I SAY THIS....

The village chief had summoned me. Though last in the government pecking order, the village chief holds an important position in the location where he has his jurisdiction.

I paid a visit to the chief on a Monday afternoon. My mistake, Monday afternoons are reserved for the weekly village Baraza. The Baraza are gatherings of the villagers where the chief passes on the government policies and leads a discussion on the various developmental agendas affecting the location. It is also the time when the chief together with his advisors dispute and possible settle some knotty village affair which does not warrant official government involvement. The Baraza was in progress when I drove in to the chief’s camp. My attempt to drive off and not to be a bother was thwarted when the Chief though busy with the Baraza noticed me and sent an emissary running over insisting that I join the Baraza.

I strolled over to the Baraza which was being held under a “N’gou” tree where 500 or so villagers were seated. My intention was to consult the chief later after the baraza. Some villagers were seated on stools, others on cheap plastic seats, some were perched on stones and others sat plain on the bare ground. The chief together with six of his advisors sat facing the crowd. An invisible line separated the men from the women.

I approached from the back intending to perch myself incognito at a stool where a villager had already offered to me. It was not to be, as the chief loudly called out to me making the entire meeting to turn around to see who had the chief’s attention.

“Come over! Come to the front and greet your people!”

I walked to the front extending my hand for a handshake with the chief. The chief however grabbed me in a bear hug which surprised me since we had never been that particularly close. With one hand on my shoulder he introduced me to the crowd :

“This is one of our illustrious sons based in the city, who despite his many demanding duties still makes time to pay me a visit whenever he is in the village”

I read mischief in the chief’s words, one, it was a subtle way of informing me that despite being what I was in Nairobi- here in the village he still called the shots and two, it was  a reminder to the lowly villagers that he had connections with influential people all over, therefore - A man of influence.

 

“Greet the crowd! Greet your people!” The Chief exhorted me.

I turned around and waved to the crowd

“ Amosou jothurwa! (I salute you our people!)

“Warwako!”  (We accept!) The crowd answered in unison.

“ Amosou Kendo” ( Again I salute you )

“Kendo Warwako!” (Again we accept).

I sat down on a seat which had miraculously appeared next to the chief. Several cases had appeared to have been dealt with. The chief called on the next case to be sorted out, it involved one Ondiek Wendo and his immeadiate neighbour over some tree issue.

A bow legged Ondiek stood up- I could not remember the face.

“ Amosou Jothurwa! He greeted the crowd as tradition demanded. The crowd replied in unison.

“ Awacho kama” which literally means “ I say this ”

“You know Opien Olwete as my neighbour -what I m presenting here to this crowd is a case which is a big bother to me- Early Thursday morning Olwete  went over to my farm in “Dago” and cut down a tree which at present he is using to erect a house for his new wife”

Ondiek  continued with his narration.

I looked around at the crowd. I noticed Ochillo Nyan’g who since my young days had been the village Mole catcher-today he looked bald and weather beaten. My eyes moved over I noticed Owino Johnny who had been my primary school head boy and was now a peasant farmer. He too looked tired and withdrawn with one eye missing probably gorged by a bull or bilharzia or  …well anything.

“Awacho Kama… His genitals could have been, at this table right now…”

The accusations and counter accusations continued. My eyes roved on, I noticed Opiyo Dete-The professional widow inheritor. I was surprised that he was still alive after his many trysts. I found myself smiling-The term for widow inheritance in the local dialect is “Tero”-so technically this man was a “Tero-rrist”!

“It’s a lie! Ask Opino he knows the...”

My eyes roved on I saw Tung Nyuka the village wag-I had known him as a young boisterous man, but today he looked tired with sunken cheeks. He looked up at me, winked and smiled exposing several missing teeth - I smiled back wondering silently on how tired he had changed. I remember he had been nicknamed as Oyundi; a proverbial bird which always had reasons for not appearing during the planting and weeding seasons but was always the first during the harvest parties. Tung Nyuka was  one such a fellow, but  good company nevertheless. My eyes rested on Omito- at first I could not recognize him. He had a shock of grey hair on the head, his cheeks looked shrunken and he had a walking stick in his hand. I gasped, Gideon Omito my desk mate and best friend in 5 years of primary school supported himself with a walking stick!

I averted my gaze. My eyes stopped at Wasuna Ondhudho,  a no nonsense man- he had thoroughly whipped me several decades back after finding me defecating in his banana plantation-I wondered if he remembered the incident. I noticed Otieno Ogae shuffling to stand up to say something -he like others looked just as tired. No one could believe that this tired old man had been nicknamed “Bim”(Monkey)  for his antics as a goalkeeper in the local secondary school. Oh! The ravages of time… If only he had been born twenty years later!- move over Petr Czech! Take a walk Arnold Origi!

 

“Awacho kama…” the accusations continued

My eyes shifted to the women folk. Most of the ladies looked relatively young and unknown to me, possibly women from other locations married in the neighbourhood.

I recognized Angelina, a tough woman who had reportedly slapped his son in law-an un -imaginable offence. I saw Mama O’ngele who had a knack for brewing the best chang’aa in the neighbourhood. I noticed Kristina Aloo whose daughter Atieno was once my lover-she looked up-our eyes met, she averted her eyes, I looked away. I idly wondered where Atieno was nowadays, probably at a Baraza in this very moment at another far flung village.

These people looked tired and emaciated, some of them were once my bosom mates, the years had separated us until we became mere acquaintances and I realized now practically strangers. I looked at myself, overweight, with a distending belly and I suspect a big behind. To them maybe I was the epitome of wealth and health though a touch arrogant.

 

I again looked at them; these were simple folks with simple demands. They had little interest with the principles of matter, or with Amicus Curiaes  or with Neo realism theory or  the two natures of Jesus Christ. What they knew was that the cost of fertilizers were too high; that there were no jobs for their offspring after school…that the rains were constantly failing and that a member of parliaments salary at One million shillings was obscenely too much!…and I by just a quirk of fate could have been one of them, it was only my luck that now I was lording over them I was actually not better than any of them…There but for the grace of God goes I.

I was retiring in a few years’ time and was due to settle back here with them in the village, could I ever again fully fit in with this lot? Won’t I permanently suffer from survivor guilt? I now realized that these people were no longer my people the differences between us were too great, greater than that chasm separating Abraham and Lazarus. Yes, there were my people but I was not really one of theirs.

Awacho kama! I have lost my identity.