I recently had an accident that almost took my life. It will take sometime before I get back to my hustle. So this afternoon I’m slowly sipping beer while listening to rhumba. This music sometimes makes me nostalgic. But today it brought a reminiscence of some not so fond memories of my younger years.
Growing up without parents is not easy. My father died when I was 5. Shortly after his burial, my mother wanted us to come back to Nairobi where we lived to continue running her kiosk and take care of us as any sensible mother would. But My dad’s family wanted her to stay at our rural home. After some back and forth, they let her go with my younger sister, 3 years old then and I and my other 2 brothers would stay with our grandmother.
FF 4 years later. At a family meeting, my uncles decide since my grandma’s health seems to be deteriorating, those who were doing better financially would take one kid each to live with them. I had been promoted to class four. The day before schools open I’m escorted to the uncle who’s gonna be taking care of me armed with a few inherited class 4 textbooks.
Following morning Uncle takes me to school. I wait outside the office as he processes my admission to the new school. He comes out and says bye and leaves me with the teacher. I’m taken to the classroom and the teacher introduces me to the class. I realize it’s class 3. I tell the teacher there appears to be some mistake here because I’m supposed to be in class 4 and I even show him my textbooks. He tells me “hizo utawacha nyumbani. This will be your class.” When I get home in the evening I tell my uncle and he doesn’t seem to be interested… “kama mwalimu amesema wewe kaa hiyo class.” This is when I realize he is the one behind the scheme. I just oblige. Apparently, he wants me in the same class as his son who is younger than me.
Days go by. I can’t feel at home in my new home. My Uncle appears after dusk and leaves early in the morning. I’d wake up clean the house before going to school. I did the washing for my cousins during weekends. I remember one time a relative was visiting and he wasn’t amused by this. He confronted my aunt and she says I did well in the exams but his children did poorly. So they are reading to improve their grades and I can do the laundry for them.
I’d stayed here for about two years now. One Sunday I’m doing the cleaning as always and my Uncle’s wife calls me. She asks, “where’s the money?” I have no idea what she’s talking about. She insists There’s a 1000/- bob note I must have found when I was cleaning. Of course, I didn’t. She tied my hands together behind my back gave me a beating like none I’d had before. She pushed me and I knocked my head against a wall. I was bleeding. She’s threatened to kill me if I didn’t give her the money. She wrapped a polythene bag around my hands and brought a matchbox. She had just struck the match when a neighbour emerged from his house to my rescue. I didn’t get burnt. The neighbour untied my hands. He had moved here about a week before the incident. My aunt went inside and this heaven-sent neighbour left. I was crying outside and decided I had taken enough. I will go to my grandma. I had no fare but my mind was made up. From here, I’d walk to Kisii town from where I needed to connect 2 matatus to get me where I longed to be. I walked outside the gate and sat under a tree thinking about how I’ll get home.
I had a pat on my back. I was enveloped in fear thinking it’s the woman from hell. I stood up and turned around luckily to meet the good neighbour. He enquired if that was my mother. I hesitated a bit and said yes. Somehow he knew she wasn’t. He told me if I needed anything I can sneak to his house and let him know. He took some coins out of his pocket and handed them to me and told me to get something to eat. I thanked him and he left. He made me 43 bob rich.
The afternoon sun was fiercely scourging. I couldn’t go back to the house for a change of clothes lest my escape plan gets thwarted. I set off in a blood-stained t-shirt, a pair of shorts and slippers. Just near town, there’s a river where we usually fetched water. When I got here I washed my face and feet then proceeded to town.
I get to the stage and ask the conductor, “hadi keroka ni how much?”
“Hamsini kijanaa”
“Niko na 40, please help.”
He said no. I waited for the next one. This one agreed. After a little waiting Matatu ikajaa. Watoi ni kusimama. Didn’t take long before tufike Keroka.
Now, this is where the journey really began. I’d been here a few times before and I knew which direction led home. I didn’t bother trying to sweet talk the matatu guys here. I hit the road. I walked for what seemed like an eternity. I was tired and hungry. I made a stopover at a place some guys were selling sugarcane by the roadside. Nikabuy miwa ya 3 bob to quench the pangs of hunger. After the recharge, I proceeded with the journey.
I didn’t get far before it started raining. I ran quite some distance before I found shelter outside a kiosk. I was soaking wet. I waited here for the rains to subside before I could proceed. It rained and rained and rained. My clothes actually dried while waiting. It never stopped raining. Thinking how far I have to go I decide I’ll just keep going. It became so muddy I couldn’t keep up with the slippers anymore. I carried them and stayed true to the Johnny Walker slogan. Keep walking.
It was getting dark. I had a vague idea of where I was and knew I had a long way to go. A vehicle that had just passed me swerved and stuck in a ditch a distance ahead. People alighted na wanaune wakaanza kusukuma. I arrived and watched as they pushed and soon it was out of the ditch and ready to go. Nikachora na kuingia na other passengers. The conductor notices me and asks for money. I tried some explaining but he would hear none of it. He kicked me out.
I kept walking under the cover of darkness. It was darker than the darkness of the 9th plague of Egypt. I was a bit scared but I just had to get moving. I fell down so many times I lost count. Since it was dark I could see vehicles from very far and as they came closer I looked for a safe spot to stand and let them pass. The way they meandered in the mud I just wanted to stay safe. I see a vehicle approaching from behind me and as usual with aid from its lights, I’m trying to find a safe place to give way.
It stopped and the driver called me. Turns out he’s been seeing me as he made trips to and fro. He offered me a lift and I got inside. It’s one of those old school face me mats that were actually pickups whose carriage is covered by a tent, with benches on either side on the and the space between them could accommodate about 20 people squeezed in some very uncomfortable posture. But this time it wasn’t that packed. After about 30 minutes of a jolty and jerky ride, I got to my stage nikashuka. This shopping centre wasn’t connected to the electricity grid back then. Shopkeepers used kerosene lamps. I could hardly see any light and that only meant it must be late in the night. There was still some walking from the centre get home.
Finally, I arrived. I could see some light and I knew grandma was still awake. I knocked. It’s answered by David, who had been hired kuchunga ng’ombe. He tells me grandma had fallen ill and was admitted at a hospital in Kisii town the day before. I took a bath and ate. There was always plenty of sour milk at grandmas’ and David had some ugali left. I was exhausted and went to bed. Next day I joined him to do some chores around. The day ends without much activity.
On Tuesday, my uncle shows up. He tells me he doesn’t believe I stole the money and we can go back. I refused. He vaguely apologized for what his wife had done to me and says he will make sure it doesn’t happen again. I just said I’m never going back. He left. At this moment I was thinking of going back to the school I used attended here and see if I could join my old friends. But being a class behind my former classmates didn’t go well with me. I was always top in the class, how would it be? The uncle comes back about 2 hours after he left. He pleaded with me and this time he promised to take me to a boarding school. Somehow he convinced me to go with him.
I was never going to boarding school. He just didn’t want me telling anyone all the things I went through at his place. I came to learn his son had stolen the money I was accused of stealing. He had bought a brick-game and a small radio which his father had found him with.
That’s just one incident. So many things happened some I just remember and laugh. The day I sat my last KCPE paper my last at his place. Maybe things like these are what made me a hardcore. I have weathered many storms to become who I am today. I don’t know why people treat children this way. I hope I’ll live to see mine grow.