Memories of an African Childhood (0-11 years)

My Mom

I had promised to write about my mom. This is it!

My mom is called Paulina Chesiele Barusei. Paulina is the English equivalent of Pauline. Chesiele? Well I don’t know what it means but it is my mom’s childhood name and therefore cannot ever be discussed by me or any of her children (Blush , blush… ).Barusei is her husband’s name. In my society, children generally refer to their mom as mama or mom. Not us, we are so close to our mom such that we mistake her for our friend. So, quite against the grain, we call her Paulina or even Polina. She is loving, genial, affable and easy to get along with.

She bore the ten of us. Did I hear you say, omg!? Hell no, this is not a record in our village; one of my distant aunties has 18 kids, one, two, three…eighteen! All my mom’s sisters have more kids than her! A study in fecundity?  Maybe.

Paulina (to neighbors) Polina (to us) Pauline (in her ID card) is the fourth borne daughter in a polygamous family of four wives and many kids that I cannot have the time to research on. Her dad was a wealthy old man ( God rest his soul in peace). He never visited us, simply because he was paid the bride price in full so he had no other business with us. He didn’t know my mom’s name. He knew his daughters by the names of the places where they are married.

I never got to know him well till when I went to high school. He didn’t know my name either, and he didn’t ask. Not that he didn’t care. He would have forgotten it anyway. He had a lot of stuff going.

Sorry for digressing. Hey, my mom is illiterate. She wanted to go to school but her dad could not hear of it, simply because one of her elder literate sister and another illiterate one were married off at the same time and the bride price was the same (twelve cows). Her dad then concluded that education did not add much value to a girl’s life. (Girls then were reared to be exchanged for cows).They instead was forced to look after his cows.

In spite of the lack of education on her side, she put all her efforts to educate us. And she is a beauty too. She has a natural gap in her upper teeth (unfortunately none of us inherited it) and a man-made one on her lower teeth( removing one tooth was part of the initiation then , well apart from the mandatory FGM) She is tall, think she is my height, and for your info, I am 6’’1.

She loved me when I was young (and still does). I used to feign sickness so she could take me to hospital and on the way home would buy me a soda and a chewing gum (which were wrapped with papers bearing drawings of popular Safari Rally drivers Joginder Singh, Shaka Mehta and others. To show off in school, you will stick the paper bearing the drawings on your forehead!)

One day, my dad had told me to catch a stray wild puppy and put a leash on it. The crazy dog bit me. Polina had to take me to a far off hospital to get. Though I was mad with my dad for it, the proceeds of the incident included taking a bus ride (a rare thing in those days) and eating in a hotel!

That momma is a poor housekeeper. Just like me. But she is a good farmer. Just like I would have been (I inherited 100% of her genes minus the gender). One funny thing, mom could smoke occasionally and drink once in a blue moon. She was a Catholic but not the one you could call devout. Hey, she could get angry and beat us. I was not mischievous then, (I am nowadays) so my brother took the lion’s share of the lashes. When you made a mistake, all you could pray for was for a visitor to happen along, only then will you be spared the rod, otherwise, it was served with dinner.

Almost forgotten that my mom is a poor cook. Very. Just like me. All foods were cooked by boiling. Greens, potatoes, beans, peas name them. Meat was and still is a rare commodity in that village (unless when a cow dies on its own during droughts, old age, complicated birth or got injured). So, there is no sufficient empirical data to warrant a conclusion on her meat cooking.

The only exception that used to baffle me is that she could cook pancakes on Christmas (got too curious had to ask her where, when and how she acquired the art. She was taught by Roman Catholic missionaries when she was a teenager, that was her answer)

My mom is entertaining and loves entertainment. She used to take us to village circumcision dances in December holidays at night. Cannot forget how she used to cover us with a blanket (we were the first four of us then) and leave a small hole for us to watch the dances just like a chicken does with her chicks. I am also a party animal. (Another of her negative/positive trait in me.)

And there is this day she took us to watch the rallies (popularly known as Safari Rally then). I was pretty young, maybe four or five. I am not sure. I had no idea the race cars made a lot of noise( the way I was anxious to watch my childhood racing hero Joginder Singh). When the first car came blasting brrrrrrrrrt brrrrrrrrrrrrrrt, I screamed and peed on myself and grabbed my mom! They laughed and made jokes of me the whole month. Poor me!

There was this day again we had gone to watch our local Catholic Church act the Betrayal and Crucifixion of Jesus Christ one Easter evening. When it got to the part where Herod ordered all children below the age of three to be killed and the actors mocked killing babies starting with the one in front and advanced towards us, I screamed and asked my mom how many years I was and whether I would be killed by Herod. My mom assured me I was four and would be spared. I was scared shitless though sure that my mom would not let me get killed.

My mom is generally happy and laughs a lot. There is this house we used to live in that was in the middle of a maize field. Surrounded all over. My mom could laugh at night as we had our often very late dinners as we exchanged jokes and neighbors used to wonder what fun we had in the middle of the maize fields( tomorrow, I will tell you a story about this house, my child hood story cannot be complete without a tale of this house)

For she is a very affable mother, our home was the official gathering place for village folks in the afternoons.  I am sure my mom is cracking jokes with them now as I write this story( as she drinks tea with a lot of tea leaves you will think it is poison.)

I love you Polina!!

Memories of an African Childhood (0-11 years)

Memories of an African Childhood (0-11 years)

In Bloggers, I wrote my Bio as “I was born in an African village, where piped water, electricity, tarmac roads, TV and newspapers were non existent. People prayed when they got sick because hospitals were unheard of. Saw tarmac, watched TV, worn shoes, saw an electric bulb at 14 when I was joining high school. Now am in the city of Nairobi! What a long journey!’’

This account is true.

It prompted one blogger named Jill Wellington to inbox me thus, “Hunksam( I am not a hunk, but that is my username in that site)...I would love to read more about your fascinating childhood on your blog!” (I am not sure whether it was a fascinating childhood to me but maybe it can make a fascinating read to others)

I promised her to write my childhood memories growing up in a Kenyan village( I am tempted to use the oft-used term ‘tiny village’ but all villages in that part of the world are tiny, a village is defined by the number of people who draw water in a common spring, the boundaries are not clear nor well defined)

So, I will spend the next few weeks recounting to you my hazy past. As an African child, the father figure is the most important part of the family; I will naturally (culturally, traditionally, ‘legally’) start with him, if I had an option maybe my mom would have taken this slot but no, it has to be my dad.

My Dad

My dad is called David Kibii Barusei. (David maybe because he is as tiny as David of the bible minus all the other attributes. I heard from my mom that he is a baptized Roman Catholic, I haven’t ever seen him go to church, I don’t know whether David is his baptismal name either. You might be surprised that I don’t know but in our culture, it is a taboo to call your dad by his names, he is simply ‘dad’.  The middle name Kibii is a Kipsigis name that means someone born outside the house, I don’t know the circumstances of his birth but obviously, he wasn’t born in a hospital. It is a complete abomination to call your father by this name. Never heard of anybody who has ever broken this cardinal rule. It is associated with ‘boyishness’ and it is officially shed upon circumcision. I have never ever mentioned this name before. Last wrote it when I was applying my ID card. This is the second and possibly the last. The third name Barusei means son of a man with lotsa grey colored bulls, you can say this name somewhere else but not when he is listening.)

I don’t know his age and neither does he. Births and deaths are hardly recorded here. Think he is in his mid 50s. He is the third born in a family of eight with many other step brothers and sisters. (My grandpa was married to six wives, knowing the number of my uncles and aunties is an uphill task)

He is a high school drop-out. He is a bit literate and losing it very fast. Don’t know whether it is the drink, he is an alcoholic, or what. He blames his bad sight on the drink. I owe my ‘birthday’ to his literacy, I discovered while in high school my birth date in one of his diaries. So I started celebrating my birthdays later in life.

He married my mom in a traditional wedding when he was in class three ( could be fun going to school with a belly full of your wife’s cookings. There are no pics of their wedding because those weddings are very very secretive, somebody told me there is sex involved, I am not sure)

Barusei, as he is popularly known in the village is a retired mason. He has nothing to show for it though( and he didn't build any stone house as his home). Apart from the pictures that is. He built, with a group he belonged to, many Catholic churches and Catholic sponsored schools.

I rarely saw him on account of this. I don’t remember much about him when I was growing up. He was rarely at home. Maybe once or twice a year. I am not sure whether I loved him. He was so strict. He never wanted us to play football with other kids or own a ball for that matter. He never allowed toys too. I never talked with him. He was a dreaded figure when he visited. He brought us bread whenever he visited and we looked forward to his coming and dreaded it at the same time (bread was a rare commodity those days, we would show off in school by covering our books with its wrappings). He never beat us but again he was so distant. He didn’t particularly like me. Maybe I was lazy. I don’t know. I remember a nite he threw me out of the house. It might have happened often, can’t remember well.

He drank often and smoked sometimes. He sniffs snuff to date. He must have gone out with the girls as attested to by the pics he brought home when he retired. That could be the reason why he was not in talking terms with my mom. I heard he fathered a child with another woman but the child died.

I don’t remember him buying us clothes or books. (I was never bought a textbook in all my school life but remember him buying my elder sis a story book titled ‘Truphena the Student Nurse’)

My dad never missed home on Christmas, we enjoyed it together. Eating pancakes, rice and goat meat and drinking beer (rice and pancake making a rare showing on the table on Christmas and New Year ONLY). Neighbors and relatives were always invited. My mom used to make traditional brews that people sipped from a pot dug on the ground with straw pipes. My many uncles will fight often after drinking too much.

He often fought with his brother and step brothers. He was arrested several times on account of this and jailed once. Remember him coming home at night with a rain coat after the end of his jail term.( think he was behind bars for six months or something)

My dad and mom had a lot of domestic rows and he battered my mom at times when drunk. My mom will take us occasionally to our maternal grandpa when it was unbearable. He could send my mom packing in the middle of the night. My mom once told me she will hang herself in a tree that was visible from our house. I was distraught for I loved my mom so much mainly because she loved me and also partly because my dad did not particularly liked me.

My dad is a quiet man. I love him. He is drinking bootleg in some shacks in a hill called Takitech now. I am sure.

Tomorrow I write about my mom.

why do love dies?

Why do love dies?

What douses the heart

 and leave it a hearth of wet ash?

What concocts this unwanted cure

that lures madness away?

What salves the itch for an apple

in one’s eye?

What devil smothers the light

that moths once danced around?                                    

What banishes foolishness from bosoms

with unrequired knowledge?

Which devilish angel demolish our castles

that we build up in the air?

What is it that plucks our pies in the sky?

Who catches and cook the goose we chase

in the wilds?

What hacks the pipe

that connects our hallowed dreams?

What sucks the vigor for epic tales

in our sojourns?

What make cowards of heroic hearts?

Why do love dies?          

Don't Cry Elin, Don't Cry Tiger

Don't Cry Elin, Don't Cry Tiger

 

Don't cry Elin

take the100 million bucks n wipe the tears
even buy a million boys without a sweat
more so without the media jeers
the Swedish royalty deserve a break!
don't cry Elin


Don't cry Tiger
with those millions of bucks left with you
ya be a beau to a million boobs
romp to a pub n buy a bum home
Tigers should frolic like in the woods
don't cry Tiger

Show Me ya Dance Move Babie!

Show me ya dance move babie!

Raise n drop and sway that bootie
Groove that body n move the party
Pull the guys with lust and luster
Show it for gals to scorn and scowl
Raise ya tempo n rile their temper
Show me ya dance move babie!

Bring it down and hold it low
Lift that mini n let em leer
Make em feel n spill their beer
As they cheer and leave their chairs
Make em fight for a slice of sight
Show me ya dance move babie!

Shake ya babie milk like a bitch mama
Gyrate like it’s for pirate money
Spin that ass like it runs on gas
Flaunt and taunt n turn it up
Lure em lie they missed a flight
Show me ya dance move babie!

Rip that top and toss it thither
Peel that bra and brandish it there
Lift ya skirt and hold it ether
Hold me close n dance me closer
The rhythm’s right so let us rhyme
Show me ya dance move babie!

Penury Peeks at Opulence

What all that house for?
Oh hooo!
A man stays in one room at a time
Do you keep ghosts in others?
Farm, kitchen then sleep
That is us
What one does with all that house?
You people!

Look at you again
Why cut the grass?
Wish I had brought our cow along
Don’t you like milk?
Why burn the grass? It’s thatch!
My grandpa will be angry
Aye ye yee!
You people!

And why all the flowers
You even waste water on them?
Why not cabbages and kales
For kitchen and market day?
Wish it belonged to my mother
You people!

And that fountain of water?
How clean!
And getting wasted by the sun
We would fetch it for home
And that swimming pool?
Wish I had brought our goats!
My pa would be happy
Ehe hee heee!
You people!

And those woods
Cut down, hew and cook on them
What are those chimneys for anyway?
And all these walls?
You must have too many enemies
And so many thieves
Oops! My money!
Thank God, it’s in my socks
Walls are houses not fences
Wu wuuu uu!
You people!

And all those lights
For crickets and birds?
Our crickets and birds sing by moonlight!
With those lights I could read all books
My classmates would laugh at you
Oh hoo hoo!
You people!

And all those cars
A man drives one car at a time
Oh, now now…
Our hospital car died
Our chief would beg you for one
Wish he was here
You people!

And why all the silence?
Where are your dogs, cows, cats, ducks,
goats, chickens, sheep, donkeys?
Not even children playing noisily?
This place look haunted!
You people!
Bye bye!
This place is a graveyard
I would rather be dead in our village
Than living amongst the dead living
You people!
Bye bye!
Bye bye!

Jobless!

Jobless!

Yes,
It is my label and level nowadays
You wink at each other when you see me
To evaluate me from my shoes to shirt
Jobless, aha haa! … Jobless, u hu huu!
You laugh endless
For my misery is your mirth

Jobless!
I am so jobless
But hey! I am not brainless
My clothes are tatters but I am smarter
The man that assisted you in math
Who used to write letters,
for your gal
The one you married
Is the same one here
Remember?
You used to say I am smart
Still is, but bit unlucky

Jobless!
Yes, I am
You nudge each other when you see
And say: he is lost it, he is a loser!
Don’t write me off yet
I am not rudderless
I know what I want
You seeing my station but not my destination
This situation, I shall conquer
For I am rowing steadily to my destiny
Wait!
Wait!
My day will come
By God, my day will come

Jobless!
To you it is my label
To me it is a passing tale
It is never my stable
Listen, Never!

Jobless!
You closed your doors to me
Look,
I am homeless but not hopeless
You avoid me that I am roofless
Don’t you think I am lucky?
In case of an earthquake?

Jobless!
Yes my friend, that is me
Shocked that I don’t smell?
I bathe by the stream
Brush my teeth with tree branches
And of course I lack a body odor
Even without powder

Jobless!
You brand me ambitionless?
You are so ignorant of my mission!
I have swum a crocodile invested river
I have chanced the sea in wrecked ship
Been a stowaway close to dead
I have survived walking a wild desert
Almost made cannon fodder in the border
In search of a better life
Only to be a refugee
Is that being ambitionless?

Jobless!
Yes
Say that a thousand times
But
I am not planless
I will live to see that I am blessed
I am not dreamless
I will have bread and friends again
I am not helpless
With my hands
I will work
With my mind, I will make
Sneer and jeer your last
Chide and deride all you like
Despise and spice your jokes
For by God,
It will soon be my turn to laugh
And live life again
By God,
that day is coming
My day is coming
Coming is my day
By God,
It is coming!

(This poem was inspired by Maya Angelou’s Still I Rise)

I Wait, Upon this Rock

I Wait, Upon this Rock

I wait
That I may feel gnawing anxiety of waiting watching for you
For you to show me the dance moves you watched on movie
To watch the ripples formed by pebbles we lob in the water
That I may see your lips sing me your loving longings of me
Upon this rock

I wait
That we may share the buns you kept at home in the barn
For us to pick cue from cooing birds and cuddle like glued
To smooth your tunic before it is late for home and mom
That I may henna your nails and plait you a lovely ponytail
Upon this rock

I wait
That we may countdown the sun set ting in the distant hills
For me to sit staring lost looking at my future in your eyes
To kiss ourselves without a care till darkness cover and scare
That I just cling to you and let crickets sing my love to you
Upon this rock

I wait
That I may attempt solving your math for a kiss or risk a pinch
For you to tease me and hurl abuse of my failures as a ‘husband’
To hear you list me the number and names of children we will bear
That you may tell me where you will leave a letter by the river next
Upon this rock

I wait
That we make fun of teachers and plan prank tests for school
For you to write your name in my chest to remain till we meet
To hear your dead threats if ever I leave you for another girlfriend
That you may show off your new panty and bra your mom bought
Upon this rock

I wait
That we may lie and watch flies filing out of earth and fly
For you to show me your boobs have lovely lately grown
To hear you tell me how big you will want our house to be
That we scheme how we a kiss steal in church on Christmas
Upon this rock

I wait
That I may steal you what my mom and dad were doing at night
For us to carve our love and names on the barks of trees by the bank
To nominate and reject names of the maids and aides in our wedding
That we may swear to love each other till last of breath do us depart
Upon this rock

I wait
That you know that my love is anchored still in a corner of my heart
For you to see the tears roll my eyes and feel the sorrow in my heart
To chance an angel give you my only undying love up there in heaven
That you please tell God to lift and bury me with you with this sunset
Upon this rock

Bitch! Ya think ya hot? Pew! ya just but a ho!

Bitch! Ya say ya gat class? What floss ma ass!
Bitch! And so ya a virgin? Oh not even ya ass!

Men have fixed ya till blood is mixed with sperms
Many a sperm is gone into ya brain so ya blank

Men have romped ya ass can’t hold shit no more
That’s why ho ya pouring shit from ya every pore

Lewd ya tellin me to act sober like a beau? Ha haa
Look ya bad booze and large dick overdose! Ha haa

What, am not ya type? Please cut this empty vibe
Who make ya tribe is not me only ya kinds can vie

Bitch! Ya gat no brains nor guts to beef with me
Bitch! Ya late for whorehouse beat bein with me

Destiny beckons; let us say YES!

Every generation has its own unique challenges and problems to grapple with. It comes a time when a nation must sit together as one people and devise ways of overcoming those challenges. In the history of this country, there was a time when our people were reeling from the shackles of servitude and hurting from the yokes of colonialism. Our forefathers and foremothers came together, fought and won Uhuru. Yet again came a time when our people were oppressed, exploited, and even murdered by a despotic regime. Our fathers and mothers came together and fought for the Second Liberation. It is out of their sacrifice, courage and fortitude that this nation now counts itself as a proud member of the free world.

However, a good number of our people are still poor, unemployed, uneducated, deprived and lacking medical care. This is the challenge of our generation.  For twenty years, this nation has strived to write an acceptable constitution that acts as a collective answer to this challenge. It has cost time, money and lives to get where we are now. Now more than ever we stand the best chance of rising up to these challenges by voting YES for the Proposed Constitution that inter alia:

·         Guarantees, defend and protect the rights, dignity and fundamental freedoms of individuals and communities as affirmed in the Bill of Rights.

·         Ensures better representation of minorities and marginalized groups (women, youth and persons with disabilities) in decision making organs at all levels.

·         Effectively addresses inequalities in the distribution of national wealth and employment opportunities.

·         Boldly attempts to redress historical injustices in the acquisition, management and ownership of land.

·         Accords wanachi a greater say in the allocation and management of resources as decision making is devolved to the grassroots.

·         Provides for a more robust bicameral parliament and delineate responsibilities of the presidency thus ensuring greater checks and balances of the Executive, effective legislation and better governance.

·         Ascertains an independent judicial system that’s free from manipulation and meddling from the Executive

·         Provides a framework for a more ethical, responsive, accountable, impartial and responsible leadership from state officers at all levels.

·         Clearly and categorically guarantees and safeguards the right to ownership of property of whatever nature by individuals, groups or a community in any part of this country.

One day, I will sit down in the shade of freedom and prosperity inherent in this proposed constitution with my grandchildren and look back to the hazy horizon of time and proudly tell them, “ this change, I helped  bring about!’’

In this Draft, we have done our best as Kenyans, GOD will do the rest. My beloved countrymen, I say unto you, arise and vote YES on August, 4^th 2010; for destiny is beckoning!