In the middle of a warm December night, [I]Kwaru/I held the hand of the woman had loved and cherished for sixty five years,wished her well and breathed his last. The wails of a broken woman echoed around the hills of Ulumbi. A few minutes later, eight hundred and sixty five kilometers away my phone rang and I listened to my sister in law ,my face falling with every word as I looked at the man laying besides me,Kwaru’s favorite grandchild, of course he was not a child now but a spitting image of the old man in his youth. I had been given the burden of telling him that the man he loved most, the man who raised him as his own had passed on. The call ended and I got out of bed and wore a tee shirt , went to the balcony and sat there in the humid coastal weather crying, wondering how I was going to tell him the sad news.
It didn’t even take long before he woke up shivering… he called out my name and I came back in. ”Bad dreams,” he said. I held him and told him the sad news in betwixt my sobs and the world became a murky and bleak place that night.
As it was custom we journeyed to join the rest of the family in Dala and I got intrigued and overwhelmed by the traditions and rites of my people.
The budho (vigil) was a spectacle. I saw my in laws talking to Kwaru as he lay there in the coffin at the verandah of his mansion ,old women wailing and asking him why he had left them and I broke down over and over again every time his favorite grandchild knelt there helpless, weeping and conversing as he held on to the side of the coffin, of course he had pushed me away as men always do when in grief and I could only watch him from afar. I approached the coffin only once and I whispered my goodbye to the old man, remembering how he welcomed me to his boma. “NyarKiambu, you will take care of my son, he loves to eat nyoyo in the morning” He had warmly told me. “And if he ever troubles you or refuses to provide for you come straight here.This is your new home.” He told me gruffly as he gave his grandson a stern look.
A few days later the grave was dug, the funeral day had been set.Kunyo as it was called, was done the night before the funeral by male relatives and neighbors. I looked at my dichuo digging, sweat on his brow and red soil on his cargo pants, determined to finish the task before daybreak, encouraging the rest of the men to dig through the rocky ground. He went to the car and came back carrying a jerrican filled with kong’o and the men at the gravesite cheered. ‘Ah Jatelo! Erokamano Ahinya! ‘ .They drunk the traditional brew as was custom and within no time the task was done .The following morning we wore our sombre attires and we gave our grandfather the final farewell. I cannot go into details but if Kwaru saw it from the afterlife then he must have felt the love, respect honor and grief that filled the atmosphere.
Night fell and the houses were filled with mourners. My own family came and we gave up our Simba for their comfort. We could not sleep, we joined the rest of the cousins at the compound and the good stuff was brought out. We drunk as the grandchildren reminisced about Kwaru, funny childhood incidences were told and retold and we raised our plastic cups to the fallen Patriarch and the night wore on, eventually everyone went looking for where to sleep. I took a par (traditional mat) from the house and asked where we were going to lay it and sleep,we were a bit drunk…he pulled me close and kissed me. Bii he said. “We will sleep under my favorite Mango tree.”I giggled as I remembered how he had just told us about the countless times he hid there to escape from his grandfather’s wrath.He took a blanket from the car boot and we headed towards the back of the main house. Baby? Are we allowed to sleep here? I asked him as we reached under the Mango tree and I eyed the fresh grave yards away. “He is gone, Nyako. It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing does”. He said, his voice filled with gloom. I lay the par under the tree and pulled him down and we lay on the hard earth. We covered ourselves with the blanket and he pulled me close, spooning me as I faced away from Kwaru’s grave…I am not the superstitious type but….chei.
He snuggled close and his arm went under my ribcage and his fingers traced lazy circles on my nipples. “What are you doing? “ I whispered. He answered by pulling up my dera and gently caressing my tummy now….kissing my neck and biting my earlobe and like countless times before my body responded with hunger and love for this man. He unclasped my bra and cupped my boobs his thumb playing with my erect nipples. I moaned and pressed myself closer to him, felt his hard on throbbing on my ass…I couldn’t even remember hearing his zipper open. His hand slowly traced its way to my panties, slipping inside and cupping my temple.
“Take off your panties.” he whispered harshly…there was no arguing with that tone. I quickly pulled down my panties, removed one side and left it dangling somewhere below the knee of the other leg. He lifted my leg and placed it on top of his muscled thigh, he had more access now I curved some more forming the an S as he held his phallus and rubbed it’s tip on my dewy Venus…ah gods, I ached for his entry and I moaned…I no longer cared whether a mourner passed by, no longer cared about the ritual cows tied on a nearby tree chewing cud and dropping their turds. I wanted to be one with this man and finally he entered me harshly, brutally making me spasm with pain and pleasure. His thrusts ripping me and pounding me mercilessly from behind and with each stroke my rivers poured on him making his hard d*ck wet and slick. I called out his name and gyrated my hips faster as I felt the wave coming, his finger pushed the hood of my clit and my orgasms hit me in waves…clenching him and making him loose control too and there underneath his childhood tree our juices flowed with harmony. After a while he pulled out, our tremors ceased and he tensed again. I asked him if he was okay but he only got out of the blanket, zipped up his trouser and headed to the fresh grave and knelt there. I heard his guttural cries and grief overwhelmed me once more. My heart bled for him, my Jakedo,my warrior. I had never seen him this defeated and in that dark starless night I cried too and I asked my gods and his to take away the agony, I asked the soul of Kwaru to comfort his grandson because I had no idea what to do as I lay there and his seed seeped out of me, flowing down my inner thighs. At that moment, unbeknown to me, the mountain gods and the river gods granted us a wish and nine months later the sad grandson held a wee boy in his arms, only this time the tears that flowed down his face without shame were of joy not sorrow. ‘’Ero kamano Kwaru’’ he whispered.
@Nyarwath .Sina deni sasa.
