwandap malakwen kete ng’o?

Soloist: kete ng’o karit kete ng’o kete sonjoek kete ng’o? (who rides the vehicle or is it just crazy men?)

Initiate: Kete ng’o karit kete ng’o kete murenik, kete ng’o( it is the men who rides the vehicle)

Soloist: kete ng’o karit kete ng’o kwandap malakwen kete ng’o?

Initiate: kete ng’o karit kete ng’o kete Christopher kete ng’o (Christopher rides the vehicle)

At last the initiate has mentioned her boyfriend and the crowd goes wild with jubilation for the lucky guy. Christopher jumps and yells uncontrollably. From now on, he stands as a bodyguard to the initiate.

The song and dance continues at Kap Pewa as we leave for other homes. The motive is to see as many dances as possible. This appetite is fed by the curiosity to see the different costumes worn by different initiates, the different dance styles and hear new tunes. The dances would be the rave of the village for weeks to come.

It is raining but we are not deterred. We fall and pick ourselves up in the muddy tracks leading to various homes. The scripts are the same save for the actors and nuances of styles.

At Arap Korir, earlier billed as the hottest dance of the night, the twins are in a fierce competition. The crowd is the biggest I have ever seen and more excited than in a rock concert. You could not differentiate the young from the old; everybody was on their feet, singing, dancing, jumping or just swaying to the songs. One of the twins, Chebet is a stiff dancer but a good lyricist. She drives the crowd to tears with one composition after the other. She sung and the crowd danced. It was difficult to notice that she was a poor dancer for she everybody dance for her with her soothing voice.

Cherono, the other twin was such a good dancer she stole everybody’s heart. Her incandescent eyes warmed my heart as she jumped from one spot to the next. She could not sing much but her emotions showed from the movement of her body. I was moved to tears without knowing, just by staring at her. I turned to the people standing around me and all were either wiping tears or struggling to contain them.

The crowd was lost as to who was the girl of the night between the two. Their act was talked for many years to come. It became part of the village lore and to date, the jury is still out as to which twin won that night. They are old mothers nowadays. If it was a vote, I would have simply opted to abstain.

 We left them competing.

We set off for the distant hills of Takitech for more dances. At Kap Robon, we found the initiate being oiled (kailet) as a way of blessing. Next, a gramophone was brought out. A record was played for her to dance with her mom and dad. The dance was such a spectacle the crowd went wild. Shhhh!  I see mom with little baby sister Zeddy on her back! We melted into thin air like thieves in case she would ask us to go home or reprimand us for one thing or another. What a lucky escape!

At Kamusanya, we just sat on the steps as we watched Chepkoech sing her heart out. Here, it was different because her long term boyfriend was present and was dancing with her. She brought out some cigarettes and lighted one for him. She sung her own composition called achomin we kimolel- ‘I love you fair skinned man’ as he smoked and blew smoke on her.  

We sat in a vantage place and watched them perform their ballad. Since this was to be the home of robet , where all the girl initiates would showcase their final dance of their childhood, we shifted our position and made ourselves comfy perched in the cold branches of a tree nearby. We knew there would be thousands upon thousands of spectators and our short necks stood no chance of a glimpse of the action in those circumstances. In case anybody had missed a chance to watch a girl dance in her home because of distance or time, then that was the place to catch up with her. That accounts for the mammoth crowd.

It reached that time again when Chepkoech had to be seated and lectured on courage, family honor and on the disgrace that will befell the family if she even dared move her eyeball during the circumcision.

The drama was just the same as boys. The threats were the same too. Men and women talked and cried. Tempers flared, emotions rose.

From a distance I heard whistles and yells and jingles. From our viewpoint, we could see so many lights approaching. I knew what was about to happen. That time of electrifying magic, the apogee of the night: girls dance night finale. The jingles and whistles got nearer and nearer.

One initiate arrived with a lot of fanfare. Men accompanying were dressed in shorts and funky headgears, they all carried drawn swords. Their girl stepped into the arena. Chepkoech approached her and danced with her, blowing whistles. The two danced round and round as the men accompanying her competed in jumping with those they had found in the compound. I was spoilt for choice as to what to watch; the real show or the sideshow?

 Many initiates arrived to be received by the ones who arrived earlier in the same version.

Our girl Chemolel arrived and we yelled and shook the branches we were seated on to everybody’s surprise. Nobody had noticed us up there. Chemolel danced to the bottom of the tree and we sang alongside her atop the tree shaking the branches as accompaniment. I feared I would fall. We threw leaves at her and added to her costumes. The whole crowd watched, cheered and we stole the show. Kipsang was happy for he had inadvertently bid goodbye to her childhood sweetheart in an unprecedented performance.

Christopher, who was to marry her, jumped hurting his head with the branches that overarched to where he was standing. His head was bleeding but he didn’t stop. He jumped yelling and saying ‘simit mbel!’-( cement and slippers!- cemented houses were rare and it was said in cemented homes, people put on slippers. Christopher was alluding to the fact that his girl was high class)

Men picked quarrels in the crowd and fought each other but nobody had time for such. All they did was admire the bevy of beautiful girls dancing and competing in the arena. The best dancers stood out though it was not easy in a crowd of fifty plus girls.

This was the peak of the night! As a final act, two girls were picked at a time to dance on the arena as the others sat and watched. The crowd would divide and cheer their best, a stampede would ensue and people would fall and roll on the red cake of mud, they didn’t leave however muddied.

It is 3 AM.

The initiates have to leave. From here onwards, it was then a women’s affair. They danced round mabwaita three times (NB:  boys go round it four times) and left blowing their whistles till they faded into the distance. Women yelled too and shouted vulgar words directed at men, they were fully in charge here. No man in sight. They would resurface later at tatwet –circumcision field. At the cries of kang’u kwanda- ‘the father is smelling’, men would run to join them and witness the initiates get circumcised.

We climb down the tree and remained to enjoy the fire by the shrine. I didn’t notice what time I slept. I just woke up to see my jacket burning, oh God! I removed it, doused off the fire and woke my friends up.

The sounds of ariririiiiiiiiiiiii! were all over again. It was a sign that all the girls have triumphed the circumcision ordeal. We made for Arap Rob, for the third and last day of celebrations before the lashings from happy mothers with korosiot could get us.

It is 6 AM.

We take the path that runs along the hill to a breakfast of roast beef and tea in Rebeccas’s kitchen. The revelers seated in the party house were as drunk as we had left them the evening before. Some were sipping beer from straws, others from tins; others were asleep in their seats.

We ate with relish. I was tired but again wishing that the ceremonies would not end. This was to be the last day for me as an official visitor to Arap Rob. There were still many homes that were to initiate their children the following week but mom would not allow us to attend them uninvited.

After lunch of more fried beef ugali and mursik (sour milk added fine black coal), the music was ordered stopped and it was time for visitors to bid farewell (rotet). I was seated in a corner for I was there in place of my mom and dad who had gone to other homes to do the same too.

The father of the house Mr. Haraka, Up! Thanked all the visitors who made it to his house. James’s mother did the same. Next was the guest of honor. The modus operandi was you said your name, your clan and the clan of your mom. Next you explain why you attended the ceremony in the first place. After that, you gave out money, a goat or a cow as a way of appreciation for the reception.

My turn arrived:  “My name is Alfred Kiprotich son of David Barusei, of the Kilachei family, my clan (oret) is Kipcheromek and my mom’s clan (anue) Kapsigilaek. I am here on behalf on my family who were officially invited via a letter and a word of mouth. I have brought a goat as a sign of appreciation of your warm reception. We have had fun and we were well received. Thank you so much ak tun ketuitosi kou ra.( may we meet again in the same happy circumstances!)

When you have finished your rotet, you are served with roast meat and a kettle of beer. Here at rotet, however young you are, you are treated as your parents would have been treated.

The full introduction serve the purpose of getting acquainted with visitors from far off places. By the time you are done introducing yourself, somebody would declare you as his clans-mate or in-law or a distant relative.

It is 5 PM.

The celebration is officially over. Visitors from afar can stay for the night while those nearby like me leave. Rebecca gives me a piece of meat in a bowl to take home to mom. I descend the hill for home with my dog John Boss behind me. At home, I hit the sack to wake up the following day with a throbbing headache, hangover and fatigue. Off to the grazing fields was the next task awaiting me.

We meet again the next year!

Memories of an African Childhood: Night of the Dance

At long last, this is it! The long awaited day is finally here. I am quite beside myself with joy and elation. On my right hand, I am clutching a club, a sword dangles from my waist and a big torch bulges from my coat pocket. I am dressed as snuggly as my ‘wardrobe’ would allow. I check my packet of Crown Bird cigarettes in my breast pocket, oh ok, good, it is there. Ouch! My tire sandals are a bit too tight but I will survive.

The sun is a lazy orange in the western horizon of Gele Gele hills. Swallows are swirling in the sky, and kites are enjoying themselves balancing their wings in the windy sky. It’s a sign that it will rain. It always does whenever there are circumcision ceremonies in our village. All in all, it is a beautiful evening.

The moos of cows fill the air. It is only 5.30 PM yet they have been shut up in the barn. They are protesting the new development. Unlike cows, dogs are happy. Some unfortunate cows have had a date with the slaughter knife. Every home with an initiate is today an abattoir; dogs have had their fill of blood and meat.  That is why they are barking excitedly. Our dog John Boss is lazy today but a friendly jolt on its ribs with my kick is enough to tell him that it is time to go.

Stepping on the road, Kisii women, our neighboring tribe, are hurrying home. Oh! I have just remembered, it was a market day in Ndanai today! Each is carrying stuff, balanced on their heads. They are talking incessantly as usual. They are not attending our ceremonies for they don’t belong with us. Alas! I pity them.

I am with my brothers Alois and Leonard, and a neighbor Tilang Kendu. We cross the road and head to Arap Rob. Here, our older playmate James is an initiate. Past the tall trees, standing on the hill, people milling around talking in excited voices, is their home. We are half-walking and half-running. Soon, we are there.

 Kipsang, his younger brother and a buddy of ours is there to receive us. We look for James and we find him seated behind their house having his hair shaved. This time round, he is quiet and uncommunicative, he evades my gaze. He is dressed in the usual blue shorts- white shirt - blue sweater Rotik Primary School uniform; our school.

People are all over. Some are visitors looking dapper in brand new clothes; others are nearby relations of James. There are too many people. Visitors and hosts are talking and hugging and laughing in small groups. It is such a happy reunion. Some are drinking tea in cups, some are eating roasted beef, men are holding tins, sipping beer. Gaiety is the byword. 

(This is the night of the dance (betutab tien). Remember it is a Friday. A day for visitors to arrive and this is the day that the initiate is sung and danced for. Girls have theirs on Saturday. This night is just foreplay, the biggest party is reserved for the following day when the initiate has been circumcised and has displayed courage.  ‘Beer of the circumcision’ ‘maiywekab banda’) is served on this day.)

With Kipsang, we assist James in tying up the lanky pliant plants (korosek) into fours with sinendet strings; a  process called ‘keta korosek’ . Sinendet are tendrils that grow wild in the forest. They signify vigor, life, health and virility, for it is always lush green and its sap is milky, like real milk.( Milk is sacred in our culture) With guidance from Kimolel, James’s elder brother we tied up so many. ( The initiate holds one bunch throughout the night, to be returned by his mom and placed on the roof after the initiate has been circumcised. Close family members carry the rest throughout the night. They are long and are used for celebrating when an initiate triumphs the circumcision ordeal. People lash each other with them in a fit of wild celebrations. After celebration, they are thrown to the roof, as a sign that the initiate was brave and passed the circumcision test.)

 Done with that, we are brought for tea by Rebecca, James mom. She recognizes us for we are close neighbors besides being a close friend of my mom. (My mom could be assisting in the kitchen as she sipped her beer. She does not bother much with us today, as long as we managed to shut all the cows in the barn. It was a day of freedom!)

A thick smoke is pillowing out of the makeshift kitchen. The cooks are rivaling it with smoke from their own cigarettes as they make tea and heat water for diluting beer.

The track chebet makora( Chebet the sly girl), the hit of the year, makes us leave our tea and dash into the house for a dance. Men, women and children all dance in various styles. The better dancers gyrate their hips, the wacky dancers make faces and twist their hands, the worst just jump not knowing how else to respond to the bewitching music.

When you stand on the yard, facing the door of the house, to your right has been made a shrine: some bushy tree branches of chorwet, emitiot and tebeswet, firmly fixed on the ground and tied together with sinendet, to look like a leafy little bush. It is called mabwaita. A revered place in our culture. All cultural ceremonies are conducted around it.   We place some of the korosek we were tying here,  leaning on one side of mabwaita.

A fire is lit near mabwaita to make it complete. Fire enjoys a revered place in our culture too. It signifies life and potency. This fire will burn here for the rest of the night, when the singing is over, some embers is returned back to the house.

 Omwai and Philiph Kap Sixtin are lighting the pressure lamps. It is falling dark. We sit by to play with the refractions of our faces on the shiny tank of the pressure lamp.  We pop our eyes, push our tongues out and marvel at the caricatures made. Soon the pressure lamps are working.  One is taken inside the house while another remains with us.

It is approaching 7 PM.  Arap Rob, otherwise known as “Haraka, up!”( his signature phrase meaning- fast up!)  a respected rich old man who is also a motiriot, ( a person who initiates) come out and say ‘’haraka, up!’’.Everybody is at attention. He summons his elder son Mista and tell him to get James ready for the ceremony.

James is wrapped in a blanket and is holding a bunch of korosek, like a bridegroom. He is summoned to stand by mabwaita next to the fire. Everybody in the house is summoned; it is time the singing begins. I too move closer to the action.

Men, old men, women and children form a circle round mabwaita, with James standing in the middle. Still and quiet.  Mr. Sirma, tipsy with his eyes popping out, holding a big tin of beer, gave out a yell and calls out the circumcision song.

(Nb: James will be referred to as Cheruiyot in the song, his maiden name; the song is meant to embolden the initiate to face circumcision with courage. He doesn’t know what circumcision entails, boys were told one’s penis is burnt with a burning rod but none knew it for sure. It remained a secret till when you have passed through. Circumcision is a test of one’s endurance and valor.  Those who cry during circumcision become outcasts and are subsequently excommunicated. They neither can marry nor associate with fellow men. Most committed suicide. They are referred to as Kipitee(-cry baby- if it is a boy, and Chebitee- if it is a girl. They bring shame, ridicule and disgrace to his/her parents and the whole clan. In the past, fathers used to kill their sons who cried. Parents are always anxious when their kids are undergoing circumcision)                                           

Meanwhile, the singing has picked tempo:                  

Soloist:  Oelego lolegoo eei; Oelego lolegoo lolegoo ( oleggo lolegoo is just a refrain with no particular meaning)                       

Chorus: elegoo  lolegoo!                     

            

            Soloist: oelego tun iwe, oelego ok tun iwe o Cheruiyot (May you triumph, may you triumph Cheruiyot)

Chorus: elego lolegoo

(Women hum uuum uuum along the soloist as they shake their heads, rap their behinds while others rap their thighs in rhythmical formula as they move round mabwaita stumping their feet in anticlockwise slow motion while facing the initiate. The men occasionally yell, while others clap their hands. James ( Cheruiyot) stands still, doesn’t sing nor move, he clutches his korosek to his chest)

Soloist: ak tun iwe we laktatich oo, ak tun iwe o ng’etai (may you triumph you who has left his herd, may you triumph you uncircumcised boy)

Chorus: elego lolegoo!

(Another soloist joins in, this time James mom)

Soloist: ak tun iwe werinyun, ak tun iwe nebo man (may you triumph my dear son, may you really triumph)

(James mom is overwhelmed by emotion and sobs, she continues)

Chorus: elego lolegoo!

Soloist: ak tun iwe werinyun, ak tun iwe ba kogas komet en Londiani ne monyo( may you triumph my son, triumph that your step-mom who is far away in Londiani hears it)

Chorus: elego lolegoo!

Soloist:  ak iibu resiondet eee, Ak iibu resiondet konyo kaa (bring honor to this home, please bring honor to this home)

(James mom is now totally overcome by emotion makes to hit James with a cooking stick she was holding –she was from the kitchen cooking. She is restrained by other women and held down. Singing stops. She bits her lower lip, points at James and tells him amidst sobs not to shame her for his father will think it is her family that has the genes of cowards. She collapses at this instant and is taken away. Women could be heard telling her to be quiet and that James will triumph. Singing resumes. James sister is the new soloist.)

Soloist: Eelego lolegoo eeh, oe lego lolego lolego ne kitupche ( ne kitupche is ‘my sibling)

Chorus: Eelego lolegoo!

Soloist: ak ikoite bortang’ung ee, ak ikoite bortang’ung kesilun (give out your body to be scratched)

Chorus: elego lolegoo!

Soloist: ak ikoite kesilun ee, ko nekong’et ko neng’ung ak inye (give out your body to be scratched, whatever remains is yours)

Chorus: elegoo lolegoo!

Soloist: negong’et ko neng’ung eeh, si amen bendo mi butegut (what remains is yours, so you may eat some hairy meat with it-read sex with mature girls spotting pubic hairs)

Chorus: elego lolegoo!

Soloist: ametiar boiyondet eeh, ametiar boiyondet kwam teget (don’t kick the old man-read circumciser- and hurt his chest)

Chorus: elego lolego!

Soloist: amelenji kutkutwet eeh, omelenji kutkutwet tektatan( don’t tell a shrub hide me)

Chorus: elego lolegoo!

Soloist: omelenji tektatan eh, le kotait koinyon lole mat (don’t tell a shrub hide me, till I reach our home where some fire is glowing)

(Different soloists may join in, even boys, girls, anybody. The initiate just stands still. Women may taunt him to say something but men had earlier instructed him not to. This is the last day he will ever see a woman at a close range for the next one month and the last he will speak to one for the next two or three months)

Soloist: ameigu kiluch met eee, ameigu kiluch met en tatwa! (Don’t be the one to be hit on the head to be calm at tatwa -the circumcision field)

Chorus: elego lolegoo!

Soloist: ameigu rocharoch ee, ameigu rocha roch en tatwa (don’t be a disgrace at the circumcision field)

Chorus: elego lolegoo!

Soloist: angot igose memuche ee, angot komemuche iwe Kisumu (if you are feeling not equal to the task, then go to Kisumu- Kisumu is the town of the Luo tribe who don’t practice circumcision)

Chorus: elego lolegoo!

Soloist:  ole iwe Kisumu oo, iwe olimbo kap chematui( I say you go to Kisumu, the land of Mr and Mrs black- Luos  are predominantly dark in color)

Chorus: elegoo lolegoo!

Soloist:  ak iwe itun chematui, iwe itun chematui ak itebi (and go marry a black Luo girl, and stay there)

Chorus: elegoo lolegoo!

Soloist: amekender babang’ung ee, amekender babang’ung kipsise( don’t disgrace your father, don’t disgrace your quiet father)

Chorus: elego lolegoo!

Soloist: le kokerin I lebel o, le kokerin I lebel kou nusut (I have observed and you look flat, like a one shilling coin- meaning stupid)

Chorus: elego lolegoo!

Soloist: ameigu rop keter ee, ameigu rop keter cheringis (don’t be a person who moves round the house like a lizard-read an abashed coward who hides from people)

The singing goes on and on, then come an exclusive time for men and old men to get a piece of skin, surround it, each holding it with his left hand, the initiate too holds it with his left hand as he clutches korosiot  in his right hand. They then hit the skin with clubs in a slow rhythm of ‘traap’ ‘traap’… as they move round the mabwaita stumping their left feet as they sing a song called chepkeitilet. They beat the piece of skin to smithereens, yelling and singing. Drunk but un-forgetting their roles.)

The song goes thus:

Soloist: kichome echek tumi nyon is eee, tumi nyon manai lim ( we love our culture, our culture that is unknown to Luos)

Chorus: ahaiya ahaiya !

Soloist: Kilenji nee ng’etai is eee, kilenjini tun iwe( what do we tell this young boy, we tell him may you pass)

Chorus: ahaiya ahaiya!

Soloist: mobo chamet inguni we ng’etai is eee, bo chamet kariron!( the action is not now, the action is tomorrow at dawn!)

Chorus: ahaiya ahaiya!

Soloist: kibo bikab mourmo is eee, urmindet en mestet (we belong to the people of ‘not a calf bleating’ but a trapped eland bleating- this describes our clan who are former hunters and gatherers as compared to cattle keepers)

Chorus: ahaiya ahaiya!

Soloist: kichome echek long’enyon is ee lule, long’enyon makitil( we love our shield, our shield that is never cut)

Chorus: ahaiya ahaiya!

Soloist: meen achoun Rotik gaa is ee weri, lal boriet subui( I sing for our Rotik, Rotik where war breaks out at dawn- Our village was prone to inter-ethnic conflicts which flared at dawn)

Chorus: ahaiya ahaiya!

Soloist: kisole echek Nandiekyok is eee, Nandiekyok teben koi (I praise our Nandis, our Nandis who sit upon stones- Nandi is an ethnic community related to ours who are soothsayers and are said to sit only upon stones)

Chorus:  ahaiya ahaiyaa!

The singing goes on and on. It is around 9 PM now. James is brought a seat.  I and his younger brother are brought seats close to him. Music is fever pitch inside the house. There is a hit called “kitot kobaran” ‘’it almost killed me’ by Tumbalal arap Sang. People are driven wild by it. The stumping of feet is almost drowning the music.

Ugali is brought on a flat piece of leather called ‘kibereita’ alongside fresh milk with wosek( black coal) in a beaded calabash. Mista break a small stick from mabwaita and cut ugali with it and shared it amongst us.

Milk is poured to the three of us and we eat together as a sign of farewell to James. I eat a little, excitement taking a toll on my appetite. James eats a little, trepidation of what is ahead taking the better part of his appetite. Soon we are done.

The next thing, his father, mother, uncles and brothers are summoned. It is time to bless him. A ceremony called kailet- direct translation is ‘to oil’. A cream is brought in a cow-horn called lalet. His father scoops a little cream in both hands and applies on his cheeks, shoulders, and legs. He tells James to be courageous as he does so. He smears the remaining on his own head. His mom steps forward and does the same. His uncle follows then his brothers and lastly his sisters. He sits down to rest after that.

Soon some new singers will come to sing to him. James stands up holding his korosiot to his bosom like a treasured possession.

Our role done; it is time we explore other homes where there are other initiates. It is also time to scout around for girls. A fling was easy to come by during this season than any other. Excitement make girls loosen up a bit. In any case, if you had seduced a girl in January, they gave you a date for December. Like tax collectors, we went round asking girls to make good their promise. The best formula was to waylay them like foxes as they went about their chores in the dark. Cherotich, my cousin, played an effective go-between and hooked me up with a visitor. A privilege that would be talked about for the next half year.  The rest is too graphic for this book! 

With a bunch of unruly boys and a few girls, we lit our cigarettes and flashed our torches on to the path that passes through the hill; through Arap Suge, and Arap Cheruiyot to Kap Kirei. Here our other friend Kipkurui is the initiate, we found him standing by mabwaita, women singing to him. We joined them in elego lolegoo.   

His younger brother Tumbalal sneaked us to a store where beer was kept.  On tip toes to crawling, we slither into the store through a missing plank on the belly of the raised store. It was not easy for a fat boy like me but I could not afford to miss out.  Glad to have made it, I sat to regain my breath as my two friends sat devising means of drinking the beer. You know, the beer was in large pots with narrow brims. There was no cup or tins around. Luckily, there was some beer placed in a large pan. The potent alcohol in the brew was making the beer surface bubble, burst and froth. We simply went down on our knees around the pan and took large swigs, like animals do in the dam. Wow! It tasted good. I felt a burning sensation in my stomach and a warming sensation in my head. My forehead felt numb!  The pan is halfway now, time to leave it alone.

 We went inside the house and danced mad. What with alcohol mixing with our young blood! We yelled and danced like deranged kids. In the din that was the party in that house, nobody could tell what was normal or abnormal that day. Dust just rose from the earthen floor. The ‘DJ’ who sat in a corner by his gramophone watched us nodding his head, sometimes wiping his records and taking occasional requests.  At intervals, he sipped his beer in a big cup, a kettle that served as his beer reservoir sat securely beneath his armchair. A ‘DJ’ enjoyed such an important place in those kinds of parties. I danced watching my shadow dance on the wall too. Am I drunk or am I?

Thirty minutes or so later, we decided we have had enough of that house. I was sweating profusely, the beer in my veins making me hot. It is called the right party mode!

We took the footpath along the hill, this time careful to light the path with my torch; I am missing some steps on the way. Hiccups! What a tipsy boy! The next journey will take us to one other friend’s home, Julius, an initiate too.

If you glanced to your right as you walked along the hill, the lights in the not so distant hills of Kiptenden was a sign enough that parties too were spread across the homes in the hill. I could make out Kap Chelel, Kap Jacob and Kap Nyasaiga…I could see grotesque shadows moving in the lighted clearings. I hankered to go there too but it was too long a shot for one night. I just wished that life was one long party, one home a day starting with ours and on and on. We would be pilgrims of Bacchus, travelling to strange unknown lands, but welcomed nonetheless with music, beer, sumptuous food and scrumptious girls. No schools, no work, no herding…I recovered from this reverie to find myself in Kap Sixtin, Julius’s home.

 Here, the music was dead. Everybody, at least the adults, were in and seated. It was time for pep talks- ‘cheret’-to the initiate. We were late for the music but not for the drama. Cheret is a drama piece you won’t ever see anything close to it. It is poetic as it is philosophical, punctuated with theater of flailing arms, flaring fits of anger, steaming sweat, bubbling tears and even swooning.

 Julius was seated in a corner, with korosiot held to his chest. The cream that had been applied on his face and shoulders were the only things that were shining. The erstwhile cheeky and exuberant Julius was now quiet, observant and earnest.

His father was talking. “In our family, we don’t give birth to cowards. We are men of character and valor. If you want to be the first, if you will weep and bring disgrace to this family, then you better tell us here and now. We are not people of many words, we leave that to women. Julius, look at me and look at me good. I was circumcised at 3 AM in Romocha, with my mom here seeing. Ask her if I even batted an eyelid. I passed like a man.  I am your dad and I would rather die than see any of my children disgrace me. I have said enough. I am giving you a cow so that when you come out a man, you sell it for your education. If you weep and come out a coward, you sell it for your fare to Kisumu, the land of uncircumcised boys.”

One speaker after the other, speeches were almost similar. Men and women would cry. Some old man broke his walking stick in a fit of anger. Another decided to leave for his home, more than 20 kilometers away, rather than wait to go the following day in humiliation. Julius’s maternal grandmother was choked by words trying to tell him not to embarrass his quiet mother for fingers would be pointed at her direction as the source of the genes of cowardice. Julius’s uncle tore off his shirt to reveal a sweating hairy chest. He swore before Julius that he would drown the following day if he cried. Julius’s auntie grabbed Julius and almost bit him before she was restrained. Julius grandpa bit his own palm as he stressed a point and bled, he had to be given first aid.

Whoever talked to Julius gave him money, through his mother, so that if he came out successfully, he uses it for education. If not, then for his fare out of the land of Kipsigis to Kisumu.

Indeed, weeping during circumcision was such a disgrace. A boy who once cried hanged himself to spare himself the humiliation and scorn, to himself and his parents. The stigma associated with it stuck for the rest of your life. In fact you would not even get a suitor for marriage, unless a fellow chebite. Not even a moron of a mad woman would agree to marry you.

 When they were satisfied they have talked enough to Julius, a record was played, for his mom, dad and siblings to dance their goodbyes to him for the next one month. It was fun seeing his parents compete in a dance. Everybody laughed. With that, it was time to accompany Julius to where he was to be cooked for as he stayed in menjo -makeshift house in the bush- for a month. (A family volunteered to feed the initiates for the entire period of initiation to be paid a cow by the parents of each of the initiates)

We therefore set off across the hill to a village called Takitech, two Kilometers of bush and rugged terrain away. Two pressure lamps let the way. Men surrounded Julius like bodyguards, yelling at the top of their voices. (The amount of shouting and screaming accompanying circumcision ceremonies are such high decibels, by the time it is over, people can hardly talk. ) Women brought up the rear with hurricane lamps. Men jumped like wild dogs, drunk, some just excited. The pace was punishing, I had to run to keep up.

When we got there, other initiates who were to be Julius colleagues in that menjo were already there. We were received with yells and jumping, we yelled back. A competition of which party could shout the loudest ensued. Ours was louder for we even had dogs that joined us.

I think it would be 1 AM if I had a watch. I don’t but schools are closed so who care about time?

The ceremony that awaited us was simple, the initiates to be blessed by way of oiling with milk cream in a lalet like it was done in their real homes. They were then given milk to drink in one calabash, passed from one initiate to the next.   A brief session of olego lolegoo followed. After that, we set off again to where all the initiates of the village were to be lined up. The home will be of one of the initiates whose father was the oldest. That fell in Kap Kirei ; Kipkurui’s home where we had earlier drank beer.

We went back through the path in the hill to Kap Kirei for robet, meaning simply lining up the initiates in order of whose father was the oldest being placed in front, and the second oldest at the rear. The rest just lined in the middle with no particular order. The one in front is called kiboretiet, (one who shows the way)and the one that brought up the rear is called koumgo (one guarding the rear ).

At robet, the initiator, (motiriot) and ‘the blesser of ceremonies’ ( kibisio) received the initiates, order them and led everybody in singing olego lolegoo. The father of the home and the mother will bless all the initiates at the shrine (mabwaa) .motiriot and kibisio and their apprentices are blessed alongside the initiates. Unlike the initiates, the two are resplendent in beaded cow skins and beaded head gears.

There are around a thousand spectators, and dozens of pressure lamps. The din is unimaginable; music is loud inside the house. I am looking for James, I spot him standing in the middle of the initiates, quiet and still holding his korosiot to his chest. All of them do.

The initiator calls for attention. All are quiet. “ Haraka, Up! Now, all the initiates have become mine from this minute. The mothers of the initiates, we meet at 4 AM in the various menjo (s) of the initiates to witness circumcision. That’s that.” The initiates are ordered to go round the shrine four times led by kiboretiet and then file out to the path to a place we young boys and women were not to know, simply referred to as kotab tumin- house of the ceremony. That was where they were to undergo their first rituals. That was the last I was to see of James and co. for the next one month. And the last I was ever to relate with them as close friends till after my own circumcision. Boys hardly mix with men in our culture.

We started the journey back to James’s home. More music and tea for us; more music and beer for the rest.  It is around 2 AM.

With the first shouts of kang’uu kamet - ‘mother is smelling’, circumcised women leave to the various menjo to witness their sons and brothers being circumcised. I am not qualified, so I wait. It is now 4 am. We are yet to sleep. I doze off in a chair, what of two days without a wink!

I am woken up by ululations of aririririiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! kongoi James! (Thank you James!) That meant James had passed his circumcision with courage. Everybody is elated. The music from the gramophone is drowned.  Everybody is shouting aririririiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, kongoi james. His mother and sisters bust into the house ululating, jumping and beating everybody on sight with her korosiot . Those who had dozed off in the seats and even the bedroom were beaten and told to ululate. The korosiot (s) in the shrine were collected and free-for-all lashings broke out. People chased each other, women and men, ululating, splashing beer and beating each other up. Aririiiiiiiii ariririririririiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii kongoi  james rung everywhere in the compound. It was a sight to behold!

We kids jumped and did our aririririiiiiiiiiiiii in soprano. I was genuinely happy for my pal James .

Neighbors who had earlier gone home to sleep were woken up. All of a sudden, people were running from all directions to James home with shouts of ariririiiiiiiiiiiiii! to be greeted with more shouts of aririririiiiiiiiii!! from the ones who were already in the home. Every new arrival collected each a korosiot from mabwaita  and more fierce lashings ensued. All you heard was Ariririiiiiiiiiiiiii! Kongoi James, kongoi  lakwetab karap Rob, kongoi ne koti kot konyol, kongoi nyiganet, kongi weritab Kap mochoek…( Thank you James, thank you son of Arap Rob, thank you for you have displayed courage, thank you brave man, son of Mocho clan…)

The ululations extended to praise for James’s mom, his dad, our village and anything that could relate to James’s triumph.

Men rush to the barn and brought with them a big bull for slaughter. The party would have officially started. Beer, called maiywekab simet- beer of ululations- was served in and out of the house in copious quantities. (If James would have cried, no party would have taken place. No cow would have been slaughtered. Visitors would have gone back to their homes, heads bowed in sorrow and humiliation. The shrine (mabwaita) would have been uprooted and thrown far away. Beer would have been poured to the grass.)

Tea is served but only a few people are in the mood for tea, the appetite key is on beer mode. Sporadic ululations here and there. Drunkards stagger and mutter incomprehensible things to everybody and nobody in particular.

Kids are brought for beer called musarek,( with little alcoholic content). It is sweet but you would have to take several gallons before you could get tipsy.

Inside the house, a hole was being dug in the middle of the house by the father of the house. A large pot full of beer was placed in the hole. Long straws were distributed to the old men in the house to sip beer with. No woman sips beer with a straw though. In case one would want to, she would kneel down and borrow an old man and sip a little from his straw. So do us kids.

At the brim of the pot is tied the sacred sinendet plants around it- symbolizes health and wellbeing. At the bottom of the pot where it makes contact with the floor, is placed round a dug-out earth with lush green grass- shows health and wellbeing. A woman kneels when adding more beer on the pot as a sign of respect to the beer and the men partaking of it.

The order of sitting in the house is never haphazard. To start with, only invited guests get to sit in the house. On the right side of the doorstep, seated on a leather armchair, will be the most important guest of the ceremony. A close friend of the family or a relation, a man of respect, sometimes a circumcision mate (botum) of the father of the home. No woman ever assumes the role though. The second chair is reserved for the owner of the home. Other guests’ seats would follow. Once you are assigned a seat, it belongs to you till the end of the celebration.

To your left, the last seat would be occupied by a close family relative, an old man.

Beer flows in copious quantities.  Dancing continues. Soon roast meat will be served then music will be stopped for a while, for the visitors to introduce themselves.

At ten AM, old men will sing a song in praise of mothers, motherhood and the initiate.(the song is accompanied by clapping):

Kichome lakwet, ak kechome kamenyin eee, kisime kora ak kesime koraa wee amun kokobaa( we love the child as well as the mother, we are ululating because our children have done us proud)

Sometimes the song could get vulgar thus:

Kichome lakwet ak kechobe kamenyin eee, ikaigai lakwet ak inyorchon kitok wee kecheng age! (We love the baby and we fuck the mother, soothe the baby to sleep and meet me in bed we make another one)

I dozed off in a shade outside before the old men could finish their song for I knew only too well that a big night awaited me again: girl initiates dance night! An attraction of no less glamour and drama, I can’t wait!

See you in the evening!