 
Nahashon Harrison's

Conquest

By

Will

Copyright@2020 by Nahashon Harrison

Some names and identifying details of people described in this

Book has been altered to protect their privacy.

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form

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Storage and retrieval system without written permission

From the author except for the use of brief

Quotations in the book review

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

SCHOOL

CHAPTER TWO

DEMISE OF DAD

NYERI

NEW BEGINNING

CHAPTER THREE

PART TWO

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

COLLEGE

CHAPTER THREE

#

# 

# PART ONE
# CHAPTER ONE

I was barely five years old and my brother Kim was a toddler. Both Kim and I were embraced with hope and awe from our young mother Jane. She had been happily married to Harrison, a firstborn to a peasant farmer far away in the deep valleys of river Mathioya. Our home stood beside a cliff.

Our house was all round fixed with red earth. Withered Magoko grass acted as the roofing. My father was a tall slender man beckoned with wispy eyes and sparsely populated beard. I came to learn later from the photographs dangling on the wall in my mother's single rented house – he had no distinctive beard all the same... just little hair to represent that sign of manhood exhibiting power and dominance. I'm definitely a fair duplicate of him mixed with a derivative of fair complexion from my mother.

My brother exhibited the dark complexity from him. He's dark from head to toe, like ebony. He's a little thick with all the puppy fat to shed later. No doubt, Harrison had worked himself to having a beautiful family every man could ever dream of.

The marriage was indeed a success and a truly happily ever after tale reality. He was living it, right there in the moment of time – moving mountains and making wonders happen. My mother had been a happy woman; having the charms of a queen, the cute brown-haired woman, she was by all standards.

She had swept dad off the ground and had knocked him flat on the ground with her charms of beauty. She was a charismatic woman with principles and determination to make some worthwhile reap out of her free given life.

"You see Harry I know they will grow up to be tall just like you,"

My mother told dad, almost with sound assurance and faith.

"You see this one (referring to me), seems to be growing up too fast than I expected." Harrison said almost flashing a genuine grin.

My mother's face brightened up while she loosened the nylon leso that she had tied at the center of her chest to support my brother Kim, who at the time was clinging on my mom's back snoring. I sat on the clean floor. My mother was a tidy woman who always loved tidying every corner of our house.It made of mud supported by railings to secure it from falling off, this was our refuge where we sheltered, our source of solace and place that we called home.

My dad had a timber radio that had been secured with rubber bands to prevent it from falling apart. I remember watching him give a sharp jerk and whistling as if he had forgotten something important.

"Mama Maina!"He called out

"How can I help? Is there any problem?"

I could hear my mother calling back from the interior of our house.

"Get me the radio," my father requested.

My mother emerged from the front door carrying the battered Sanyo radio cassette. It wasn't battered as such to be precise – Only that the gadget had seen better days from the frequent dates with the self-proclaimed fundi.

He'd upgraded my dad's cassette from being held with the rubber band.

"That bastard son of a..." He uttered some obscenity under his breath cursing.

He held the gadget carefully to avoid disengaging the rubber band; the machine would have spilled everything on the dusty earth. All the 'organs' 'intestines' and such would have spilled off onto the ground and would have created a very bad impression. I was certain that my father would click his tongue and pour his venom since at times he could be a little dangerous if something or someone provoked him.

I remember after biting George's finger, his mother came snarling and threatening to kill me – Harry had bashed my huge skulled head twice. My mother on seeing George's swollen thumb, she pinched me hard. I was a nursery school going child of six years. "Why did you?" my mother snapped a question and I was certain that I was to get swallowed that day. I was way down with my luck. This same damned luck that never had the pity to come my way from back then.

"George said I should try if my teeth were sharp enough, so I did it," I retorted.

"He is lying," the boy said sobbing a little that I almost suspected he'd turned to a little rat. "Why aren't you telling George sorry?"

My mother spoke with so much eloquence and strictness that I found myself shivering.

I could have been scared to the core but again out of sheer valor I said I won't.

My father starred in utter shock without even saying a word.

He did not comprehend why a boy so young could be so brave and at the same time a prick - a real pain in the... My mother slapped me again on the head and accused me of being a hardcore since she never saw that coming. She was certain and firm that she did not have to stand there and watch me bully other kids anywhere near her.

All this time the little brat George stood sentinel at a distance faking little sobs while his mother peeped from the lavatory corner playing the gutter rat.

Deep down, I had developed a queer feeling that George's family did not like us one bit. They had all this time made fun of me. They teased that I had huge feet and scrawny legs that did not match my body size and I had been humiliated.

Most of the times, I walked bare feet so I suspect my feet had grown un-proportional I bet, they were right may be. All the same, they had no right to think on that dimension – that I looked like a Mickey mouse with duck like feet.

"Maybe he won't sink on water," Tuhi said.

"Yeah and he would be like Jesus floating on water," Kuria seconded.

They all burst out laughing. I felt like a freak, lost in my own maze... walking away as I drifted in my own world. I felt desperate, lost, dead and buried. I hobbled back to our compound feeling defeated, outgrown by my own fear and resentment. My little ego was in bruises and was bleeding profusely inside me.

As a little man six to seven years old, I had learnt to cry out my tribulations and I was always coming to terms with the harsh reality. That the world was cruel from the word go, and that I needed to grow strong no matter what.

I had to learn to be a man, and absorb the techniques of resistance and self-defense any time my parents were not around to defend me. I was a little too young to be exposed to the harsh reality of where I was born. I was so much absorbed in the essence of just being the person that I was. Though at times, I asked myself myriad questions.

My father wasn't a very lazy man to be honest because he would always till our garden and go fishing at the river. Our kitchen had plenty supply of tilapia and other times the precious hunts from him. There was plenty to eat from corn to game meat and such...but the fact that our hut was grass thatched did not conceal the fact that we missed on something to note.

All the neighbors around us had demolished the dilapidated shanties and now the whole neighborhood was dazzling on the blazing sun with so much intensity. All the houses were roofed with corrugated iron sheets apart from ours.

My other prick of a neighbor, Muchoki had made a bad joke about us having to live in a shed – It nearly missed a shot on me but then all the juvenile hood rats were on the ground rolling with laughter. We had from then lived to be enemies – My self-esteem had deteriorated and I had learnt to withdraw.

I remember having to walk alone; sometimes scared of the mayhem I would have to persevere with other brutes from school. I had to learn to hold on to myself and from back then, I were my own student, lecturing myself and feeling sorry about the ordeal.

It is this time I met Sheera; a little girl from up the hills. She's warmed hearted and compassionate. She was this make of a plump little girl with chubby cheeks. Their home stood at the corner end of the cypress fence that stretched out from Wakibubu's, the primary school teacher.

We would hold hands and walk together to school, little manila bags clinging on our backs as if we were their only hope – the only possession they would have if they were living. I learnt how to hold hands and just love another person for who they were, and not who people wanted or expected them to be.

We giggled together and captured butterflies, then grasshoppers, then crickets. She was fond of me as I was, and the bond we shared was inseparable.

Kamiri, my grandfather, a tall slender old man with stooped shoulders, some grey hair and very dark skin, sat on the slab sit in front of his house. Clad in a white shirt with sleeves rolled up – stylish and dapper in some unique way.

He was bare feet all this while and not only that hour. He had always been bare feet from the time I came to know him. He somehow liked me since I was named after him. He had to instruct my father later to change my name to 'Maina' as 'Kamiri' sounded somehow complicated. Maina, a local name that means who sings or dances became my name ever since.

"Don't go to the neighbors' at any given time."

My grandfather told me wearing a serious look that I will never dare forget.

This look would later turn to a scowl and then a frown. There was a sense of urgency and I had no objection to his wishes. I had learnt to respect my grandfather since he had been close to me all that time to a point of baby-sitting me.

"Guka' I won't go."

I knew I lied though since I would always take refuge to George's before we dropped each other like hot iron. That day I almost cut his finger.

My grandfather meant every word he said. That I should stick in the compound always, and that there was no point in loitering up and down the village like a stray dog. I did exactly that. I had watched him trim his toes as I enjoyed the company.

He had this one cow and we would always wander with it at the banks of River Mathioya for search of green pastures.

"Guka just look...a leso!"

I had alerted him one afternoon when we had gone grazing. The river washed a white sheet downstream, and my grandpa somehow deep down knew what exactly what was expected of him at that crucial moment. Get a twig; shove it at the sheet and pull. He did a genius twist to maneuver and quell a further down wash and the sheet was definitely ours. We had the whole of that sheet to ourselves free of charge.

"Maybe some careless buggers are doing laundry and had just messed up the sheet." He had said wearing a mischievous grin.

My grandfather was this kind of a person, very easy to get along with. I had doubted the rumor that he was a 'Ngaati' during the Mau Mau uprising. We had a passion fruits plant in his garden that coiled itself up a huge cypress and we didn't dare skip fruit eating retreat. We sat beside each other while we gave ourselves a treat to the refreshing passion fruits. I loved those sessions all the way to the moon and back.

Man, if there is someone I would bribe to God to bring back to life again is my grandfather. If only there was a gold stuff to bring life back, as in the ancient gothic movies. I would ride a horse to fetch it from that darned far away land with so much confidence that I won't falter or even turn back .

We had both laughed our lungs out when my grandpa said that Sheera and I would make a perfect couple. I had narrated to him how Mrs. Mwai had caned us because Sheera had beckoned me to lie on her flat tummy.

"Maina... I want to teach you new things"

Sheera said.

It was on that tempting moment that Mrs. Mwai busted on us and accused us of doing something naughty and honestly at that time, I didn't understand to what magnitude the allegation was based on – I mean, how could I? I was a too young.

I had been embarrassed when we were paraded in front of our classroom and instructed to repeat the 'film', which we did with so much enthusiasm. All the same, we were never lucky enough to evade Mrs. Mwai's caning and we got to learn pretty much after that.

My grandfather was also an experienced narrator. He had told me narratives about the one-eyed ogres called 'Marimu', and he further told me how they could put someone in a bag only to feast on them later. They were notorious cannibals. Those moving epics only left me mesmerized, and I could look at him with so much awe and inspiration.

Those were moments I would cherish forever and I always reminisce to the fleeting moments of happiness with him. I look at myself with sheer hope that one day I will grow up to be like him – so articulate, no exaggerations, no pretenses but a true picture of a man so sure of himself.

He was always eager to share and evoke the significance of the true African culture and heritage. He had once shown me a waist crouch, bow and arrow, and said that those were items for the warrior to keep. In addition, that this warrior was me and I would definitely possess those items when I was older.

xxxxxxxxx

"You are always taking ages and dragging yourself.''

Mother said, while tapping and pulling away the blankets from me.

I was a renowned lazy bone, and it always took her serious coaxing to get me out of bed for school. I clambered out of my urine-sodden bed for school with so much difficulty.

I was again so reluctant simply because I abhorred school. I let out a yawn while mum tingled her nose to the strong ammonia stench diffusing from that wreck of railings bound together to make a tiny bed. She had held me by the hand like a mother would and led me to the kitchen at the left. She made me sit down and went ahead to wash my face at the basin.

She gently bent me over while I staggered. I felt spasms of anger run from head to toe. How could she? If the invasion at my sleep had done anything rather than disrupting my dreamy sleep, then I don't know how it felt. I felt a little bit hazy. Real trouble cropped up when she started scrubbing my feet. I let out a shriek for the scrambling stuff that was a little piece of gunny wasn't doing me any justice.

I had cried almost every day since I had these unhealed wounds: a bruised knee, a wounded toe. It had been by pleasure having to climb trees with some other little brat called Sammy from the other side of the river. Not all the time, but when we had chances to meet. Of course I climbed trees alone most of the times, but that was nothing to scoff about. I had been accustomed to having to enjoy my child delight without feeling like a loner.

"Maina you are such a nuisance!" mother had complained.

"But mum..."

I tried to convince her amid sobs and the pain that I was experiencing at that moment of time. Breakfast was served, in tins. It comprised of last night's Ugali that had been salvaged to serve that purpose. All this time I was stepping on a small piece of wood to get my feet to dry.

My mother meant serious business and no matter how hard I tried to resist. She had obligations to make sure I attended school. It had not been a long while since I started going to nursery school. At some point, I liked it while I resented it with the same measure.

Some part of me wanted to be there while my other part wanted to be somewhere else – home where I belonged, so much serene, cool with the ambience and comfort. If I had a choice, I'm scared I could have been compelled to stay home. Babysit my younger sibling or climb the Muembe tree that stood sentinel at the back of our house.

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# SCHOOL

All the same, I loved the counting and the small pebble collecting. All the nursery kids would hover on the open yard behind the classroom to collect pebbles that we could use for counting. Kambara nursery school was at the time just one block.

The roof was leaking, so we would shift for refuge at the corner every time it rained. The walls were made of off cuts. The cracks on those walls were so pronounced you could see someone hobbling across the little path that dissected from one edge of the playground to Kambara shopping center.

"Row row row your boat"

"Gently down the stream"

"Merrily Merrily Merrily"

"Life is but a dream"

All the kids sang in one chorus, led by this stout woman, our teacher Madam Mukami.

She was shorter than all the other teachers were. She had a chocolate complexion and had a caveat where the front teeth were supposed to have been. She had a floppy stomach and type of titties that were even larger than her – hanging dangerously, threatening to spill on to the ground.

I had chocked to my own thinking when I had peeked from behind the little latrine at the bottom line of the school compound. Teacher Mukami had been lying down on the basking spot. I giggled silently not to attract attention since she looked like a basking hippo. That wasn't my lucky day; the latrine walls made of iron sheets had betrayed me.

At the process of supporting myself, I had faltered, stumbled and tripped over a tree stump behind me. I came sprawling down on my face and a clutter had emanated. The 'basking hippo' sprung to her feet and busted on me. I cannot even slander the beatings I received that day for having proven how naughty I could be. She picked a dry twig that was lying not far away from her, spanked me and pulled my ears.

The pain was twice, having tripped over some shitty stump and hit the dry earth with a thunder. That pain will forever live etched in my memories. My young fresh mind engulfed with so much energy to explore and discover...but I had to be tamed and shown how humans live – yes...that's what it takes to make one human with sense from the little brat I was. In my own thinking, I'm certain... there is no pure Gold that would come about far from the furnace.

I was now adjusting to school life and had made a bunch of friends. I cannot forget about Muhia. He had a brown skin and red-hot hair – curled hair to be precise and grave size eyes. His eyes were gigantic and some other kids had made fun of him.

"Look, he looks like a mouse on a snare," a fat brown boy had said one afternoon as we were playing hide and seek near the school scanty Maigoya fence.

Other kids had busted out a loud laugh. "You know that's not nice Jimmy. "I had defended him and Jimmy had been offended like hell. He had shoved a finger in my eyes and kicked me around. He was this size of a wrestle mania but I wasn't afraid of him one bit. A scuffle had erupted while other kids cheered. He punched me on the stomach and I had lost my breath, went crumbling down on my knees, holding my stomach with both hands. For a moment, there was grave silent then after a moment, I let out a haul that was heard from the basking spot behind.

Teacher Nyange emerged from the corner and brats had scattered leaving some few others just staring like maggots. "What happened?" she enquired. "Jimmy and Maina were fighting...then Maina was hit and..." One vocal kid had tried to explain and the deliberations were clear. Jimmy and I were to pay for fighting in school, which was prohibited. We were hurled across to one of the classrooms.

All this time I was crying my lungs out but no way could I have evaded the caning. We were to receive five spanks at the back of our hands with a ruler – a wooden ruler for that matter. Jimmy's face had turned from pink to pale when she held his hands and stretched them in front for easy spanking. He let out a shriek at the first shot and I was nervous, so nervous that I pissed on my pants.

By the time she finished with him, he was crying out like a baby hyena and I had released all my bladder contents. She jilted Jimmy, beckoning him to get lost while he shot across the classroom to the door back left. I heard the door clutter and slam shut.

"Come here you!"

She shouted while I engaged her on a little goose chase behind the desks. She yanked on my khaki shorts and gave me two severe spankings on my rump.

"Let me hear you fighting again you..."

She shouted.

I had resisted the urge to call her a cow since mother said that it was rude to insult our elders. During those times, teachers were like police officers and were highly respected. I waded on the muddy floor and vanished outside.

I found Jimmy surrounded by a group of Juvenile hood rats swearing with his mother that he would pick on me again. I told him to go to hell and that I wasn't afraid of him. I did not emit the part where I swore to rip his fat ass to shreds.

I spotted Muhia frail and skinny, barefooted, thorny toes and stained teeth. He walked in a limp and all his toes were crooked. Father had said that if my mother did not bother removing the jiggers from our toes, then no doubt they could become crooked and we could limp.

All that time I was aware that jiggers were notorious and had the guts of burrowing on your buttocks. An old man who never wore clothes from the time I knew him and was always on a ragged blanket had died not long ago – Everyone said that he was invested by jiggers from head to toe. Even his buttocks were full of the insects. I shuddered to the chocking memories about this man who looked like old crow on blankets. He had succumbed to that and had perished – so to say. Jiggers are phenomena!

He had said he was sorry after all that had befallen me when I tried to save him from the big bullies. At this moment, I had stopped crying and I was rubbing tears with the back of my hand. My eyes were deep red with a sore. We drifted away from the gathering kids and retreated under a Mukungugu.

"After all he too can feel pain," Muhia had started by saying.

"If he was ever special, then teacher Nyange would have spared him," I had said arranging some pebbles on the ground to draw letter "A".

"Wish you had seen how the swine came out screaming rubbing his hands."Muhia had gone ahead and said while we both busted out a laugh then a crackle.

That black Monday afternoon has been etched in my memories up to date. No doubt... after all the analysis over the years, I have concluded with so much confidence that there is a certain exhibited behavior in relation to how people socialize.

If you are from an impoverished home, no doubt your center of existence will be concentrated on the same. Birds a feather flock together. As that saying goes, I had attracted friends who were more or less of my social vicinity. Our family wasn't all that poor but there was something common, revolving between me and nearly half the population of Kambara nursery – I didn't know what that was till later.

xxxxxxxxx

During December holidays, my dad announced that he'd secured himself a little job and that he was scheduled to leave soon after. I remember him polishing his boots while I rode my tin toys in front of our hut. I studied him for a moment and I discovered that he did it with so much uneasiness.

I could always identify with how other people felt from the time I was barely ten years old. The grimace on his face that time of the day got me to a deep reflection. About whom my father was and the things that made him different from the other men around me.

"Come here son," he beckoned me to sit beside him with his slender hands.

He had kept an afro that made him look like a rock star. I knew he would be my rock star in the radio someday – maybe he could. I dropped my home-made tin toys that my dad had constructed for me. Joined wire by wire and I marveled to his expertise. He was being a good dad after all. That one you could not dare survive in this world without.

I knew I was blessed, and there is the feeling that always crept to my center when I was always with him. I felt a feeling of power and security that somehow made me believe that he could kill an elephant with his bare hands. You won't beat me on that argument.

To me, my father was the strongest man in the complete wide world and no one could dare hurt me when I was with him. I had confirmed this when he had killed a T9 (some kind of a stray dog with long fangs... I heard that they could infect you with rabies if they got to even scratch your skin).

As we both settled down, he articulated.

"Be an obedient boy and take care of your mother and Kim" he told me.

"I will father," I answered glancing at space as if on deep meditation.

I was certain that my father was leaving and that he disliked us, which I doubted. My father loved us in a way that he would never trade us for anything. He'd wanted to leave so that he could work and raise the family's financial status since he loved fishing but that had become an unpopular way of feeding one's family since we couldn't survive on fish alone.

Fish had immensely declined and river Mathioya was almost drying. There were little sweet potatoes left in our garden and surely he had to just go. He went in the hut, slipped in his best white triangular buttoned shirt and a bell bottom tight on the thighs – these one's were popular in the 90's and were certainly stylish complemented by an afro.

"Harrison, lunch is ready now; you have to eat before you leave."

Mother had announced.

"Okay, just serve and we will be right there."

My father answered, grasping on a pole at his side for support when he sprung to his feet. He made me carry one of his huge military boots while he carried the other one. He rubbed my head in appreciation as we dropped the boots in a heap at the living room.

We sat down on the wooden stools to have our lunch; I was so hungry that I gobbled my githeri. You would have seen how my mother threw a questioning eye at me merging from the front door with some more soup. My father grinned, and went ahead saying

"It's alright, he's just a kid."

"But he should learn some manners as well," my mother answered.

From then on, I learnt how to be well mannered at the dining table.

My brother was such a little Hitler, and sometimes he wouldn't let my mom be. It's just later I came to understand that kids are stubborn and people would rather let them just be kids.

If I was to describe my little brother those days, then I wouldn't hesitate to say he was a chicken. Always scratching my face and I had been scarred.

We escorted dad to the bridge down the valley, across the river. No doubt my father looked dapper on a white cotton shirt and a tie. I still have his passports tucked in my wallet so that I could see his face every time I get to undo the zipper. We went back to the comfort of our hut and I was saddened as I wouldn't get to see my father for a long time. There were no telephones around our place at that time so people had to rely on the post office to send letters whenever they wished.

One Sunday afternoon, some distant cousins had come to visit us and I was busy socializing. The girls wore dazzling clothes while their counterparts (boys) my age wore long pants. I was jealous since I didn't have trousers myself.

Long slim legs threatened to spear the ground. You should have seen the protruding knee bones. I don't know if that runs in the family or they are just rare unique features I had to bear. Wish I had long pants. This would have made me feel different. I was a little bit affected.

My Self-esteem was drained and I was suffocating. That had affected me at first, but I had learnt to cope. Having to adjust into my immediate situation, I was socializing freely without fear of judgment and such inhibitors of happiness.

My celebrity cousins had taught me a sport. It is the very sport that earned me a funny name when we shifted to Nyeri after my father's demise in the year 1992. The sport involved having to lie down flat on the grass, thrust your loins all the way to immortality.

We had spent the whole evening doing that sport and we had graduated to doing the sport over girls.

A month after my father left, my grandpa developed a severe cough. It had taken toll on him so badly and was eager to bring him down. Mother checked on him and gave him food.

"Where is your wife?"

I wore such a mischievous look when I asked grandpa that question one evening when we squatted around to catch the crackling blaze of the hearth.

"He passed on long before you were born" he had explained.

By then, I wasn't so conversant about death and I didn't know what that meant to be precise. However, I had a little hint as not so long ago the old crow who wore blankets had succumbed to jiggers and died.

"Sorry grandpa," I had assured him that he would be just fine.

My grandfather had grown so skinny he had to hitch his trousers every now and then. His longtime friend Irungu, George's grandpa had joked that he should look for an all-round perforated belt so he would go on pushing down the hook further every day.

I had imagined how the belt would go around him two rounds if he had to develop a mosquito waist. They had both laughed hysterically and I had joined in.

We had enjoyed to the splendor of the night, the sound of an owl cry and the stars peeking at us through the wall cracks. My grandpa had said that the owl cry was a bad omen. I had now started spending in the night at grandpa's just to accord him some company.

xxxxxxxxx

The river seemed somehow swollen and the color had changed from clear sky to blue hue to earth red. We marched towards the bridge. There were five of us – small boys who walked bare feet. We crossed over to the other side of the river to our usual secret place.

Here, the water was calmer and though the entire river was swollen, I had the guts to just want to swim. Now the sun waves had intensified scorching us to the center of our skulls. The earth seemed to vibrate to the strong sunrays. The wetness on the ground was yet to dissipate so if you checked clearly; it steamed like a real furnace. It was very exciting to go for a swimming spree downstream on a Saturday morning. I was overjoyed having to enjoy those moments with my other boys from Far East.

All the others were scared except me. They were scared of the swollen river since they knew the dangers of having to swim when the river was on that condition. I was the bravest so I stripped naked and entered the river slowly.

The water was cold and calm and I let out a heave, then a sigh of relief. It was relaxing though a little bit cold. I could feel the numb feeling. My nerves tensed but I had to do it – show the other cowards how it meant to be sure of oneself, to be brave and daring even when you know deep down that you are doing the wrong thing.

"Come over here guys!"

I called almost yelling.

"We are damn scared man! Just swim as we watch you from here."

That was Njuguna, the chubby guy, who happened to be Kuria's brother. He had a tar black skin.

I wasn't in the mood to argue so I just stuck to the waters, being careful not to drift to where the water flow was so intense. I was playing games with death. I moved my limbs slowly but steadily trying to support myself on the ground inside the water.

I was on shallow grounds and water barely had me submerged above the waist. I had been bored and now I was in the verge to invent another water game. Releasing air from my bowels then watching the bubbles settling to the top just below my chin. How I wished the other boys could join me in doing this silly game. They had not been stupid as I was. I just did my stuff, as I drifted into my own little world.

"You silly boy, what the fuck are you doing?"

My uncle Wilfred asked from where my counterparts were standing. Almost furious and scowling like Hitler.

I was so scared that I just kept quiet and I knew that all my fantasies were shattered. My world came crumbling down as I wished if only the river could swallow me so that I could somehow escape the nitwit that was supposed to be my uncle.

I was beckoned to come offshore and before I could get my clothes on me, the slouch had started spanking me hard and I had officially started screaming – oh I had been an awful screamer as a boy. You would touch me and I would trumpet all over there.

I was now Uncle Fred's hostage and now we were walking across the open field to the bridge and up the hill. His grip on my wrist was tight and it had been a painful experience. I kept springing my feet off the ground and he would pull me up like a little hare on a snare. My pleas for mercy had fallen onto deaf ears and I had to live with it that day. After all, I knew I was wrong swimming in a swollen Mathioya river. I could have even lost my life and Uncle Fred was right.

"Why did you go swimming in the swollen river?"

He snapped dragging me towards his front.

"Nothing" I answered him between sobs as I received a hard knock on my head.

I screamed my lungs out while I called my mother but she had gone to work as a hand for wages at Wakibubu's. My desperate call for help was futile.

Uncle Wilfred picked a stick and I knew what was to follow – thorough spanking on my buttocks. It's this episode that had triggered a lot of detest towards him. He had beaten me up and I had thought that he hated me. From then, we became enemies to this day... though I left ages ago.

Sometimes, I always see Uncle Wilfred standing at the door of his hut behind ours (It's all in my head), holding a roll of cannabis. The man who was supposed to be Uncle used to encourage me to treat myself with a puff.

The hallucinations that would later follow were out of this world. The sound of popping marijuana seeds stuck in my mind from ever since. The dark smoke live etched in my memories like it was yesterday. It's only when I grew up that I came to learn how some relatives mistreat or abuse kids.

I had smoked opium when I was barely eight years old. I had thought that the white smoke was magnificent, so spectacular and pure back then. The innocence in me had been nothing but pure bliss. My uncle's ignorance has been an eye opener.

If the bugger had been enlightened and knew the consequences of his actions, then he would not have dared to introduce me to such kind of drug. To expose me to such vices when I was that young was just wrong. It gets me vexed to the thought of having to be born around such kind of people, who did not take their time to reflect about the future of a kid.

It's only today I feel so much hate towards him, so many years after that ordeal. I would have loved to grow in a safe place, where I could get security and protection, but it saddens me to know that it never happened. The good part is that it never stopped me, and my growth was never stifled because I made through it all.

xxxxxxxxx

When we closed school, my mother announced that we would be visiting her mother's place somewhere in Nyeri. I had been excited for that was my first time to travel. We had woken up at five o'clock in the morning, ate porridge after setting for the bridge, uphill to the ranges above Gakuyu. The weather was chilly and had burst to a fair drizzle. Just a fair drizzle that wouldn't make anyone want to take a shelter. I vividly remember trailing behind my mother, my brother was carried with a shuka and I was jealous.

I was wearing a hairy sweater, a faded blue one. If you dared touch it, it wouldn't go well. That sweater was my whole world. I could wear it occasionally so my mother kept it neatly folded in some other wooden box at the corner of her bedroom.

The sandack shoes – there was something strange about them. This type of shoes would always constrict during cold weather. So this very day, I was somehow uncomfortable. I had little blisters forming below my ankle, so I walked with a slight limp – only to be saved later by some heaven sent sunshine that popped in some Godly manner, just like that. My sandack somehow relaxed and the wading had ceased.

We reached Gakuyu and boarded a red matatu with yellow stripes. The white writings on the little box just above the "cockpit" at the rear body read "Controller". The matatu looked like it had been supported by spit, wire and massive prayers. It purred like an old cat and coughed a black cloud of smoke when ignited. I sat on a small milking chair at the front.

Everyone else sat calmly facing each other holding on to the metal bar that ran across the matatu from the rear end to the front. They all clung to it because it was their only consolation – like it was the only source of their lost glory and hope. I kept biting on the thin metal that ran transversely from one corner to the other.

The woman weaving a kiondo kept warning that I might get my tooth knocked out since the road was full of potholes. I stopped and now concentrated on watching the trees running backwards and I was so excited. I had never seen trees on motion as I saw that day. I was thrilled and so curious to know how that happened.

Some three or four old men were chatting and I heard them say something about the government, corruption and the then president, Magu. I did not understand what made them so angry about Magu; neither did I have a clue about who he was. Not even a hint about the relationship between Magu, corruption and the government.

"This road ought to have been tarmacked" one man with a moustache and a ragged coat had said.

"The M.P. must have embezzled the funds already"

Another one at the corner had said.

"We voted for thieves. They only mind about their stomachs and their families."

It's from this conversation that I had learnt about having to know someone to receive a favor or even a job or a scholarship in my country. Back then, I did not give it so much thinking – only some decades later did I come to learn what the conversation was about. It was very true that what ought not to make sense to me then make a lot of sense later.

The Matatu raced towards Murang'a town. My mother announced that we were now crossing river Gathairu and I could see another bigger river stretching towards the south.

"What river is that?"I had enquired.

"That's not a river," my mother had answered smiling.

The kiondo weaver had explained all the same. That it wasn't a river but a tarmacked Murang'a road that went all the way to a place called Kenol and some other places I don't even remember the names.

As we reached some other dry place with an extension of ragged ranges called Gaturi, the men were still chatting over a contentious topic. They had debated about K.P.C.U and they had lamented how the big cats had fooled the farmers, always postponing payday and paying less. They said that the previous management had failed the farmers terribly and to add insult to the injury, they had made away with farmers money and were still at large with the loot.

The road branched at some juncture and the matatu swerved right. In just a few minutes we were at a place called Kiria-ini. This place had just a few buildings and a small air market at the right where people sold cassava, sweet potatoes and ripe bananas. Others hawked roasted maize and plums.

Mother dished out some coins and got us some roasted maize and some ripe bananas .One for me and one for my brother. Mother had been this selfless kind of a person from the time I got to know her and she's always been like that ever since. In a couple of minutes twenty or twenty five, Everyone was gathering stuff preparing to alight after the conductor announced that we were just about to reach our destination.

Muranga town was beckoned by old buildings built of stones and iron sheets. Most buildings had rusty iron sheets and drably walls. I had seen all types of locomotives from Peugeot 505 to Chevrolet pickups. It's here that I had seen my first long locomotive ever. A Magutu bus commuting from Muranga to Nyeri and Embu.I would have wanted to stay forever and watch cars, wander all over the vibrant city and definitely that would have been a cherish-able childhood escapade.

We hired a hand to help us carry a bag that we picked from one of my father's cousin shop. My father worked here all that time from when he left home .Previously I had met my father but he was busy in the shop attending to customers. I had noticed he was on a vest and the afro looked neat, more elegant and kept just the way you would have want an afro to look like. He had lifted me up and teased with my brother's cheeks. We had retreated to a room inside and had snacks and milk.

My father took me to the barbershop next door to have my hair shaven. The shaving machine had been scary on my head and I had adamantly refused. They had tried to calm me and convince me that the experience would be amazing since it doesn't hurt but how could I believe them? I think I could never trust a man with a machine from the time I was a kid.

I threw off the shuka that wrapped me from the shoulders and that was it. I didn't want to be shaven by a strange looking shaving machine that gurgled over my head. Their strategy to trick me to get shaven had been met by strange stubbornness. It was simple...I just undid the sheets furiously and threw them at the floor, then I started screaming like the room was full of snakes and someone had threw another in my underwear.

This time we travelled on a minibus and my heart sunk when I was made to seat on a strange woman's laps. Honestly she felt spongy under my rump, just a little bit soothing but I detested the whole ordeal. It was a tiring journey so I took a nap. I would wake up to a screeching halt when the bus stopped to eject or let more passengers onboard then I would go to sleep again. I was fully awake when we reached Othaya .These places looked greener unlike Muranga.

The Mifariti trees swung swiftly to the soft midday breeze. There was more coffee and tea around these areas. The coffee estates were stretchy than any other places we'd passed.

We reached Sukuta and the unexpected happened. I had thereafter tried to contain my bladder but had proved futile. I was never being a nice fella so I let it loose. The contents flowed freely to the woman's thighs .She pushed me away cursing but I did not take it personal or even blame her. It was my fault of having to thank the act of mercy that way.

Mother threw the apologies on my behalf and I felt just like a freak. I wished if the vehicle could just crack and swallow me to the tires underneath. I was so embarrassed and I didn't know what to say so I just stood there supporting myself on other passengers' seats for balance.

"How could you do that?" the woman barked.

I just stared and shrugged for I didn't know what to say. I realized this woman was kind of plump and her breasts dangerously threatened to spill to the floor when she stood from her sit trying to wipe away the mess. I was a very naughty kid but I was just being a kid like everyone else is, or once was.

Nyeri town I noticed was more developed with the houses being more brilliant and sophisticated than all other houses I had seen that day. Other houses were made of red bricks made from dried clay. Some young men were hawking stuff.

Our bag helper had led us through a noisy open field, then to the tarmac running to the other side of the town through a hill. We all struggled to avoid stepping on the human defecation and urine that rendered the small alleyway almost impassable.

"Why did you lead us through here? "Mother enquired squarely jumping a big heap of human shit that was still steaming.

"This stuff is heavy and I was trying to discover a short cut".

The wirily man with bloodshot eyes answered with a deep voice then let out a cough followed by funny whizzing.

Mother was now trying to lift me up off the ground to a safe haven on the left side. We reached to the end of the alleyway and she beckoned the one carrying the bag to stop so that we could catch a breath while she pulled my brother to the front. The shuka was held in place by the heap of a knot in front.

The journey commenced and we briskly walked to the west climbing the small hill to the spot where Maathai supermarket stands today. We turned to a corner then a right swerve then to a crowded field with so many Matatus like the one we had boarded from Gakuyu. A huge built man had stopped us to shake hands with mother.

They had reminisced memories. Both had dropped out of school and had gone separate ways to the world to unleash their potentials and discover who they were. Mother had gotten married while King'ori, (he said his name was) secured a position as a tout at the Matatu station.

"It's not a bad job after all you have grown fat" mother had said as a matter of factly

"I can't complain" the man had responded fidgeting his nose while he spoke.

I noticed his teeth were stained and he was chewing some black stuff .he spat to the ground a soot black lump.

King'ori walked on big strides and I had to break into little runs to keep up to the pace. He had offered to direct us to the almost full Matatu. Mother paid the bag carrier off. I heard the coins jiggle when she retrieved a five shillings coin from her porch and quickly returned it to safety between her breasts.

We were lucky this time around to secure seats at the cockpit. I stood at the space between my mother and the dashboard while my brother rested calmly at her laps. Besides me, adjacent to the door sat a lady. She was young brunette with a purple dress and black rubber shoes. She kept staring at me. I did not like it. I turned to face the opposite direction to avoid eye contact.

The driver was a slender man with floppy ears. He came onboard and greeted us. He then hanged his jacket behind his seat and ignited the machine. The Matatu pulled over slowly turning to the right past the city council toll collection central boxes then accelerated to the west. Baden Powell Memorial Park was at the right past Barclay's bank.

At this moment of time, all I could think of is the place where we were heading to. Mother had said that there were kids that I could play hide and seek with. My aunts were in primary school so we could play together and go grazing. I knew it would be fun being to a place I have never been to.

The extension from Mathari branch to Chania River was well inhabited. Some porch houses with wrought iron gates and well-kept drives stretched to the west. The Matatu raced past Kabirui-ini and now I couldn't see any human habitats, only a thick tropical forest extending to a small town at the far end called Mweiga. It's near this small town I had seen a small plane resting on a small lane or rather runway.

We reached at a junction where a murram road full of potholes branched from the main road to the west. It's from that point my stomach started aching to a point I nearly threw up. The road was this horrible one would get thrown from their sitting positions as it had gulleys not even potholes. To say potholes would mean understatement.

The journey had left me feeling sickly and partially deaf. I could not hear well as we alighted from this Matatu. It was a two hours' drive from Nyeri town to Endarasha. The place looked strange with fog hovering all over the tall blue gums and Cyprus. It was near the Aberdare forest so the cold weather was numbing.

As we gathered our stuff at the road, a little girl with two front teeth missing emerged from behind the thorny bush. She looked funny when she smiled and I strained not to burst out laughing.

"Maina this is your aunt Jerioth," Mum had said

"Hi Jerioth"

We shook hands while she disappeared to the unpaved path towards some big blue gums at the horizon. The fog had grown dense so I could not clearly see where she vanished to.

"She's gone to look for someone to help us with the bag," mother told me.

All this time I was shivering as if I could collapse.

My kneecaps hit at each other incredibly and my mother had to get me a second sweater to complement the one that I was on

A couple of minutes later, some other three kids emerged from behind the thorns accompanied by Aunt Jerioth and a short older woman. Amongst the three kids, there was an older boy approximately thirteen years, and mother said I was supposed to call him uncle.

"Say hi to your grandmother," mother said.

We shook hands with grandmother although she said something I didn't like. I think I was playing too much that she found it disgusting. I had been shy when amongst strangers from as long as I can remember. May be she expected me to be different. I hated people that admonished me so that was a bad start.

They helped us carry the bag and as we all marched towards the small forest of blue gums and Cyprus trees. One of the blue gums I discovered had grown very huge and I noted the ground near those blue gums was all wet. I didn't know the chemistry but something was up about the blue gums having to trigger a swift drizzle when it was not actually raining or drizzling out there. The ground away from the blue gums was all-dry so I was perplexed.

A thin mongrel popped from behind a small shed towards our direction. I was scared that I held onto my mother's dress. I had never seen a dog so brave. The old boy reprimanded the charging animal so it stopped barking and now it was wagging its tail.

"Meet our dog Simba," the older boy told us letting the Simba rest its paws on his chest.

All this while, mother and grandmother were chatting about how life had been since my mother's last visit. It was before me and my brother was born. We were travelling for the first time and I had never set my eyes on any of them.

"How is Harrison doing?" Granny enquired.

"He's doing fine and he said we pass his warm regards to you," mum replied

They held lengthy talks, which I didn't have time to follow since I was so much contained by the new environment and people. We followed a track between railings that had little grass on. I was sandwiched between mother and Aunt Jerioth while at the front leading the battalion was Simba and my uncle Kariuki walking like automated robot with the bag on his shoulders.

I realized how badly that bag of ours needed to have straps to make it easier for carriage. May be one could have it hung at the back like the modern backpack or something. We went through a small barbed wire gate that led to a cowshed that was partitioned into two compartments.

I later learnt that the cows spent the night in one compartment while on relaxing mode to chew the cud. We were trekking on a little path that was dry of cow dung so we had no problem passing through. At the extension below the cow boma,I could see the gardens, scattered to a steep then down to the valley. At the center were young Mikima trees growing on a transverse line maybe four meters apart.

The gardens were green, glowing with life and I could tell the organization was great. From one garden, you could see cabbages, and then a line of Napier grass for division, then some other different crop grew on the next garden. There was plenty of carrots, potatoes and some corn too. The fields looked more productive than those from our locality in Murang'a. There was pyrethrum too growing on the largest portion from up the steep to down the valley.

Granny said this had been their cash crop for a long time though I could tell she lamented about the board. She talked about P.B.K where I later came to learn was the board where they sold off their pyrethrum. They would receive their money on monthly basis with some interest but now the story had changed that time. The board had not been paying in time for a couple of months. I had felt sorrow in my grandmother's voice and her now wrinkled face swung with deep bouts of melancholy.

"Why don't you discard the bloody pyrethrum mother?"

Mother addressed granny looking serious

"We could do that but they kept giving us promises which don't materialize" granny complained.

"You should elect a new board of members for as I know you can mobilize in the whole country and do something. You are the bosses!" mother told her almost getting vexed.

"My daughter, we have tried everything and nothing changes.

The management at the lower levels is putting all the blame to the Magu's government" granny finally said wearing a hurtful but sober look I could tell something was totally out of the ordinary.

It rang a bell and now I could see it clearly. Only that I did not understand what was all the chaos about everyone throwing blame on Magu.

"Magu must be a phenomenon" I muttered under my breath as we approached the round grass thatched hut.

I glanced around me and the surrounding looked very unfamiliar. Behind the grass-thatched hut were bamboo houses plastered with mud. It was made of corrugated iron-sheets and that is what made all the difference. At the further end near the Mitero trees, I could see a small house that looked like a crib and at the front was the latrine. It looked like a borehole secured with two lines of posts .There was barbed wire around the little garden with passion plants growing on it.

Other bigger girls shot from behind the house and came to meet us. They were all barefoot and you could see their milk white teeth when they smiled. They were three or four tall ones. Two of them were brown and beautiful and one of them bent down to cuddle me. She slightly rubbed my hair and gave me a haphazard pat on my back.

The other tall one shook my hand and went ahead to mother unveiling the shuka to catch a glimpse of my sleeping little brother. They all giggled while we made our way to the comfort of the hut. I discovered it was the kitchen. A young woman of nineteen to twenty years came to meet us.

She shook hands with mother then jerked to my direction and shook my hand.

Granny settled to introducing everyone while we all sat down on the long form that stretched from the door to the corner of the house on both sides of the hearth. There was Kariuki the one with gingerly hair and wore Akala a type of Akamba traditional slippers and this one was my uncle, then the taller brown lady Waceke, the shorter brown one Wakarima.

I noticed Wakarima had chubby cheeks and brown long hair. She went on doing the introductions. From Jerioth there was the elder sister King'ethu. She looked cool on a buggy sweater and a blue nylon dress to match. She was shy as she put her hand frequently on her lips as if to cover the caveat smile. Her two upper front teeth were missing.

These strangers were all my family. That was a strange revelation since I was used to living in solitude, with less people to play or mingle with. I felt a little bit uncomfortable and lost **.**

Dusk was approaching and the fog had become denser. There was slight drizzling adding to the paralyzing cold. I still had the two sweaters on and the black sandacks. The little girls were admiring my sandacks and I felt superior.

"My father bought me these sandacks," I was boasting while all the kids eyed me with so much adoration.

"Is your father big? Does he spank you all the time?" Aunt King'ethu asked fingering her nose.

"Yes....my father is tall and he does not get to spank people"

I could feel it they admired my father and wished if it was their own father.

"Don't you have a father?" I was asking when the cute tall chick walked across the house carrying a basket full of spotlessly clean peeled potatoes.

"We have a father and he won't buy any of us sandacks all he would do is spank someone with a gichang'i". The older boy acknowledged.

I had no need asking if their father went to the pastures to graze their cattle and he would be coming home any time from then.

Grandpa came marching through the door and everyone stopped speaking. I did not understand why everyone chickened out when he entered that room. I could tell it was the norm since it happened so fast and automatically.

The silent was so grave one could hear the crackling of the fire embers beckoned by soft sparkles. He was a heavy built man with a beard and white hair. He wore a moustache and had white eyes.

On this day I first saw him, he was wearing a linen striped trouser and a long jacket that looked like mackintosh. His hands were deeply buried in the jacket pockets. I too discovered he wasn't barefoot like everyone else. He wore a black gumboot that looked new... not the faded battered ones you would likely expect him to be on. His eyes inspected the house right from below his hat brim.

He noticed my mother and they briefly shook hands then he turned to shake mine Honestly, I did not like my grandfather. He looked cold, mean and harsh. It was funny how my young mind could judge that much. The magnitude of a kid's judgment is always based on whoever the subject is.

If it were not for my grandpa's fierce eye coldly studying me then I won't have judged him that way. Grandpa slumped on the chain that Aunt Jerioth brought for him before he got hold of his hat and removed it. The white hair was visible **.**

Supper was served and everyone was getting busy with the plates. I bet you would have wanted to see me battle with a big spoon. The food was so delicious I had requested for more after wiping away the whole plate. Granny wasn't hesitant to add more potatoes in my plate for she knew I had been hungry since we travelled for almost the whole day.

I noticed grandpa was served a special kind of food different from the potatoes and cabbages that we'd been served earlier on. His bowl was filled with fried beans immersed in soup. I did not understand why grandpa's supper looked special from everyone else and I never had the guts to ask since I had been nervous all this time. Tea was served discriminatory with the kids getting nothing reason being that they would piss on their beddings.

I had started dozing off when I woke up to a strange snore somewhere between the hearth and the form we'd been sitting on. I almost screamed when Aunt King'ethu explained that it was their cat. The beast squatted calmly basking on the warmth of the blazing firewood. Its eyes were half shut and the ears stiff straight. It was a huge black cat like the ones I saw on books. Everyone chit chatted while I dozed peacefully leaning my back on the wall. My feet dangled from up the long form chair we sat on.

Uncle David had announced that it was time to pray and retire to bed. So we were compelled to close our eyes as he led us with a word of prayers. This time I was full awake so I had to close my eyes and pray with Uncle David.

My eyes were bulging from between my fingers and grandpa had thrown this cold look so I was forced to fast shut them off. People were bound to sleep in pairs I noticed, except some few others. This was the order... Grandpa and grandma... King'ethu and Aunt Jerioth,...Aunt Waceke and Wakarima.

The boys were sleeping separately. Uncle David slept in his Thingira. While uncle Kariuki had to sleep right in the kitchen. Mother and little brother were led out of the kitchen to the main house while my tall aunts followed.

Aunt Waceke was fond of me since she glanced at my directions and offered to let me sleep on their bed. She got hold of my hand and led me out to the main house in a different room. I was intrigued by the fact that uncle Kariuki was sleeping in the kitchen. I could not imagine how that could be possible with all that smoke and falling soot. The place looked inhabitable for a sleeping human.

I did not see a real bed but that was none of my business. I had to investigate later of course. I was the type of kids who always had the curiosity of a cat. I discovered that uncle Kariuki actually spent his nights as a prisoner. He had no real bed apart from the hard flat iron sheeting that he used to spread on the kitchen floor. He would lay there snoring his nights away-peace and tranquility was all his to own since he was already accustomed to that kind of lifestyle. He had no choice anyway.

As an African child and living in the country village with no real civilization, one would not expect to find a different scenario. People slept on the floor next to the hearth to bask to its comforting warmth.

Aunt Waceke's bedroom wasn't that bad or out of shape as one would think. There were two beds each apart. Though they had no real mattresses like the ones at our place, there were better off than none. The mattresses were made from rags and sisal bags. There was a faded trace of ammonia stench though I did not give it so much thinking since all I was yearning for was to lay on the bed, close my eyes and drift away to my sweet slumber.

We were seven of us in that little room .My four aunts, my mother, my little brother and I. They all had to resolve and see if we could all fit and at least have somewhere to lay our heads. They concluded that aunt Jerioth and King'ethu should lay some bedding on the floor while mother and my little brother spent the night on their bed.

They divided the beddings with both the beds having to lose a number of rags. They had blankets all right tattered ones but that did not matter since what mattered was something to cover oneself. Others out there may be had nothing at all; mother slept with Aunt King'ethu, the two girls lay on the floor while I slept with Aunt Waceke. I got lost in the ambience and the night took over. I woke up to my grandmother calling one of my aunts to go help her prepare tea.

After breakfast, tea served with nothing, grandpa called uncle Kariuki and gave some instructions. We were to go down the valley to graze cattle. The morning was such a boring one. The sun was missing and the cold was numbing.

The weather was foggy and it rained with mist. We led the cows down the railed track to the valley. There were seven or ten cows. Friesians had a wedge shape and huge udder and were the greediest amongst all the cows- always timing to grab maize stalk or Napier and that was forbidden.

My uncle Kariuki had carried himself a Nugi and he was swinging it all over the place. I marveled to the thick line of smoke emanating from that fabricated mobile hearth. It was fabricated from an old Kimbo tin, perforated with some tiny holes to let out the ashes while a larger hole was perforated at one side to let in wind when the swinging and swirling was done.

The two younger aunts joined us and I bet that it was a bad omen as far as that day was concerned. We played hide and seek and the worst happened. Hide and seek didn't seem to go well with grazing. The greedy stray beasts attacked the neighbor's Copenhagen eating quite a hundreds of them, tramping on some others.

Before that day ended they destroyed crops and the owner was at my grandpa's snarling like a fire dragon.

"Kang'ethe you have to pay that loss I incurred!" he snapped with urgency.

"I swear I will have to kill these kids" grandpa roared with anger while we all chickened away to avoid the impending loathe.

"Were you not just sitting your ass when I planted those cabbages?" The cabbages owner snorted threatening to hit grandpa.

What followed later that day did not amuse me one bit. It earned us a thorough beating. The happenings unfolded so quickly like a comic movie where the players had to play but did not carry their scripts. There was an episode where grandpa yanked on the other man's tattered three-piece and ripped it into shreds. The medium built man came charging hitting grandpa on the head and sent his hat flying in the air. Grandpa retaliated by beating hell out of him.

It's my first holiday to travel and treat myself with real childhood Banya and Hunia... and mud sliding.One afternoon mother beat hell out of me after showing up looking like Mr. Bean. I was smeared of mud from head to toe and my slippers were missing.

I had a deep cut on my left foot and some blood was oozing out. I bet some broken bottle had found its way during mud sliding. I had never seen my mother so vexed. She threatened to swallow me or rather throw me in Mathioya River as we returned home.

"You are such a stubborn boy!"

She had said administering a pinch of salt on the gaping wound.

"I won't repeat." I answered springing off to my feet as I felt some thin pain cutting through the wound where the salt penetrated.

The wound had saved me so much drama as I had to stay home more since I was limping like hell worse than a hyena. My tied foot made me feels like a prisoner in a free world and I had no choice but to just obey.

Grandpa sat on his backward-stunting chair while the timber radio was kept besides him on the left. It was now approaching twelve o`clock and my aunt was chopping cabbages for lunch. There was a tune playing on the radio at twelve o`clock on the dot. That tune was familiar and was the country's national anthem.

A Mohammed Juma Njuguna in Swahili read the news starting with some news about Magu visiting America. It dawned on me this Magu guy was the country`s topic since almost everywhere I`ve been at least everyone talked about Magu. Magu this- Magu that. I expected everyone to lament about him not bringing rains. I imagined Magu to be a very powerful human or even a god but I was just an innocent kid trying to learn from a chaotic world.

The wrinkles on grandpa`s forehead had grown more distinct when the radio presenter Mohammed had announced that Magu was scheduled to visit America, then Cairo and some other country I don't remember the name.

I watched grandpa jerk his head furiously and I could tell some deep shit was happening may be out there, somewhere far away in the world but I did not comprehend. That name Magu had become so familiar and I recall how I now started developing this cold attitude towards it from then. I was now a fully hater when we shifted to Nyeri officially after my father`s demise.

There was the little boy we were schooling with called Gitonga. The scrawny boy walked with slight limping and had a big scar on his left foot. It wasn't fully recovered the first time I met him. The big wound was partly healed and a scab was forming. On enquiring what happened he had narrated to us the whole ordeal and I felt so much pity. Again the name Magu was dragged in.

He had narrated how their house was set ablaze and his father beheaded in the chaos, so they had to relocate from their home. They escaped by foot at night, they were four of them; his mother and her two little sisters. He had said the rival community used special arrows to burn down houses.

"Whose houses were they burning?" I asked him as we marched towards school.

He answered thinking too hard I could tell he was in some sort of trauma. I did not understand why it's only a certain tribe's houses that were torched down like that. He said he had sustained injuries that fateful night his father was killed.

The killers dragged him out of their house, made him to lie flat on the ground, chopped off his head and licked the bloody sword before shoving it to the long sword bag. They had sealed the ceremony by torching the house to ashes. There was something even more strange about Gitonga's narration when he had said that no male was to be spared.

"And why are you still breathing?"

I asked him with a cat`s curiosity.

"Mother had me clothed on a dress like a girl"

I stood there staring and watched him walk past me, limping continuously to the horizon until he vanished to the classes at the rear end. I did not imagine someone beheading my dad as we watched helplessly. My mother would cry holding onto us and my dad in a girls' dress. That grotesque image of Gitonga has lived in my sub-conscious from the time I was seven or eight years old and don`t seem to go away.

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# CHAPTER TWO

The matatu lurched towards the drabby Gakuyu shopping center to an abrupt screeching halt. The conductor announced that we had finally reached our destination. I knew that very well since that was home. How could I have not known that? Gakuyu shopping center was just a mere trading center with two or three shops lining on the upper side, a hotel and a bar.

Idlers and drunkards were seen sitting in groups chatting or lying down near the big Mufariti tree-standing sentinel at the front. Everyone alighted and the tout helped me alight.

"Come here short man" He said lifting me down then turning to climb at the matatu roof to get down the luggage.

Everyone stood in attention waiting for the luggage to be unloaded. We had a full little sack stuffed with potatoes and cabbages and then topped up with plums and Malaika. Mother had to look for someone to drop our luggage to the shop at the further end so that she could return to pick it up after dropping us home. She gave them each ten shillings and they did not complain like the previous one at Nyeri market.

This time we never had the chance to drop at my father's work station. It was late but mother promised to take us to see him next time immediately we closed school. It was almost dark. The twilight scarcely drifted away to the ragged Ruguru plains, then vanished in the mountains above. We met Kirigu at the squeezed path entering our home.

"Good evening MA?" Mother greeted her

"Good evening mother of Maina" She replied.

She asked mother if everyone was in good health wherever were coming from. She'd assured her that everyone was in good shape.

They both laughed when they reminisced about their Nyeri visit together. I too burst out laughing when Kirigu narrated how she`d plucked stinging nettle leaflets to wipe out her butt with after shitting. I received a scornful eye so I had to stifle a laugh. Only to release a hysterical one before we had barely gone twenty meters after parting ways.

"Poor Kirigu, she thought stinging nettle was Maigoya."Mother said smiling.

"She`d been stupid and dumb" I quickly answered.

"Not really boy, it was out of ignorance maybe, but that doesn`t make her either of the two descriptions plus you ought to respect grown-ups Maina." Mother complained and I apologized.

Some tomato plants were growing at our doorstep and mother had to open the door first, get her blunt panga from under her bed and uproot the damn plants. I noticed our house was full of cobwebs when we entered so I picked a broom and settled down to cleaning that mess.

There was also a stale stench emanating from the kitchen. I found it was a huge rodent rotting at the kitchen entrance. I let out a scream and my mother hurried to my rescue.

"It`s dead and won`t bite you" She declared scooping the rotting mess with the blunt panga tip.

The dead beast made our house to smell like a morgue. My mother was the mortician while I was the morgue attendant assistant. I was relieved when the dead animal had been evacuated. I ran to check on my grandpa and there he was.

I have never seen him so calm, sitting beside the hearth enjoying warmth with so much earnest. For all the years I had known him, I had never seen him so contented and settled. Checking on the other side of the wall, I could see the grotesque image of his shoulder dancing rhythmically to the movement of the flicking flame that burnt solemnly.

I slowly walked besides him and we shook hands. He beckoned me to sit on the opposite side and I hauled my carcass and sat on my butt.

"How is your family back at home?" He started after shoving more sticks on the hearth.

"They are all fine but grandpa was fighting"

"Why was he fighting?" I had evaded that question with a shrug and a cough since I did not want to explain since we were the main reason for them fighting.

I was subject of the matter and I knew grandpa would definitely lecture me and to be sincere I wasn`t in the mood. Mother served us supper and grandpa marveled to the deliciousness of potatoes and cabbages that were gold in those sides of Kenya. After supper, my grandpa had buried a thick piece of wood in the hearth to glow slowly overnight with limited oxygen so that in the morning he wouldn`t need to light the fire afresh. We called it a day and retired to bed.

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# DEMISE OF DAD

In 1992, my father got ill and he was hospitalized. His condition became worse day by day. We only hoped that maybe a miracle could happen one morning and see the usual man he used to be. He had grown so thin and now his clothes just hung on his body. After spending a month in Muran`ga Hospital, he somehow recovered and was discharged. He was recuperating just fine and now he could feed himself without aid.

I had reared a big cockerel and we had to butcher it for father. We hunted it down one afternoon... my mother and I until we captured it .It squeezed itself in the hedge after chasing it for almost an hour. She grabbed the cockerel by the legs and held it upside down.

The poor bird flapped his wings in fright. That was raid of Terror subjected to my favorite cock. It saddened me to see my lifeless cock lying on the floor headless. My dad deserved the soup at least to get strength and energy for replenishment.

At times, my dad would throw up every time he ate. I never had the courage to walk up to him and pat him on the back assuring him that he will be well. I would hide behind our house and cry all day. Mum too was sad since she all of a sudden changed to a stranger, a person I could not tell who she was, she`d been grieved and sad.

People flocked at our house to console us day in day out. They were kind since they could lift my little brother .Others would help my father to the toilet. That's the picture I saw from people with my innocent mind. Just concerned and caring.

I was preparing to go to school when my mother shot out from the bedroom screaming. My father condition had worsened and he needed urgent medical attention. People gathered in our house and they concluded that my father was to be taken to the hospital urgently. We had firewood gathered at the rib of the house near the entrance.

The men took out thick posts and constructed a mobile homemade stretcher. They picked my father and laid him on it. The journey was set for Muran`ga hospital and all I hoped was quick recovery for my father. I could see the figures at the other side of the valley towards Gakuyu, up...up until they vanished in the bush at the horizon.

I had been depressed since my father got ill. I was lost in hopelessness and despair but no one dared comfort me. I was only but a kid who did not know what was happening. Three days passed and then the black Monday. The neighbors who had accompanied mother to the hospital returned with a small baggage.

My mother was missing. They had explained to grandpa why she did not accompany them and dropped the little baggage with him –actually, it was black polythene but a little bit larger than the ordinary. It was sealed with a black tape.

They had pulled grandpa away from where we were standing. Gathanju had whispered something almost inaudible. I suspected it was quite a distance that's why I never grasped a word. I later discovered that the little baggage contained my father's clothing and that my mother stayed with my dad's distant cousin at Muran`ga for the night.

Things seemed to take a different turn since after the previous night people had begun flocking to our compound. I did not understand and no one dared enlighten me what had happened to my father. He had passed away and not even a single person had the courage to explain. Maybe they were right or they were wrong. Somehow, I could not understand what death was. I guess they just chose to just ignore me. They wanted me to learn by myself and watch the unfolding events without explanation.

My mother showed up the following day accompanied by some distant relatives. There was Grace, my dad's cousin and his immediate employer. I ran to her but I could not understand why she couldn`t stop crying. There were so many people in our compound. I had to learn my own way as they anticipated. My father was no more and I could not see him again alive. He was dead and gone.

A grave was dug besides the banana plantation near the house and plans were made to bring the hearse. Funeral was bound to happen the following day and folks from Nyeri arrived. There was grandpa, grandma and small aunt king'ethu. They all looked sad but King`ethu smiled at me and I smiled back- kids innocence was never a lie and whoever wrongs a little kid is cursed. We shook hands and I trailed behind them to the house.

The actual funeral day was real drama. It had slightly drizzled so it was a little bit muddy. The sun shone brightly since the sky had cleared. I had seen men hobbling towards our house carrying a coffin that bore my father's remains. It was a blue coffin with two yellow stripes that went round it, wedged on both sides.

Uncle Bernard led the battalion while my other uncle helped carry the coffin. One man with a moustache was wearing white gumboots. When they arrived, they let the coffin rest on two stools besides the man on the white cloak. He was the catholic reverend. My parents were stout Catholics. The Catholic Church had to preside over the funeral.

I wanted to touch my father's coffin but my efforts were thwarted when Uncle Bernard hauled us to the house and closed the door behind him. I cried a lot but no one came to rescue me all the same. I did not know where mother was but as far as I am concerned, it is only now I come to conclude that she was missing in action. I did not see her anywhere that day. Not even my little brother and it is only the other day that I perused the few pictures in the album.

None of my family members were photographed and we do not appear in any of my father's funeral photographs. All they seem to be full of is shabby burgers with no shoes. I mean... it was no one's funeral but my father's .How did it happen that they had to get me locked in a room while they chase my mother away? It only got me suspicious.

Whatever followed made me feel that someone was trying to cover up some evidence. They somehow won. I did not trouble myself though because I was watching the proceedings from a crack on the door. I stood there peeping until the mass was over.

Four men lifted the coffin and went with it down to the graveyard. I saw them pass a white rope through the metallic handles and some four other men swapped with those others. Mama Jimmy led the crowd with a gospel hymn.

"Gukua` no muhaka tugakua...

Tu`tingehota kwiyeheria...

No kiuria kinene ni giki..."

(We all have to die someday but the big question is...will you have repented?)

The men holding the ropes released slowly letting the coffin descend in the grave....down...down...down... and when it was there, they pulled off the darned white ropes .The reverend took over and the things he said live etched in my memories forever.

"He who is born of a woman...

Lives only for a short period...

Passes like a shadow...

The soul riseth to the creator...

Let the body settle to the earth...

Dust return to dust...

And ashes return to ashes..."

Someone threw rocks in the grave and there was cracking sound that emanated and I let out a haul. They seemed not to notice or simply let us say they had no business over the brat that was supposed to be me- I cried to the extent of passing out since I was very sure, they had killed my father.

Throwing rocks and filling the damn grave with red soil only meant one thing-that they killed him. If you have never walked this journey with me then you have no idea how it feels or what it means to be robbed off my father when I was barely five years old. We lost him to hepatocellar carcinoma and that was it.

Our lives took a dramatic turn; we had to grow in a different home away from ours. Mother had to leave all the same, but we had to survive .Even though the world did not bear us mercy, we had to prove to the earth that our battles were not over yet. Sometimes the world around us was this scary ass place. I wished my heart could stop beating, but then I had a myriad buggers to prove wrong. I had to resolve and conclude that I had to live so that other people could get encouragement from what I went through, you are not alone.

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# NYERI

We had travelled to grandpa`s in Nyeri to seek refuge. Since our father died, his brothers had been treating us with brutality. The rogues frequently beat me up over nothing while they threatened to torch our house down. Our mother had no choice but to evacuate us to safety .We were robbed off a father and now a home. We were now fatherless after the tragedy...then the mayhem.

My grandpa had travelled all the way to look for us. He was ill at this time and his feet were swollen. He urged my mother to take us back home and she promised to do that later. I resisted this urge to ask him why he had failed to protect us. Where was he when we left...? Where was he when everyone treated us like prisoners of war? We had never been prisoners of war or even felons-we were prisoners by birth. Grandpa left and the council of elders decided that it was wrong to let us go like that. They sent a battalion of representative to fetch us.

The morning was foggy as usual and one could hear the desperate chirping of birds. The cold was unbearable. You can imagine they had no beds or blankets to cover themselves. Leave alone a roof over their heads.

Granny was up already and had finished milking the first animal when Muthoni the seer trotted in. She was in her usual white attire. A long dress complemented by a white sheet covering the chest with an extension to her back. A little knot put all that shuka together on her fronts.

As usual, she was bare feet as she`d always been. Not even a single day I had seen her in shoes even on special occasions. There was something strange about Muthoni. She never shook hands with anyone and she`d always told people that her deity prohibits that.

Muthoni and grandma had settled down in the kitchen besides the fire. I could clearly see the two women as I peeped through the cracks between the off-cuts that were used to partition the kitchen. We slept in the other room adjacent to the kitchen. Muthoni slumped heavily onto the chair opposite grandma`s. Her hands were busy pulling her now wide spread skirt in place.

"You know what mother of Mwangi" She was saying,

"I'm listening to you mother of Mbuto. What brings you here this early?" Grandma responded letting out an ounce of curiosity.

"I had a terrible dream last night and I had no choice but to come around" Muthoni announced looking worried. "What was it about?" Grandma asked now hauling herself together with the chair she sat on near the heat.

"I dreamt that your daughter is bound to return to her husband's home tomorrow, is that so?" Muthoni had said looking quizzical.

"Yes you are right," Granny answered without hesitation.

Muthoni had articulated how she`d seen visions of my father's brother chopping my mother into pieces on my dad's grave. She had warned my grandma about letting us return home. Moreover, that happened since we never did.

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# NEW BEGINNING

The road to kwa Nguku was murramed and that made it real torture for me. I had to go and enroll in my new school. It was a government school with a massive pupil's population. I limped my way forward trailing behind my grandpa. I was barefoot but he was on shoes so it was ultimately a torture ordeal to keep up to his pace. My feet were numb and damn painful. If I said I did not cry, I would be acting a chronic liar. I was admitted to the class at the further end of the huge playground.

Our teacher was this plump short woman Mrs. Kang`ethe. She was so mean and would beat the hell out of us if we failed mathematics. It's this beating that had led to my development of a negative attitude towards math. Mrs. Kang`ethe was a real nutcase for she`d throw tantrums to an extent she`d cry if we failed math. She was a nice woman after all because no one stifled in math except me.

Detesting math never meant I was born dumb. I had always maintained position one ever since and I have no idea whose brains I inherited. Mum's or dad's? Maybe that was mum's for she said she was a bright girl in school but she decided to drop out and escape with dad after mistreatment from her father. She said her father was a strict disciplinarian and would beat the hell out of someone for mere mischief or misconduct. She called the beating trophy war. She had said that grandpa's beatings those days were lethal; a two-minute beating was equal to a one-hour battle in world war 11.

According to mother, all the girls' situations in the family were predominantly helpless. Grandpa had inherited this crazy mantra from his father and was in sound practice during our mothers childhood times.

That mantra stated that only a fool would waste his resources educating a girl child .Because the girl child had no other place in the world apart from the kitchen, child bearing and taking care of her husband. In addition, why would my grandpa waste his resources and energy in meaningless investments? Educating a girl child wasn`t his thing and he was contented and there was no compromise about that.

Mother had fed her mind that education was useless for the girl child. Therefore, she had no choice but to elope because that was the right thing one could do. She really had existed in the dark ages when civilization had not boomed yet.

My mother's older sister was a genius. Mother said that she`d passed very excellently and she even managed to join high school. She too was prone to that mentality and dropped out at form three after conceiving with some lad from the other side of the valley. She had to give up education to go trade to the love trophy that was my cousin Bobo.

Life wasn`t a bed of roses, I had school to attend and more other duties waiting for me at home. School attending hours was seven o `clock to one o` clock in the afternoon. I had to wake up at five to manage and that was kind of a hell. I don`t know how I survived it.

First I was always on shorts, khaki ones that had patches all over. Most times, I was on plain sleeveless khaki shirts. A sweater was missing on me reason being I did not have one. The place was damn cold and I swear if I never got frozen to an ice statue, then I had seven hearts.

You would have seen me hobbling towards Endarasha trading center with my manila school bag clinging onto me as if I was the only hope for survival. Teachers back then were animals, so unfair and heartless. I had always been late for school but they did not understand. Walking on my part was such a nightmare.

My feet were so numb and hurting because of the medium size gravel scattered all along the all Weather Endarasha-Charity road. An angered Mr. Jack would spank me six canes on the spot on my numb fingers or my little skinny feet. I used to cry a lot and I think other kids sensed my predicaments since they had somehow stopped laughing at me.

I was standoffish and no one even took their time to study me and discover what the crying was all about-it was residual from home. It`s only today that I see clearly, teachers of those days were unfit, poorly trained and money oriented. They were never concerned and had no time knowing. It was a mediocre school –I mean Endarasha primary, the school I attended. All I ever encountered from teachers was acts of sheer folly. Some teachers were nice though but others had no sense engaging in coitus with the pupils they were entitled to teach and guide.

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# CHAPTER THREE

It was on a Sunday, everyone else had gone to church as usual leaving me and my little brother to tend to the livestock. It was sunny and the blue skies exhibited no signs of rain. We grazed the cows and sheep, we`d other mission to complete.

I was the brainchild; I did the calculations and laid down grounds to execute the plan. I knew the dangers so diligence was paramount. A mere falter would lender the whole mission a mess and we would either risk going without food, a thorough beating or grandpa would chase us for good. I was hardened by life. I had to play by the rules of the game and that was very simple. Take shorter period while my brother kept vigil. The game plan that Sunday was to rob our neighbor house.

We were unique kind of robbers operating during the day and slept at night. We stole foodstuffs only and nothing more so the main target was the kitchen. For the numerous operations we ever carried in the past, my brother had been cooperative and the deal had been just perfect.

I beckoned with a show of my small finger for the directions to be vigilant at. Near the gate, on the footpath to our house and behind the main house then I had to tiptoe behind the granary to the left past the turkey house. Our neighbor had reared a large turkey then. By show of hand, I was set to start my mission that was the king.

"Carry on''

Kim highlighted that all was clean.

"Okay ''

I responded tiptoeing forward to check if anyone was inside the kitchen. There was a special way of doing that, I would have to throw a rock at the window and listen if the door slum shuts. If it didn`t, no one was there. I threw the first and the second rock for confirmation and nothing happened.

I trotted forward to the porch where the padlock dangled from the hook on indication that there was no one. I was sure they have never closed that kitchen since so I had nothing to worry about. I checked in at the cowshed and all was clear. A stray dog shot from behind the garbage pit and my heart almost skipped a beat.

I made my way past the granary to the kitchen door and undone the simple lock. There was no padlock so that made it easy. In the kitchen on the hearth, a kikuyu pot was gurgling and I suspected it contained Githeri. I loathed Githeri for that was our daily dish at grandmas.

I had always changed diet credit to the hospitality of the woman I was about to rob. Nevertheless, child burglars with their juvenile minds don't know anything about having to spare someone who ever did something good to them. After all, we were just taking food and not hurting her.

I ignored the kikuyu pot on the fire and forged forward for the little cupboard. Last time we attempted stealing the whole Gikuyu pot with its contents and the unexpected happened. It slipped with its contents had spilled all over me. Earning me some scalds so I somehow abhorred Gikuyu pots.Every dog has its lucky day so I was a lucky bastard this time round. There was a full basin full of Mkorogo. A certain pastry made from beaten eggs and wheat floor. Some oranges lay on the lower compartment and a thermos stood at the top. I had to ransack the house for polythene, a basket or anything to aid in carriage. I was the transporter and so it had to be quick. A miscalculation would not have been condoned. Definitely, there was a price to pay. It was bailment for self-custody.

I unhooked a certain Kiondo that was hanging behind the door and within the blinking of an eye, the lootings were safely packed. Mkorogo at the bottom... followed by the oranges and at the top was the thermos flask. I shot for the barbed wire fence where the soldier on rags was waiting.

To avoid the notorious Mitura pricks, I had learnt a very sophisticated walking style. I could walk with the tip of my toes to decrease the surface area so that there were minimal chances of my feet being pricked. The mission was deemed successful without lapse of time. I crossed to safety and we retreated to the big feast in the little bush at the center of the grazing pasture.

In the evening, we had been summoned and our vexed neighbor had dropped the case due to lack of evidence. Thereafter, we were declared innocent though deep down we knew we were the culprits behind the burglary.

The main suspect was now Gategi the man who used to trap moles. He was an old chap of sixty to seventy years but we`d no damn business pitying him. We did not choose to be in that situation. I wonder if a well-fed kid would steal food, hot food straight from the hearth. Cases like those ones I drop with a shrug- nothing to scoff at or think about. It was somehow our means of survival and a man must live.

Whenever there was a get together party at our home and so many guests came to feast, the rules were clear – to just keep off the home compound till the last guest left. Our job was to graze and stay away. I somehow did not like it so I had to bend rules sometimes. Even though it did not do me any justice, it made me feel like a human being. I felt my right as a child was deprived and I was denied child delight.

I was not being a defiant, I was trying to evade the feeling that come about when you have no father and your mother left you to grow on the hands of total strangers that were supposed to be your relatives. You feel lost and hopeless, your life is miserable and you cannot just sit there and cry it out.

As a little man, you learn to adopt and become hardened –It is the same feeling when you were born, five minutes after your birth, they decided your name, nationality and religion. You spend the rest of your life fighting for something you did not choose. I did not choose to grow up that way and that's one reason I will never apologize to my neighbor when I stole thermos and mkorogo.

I had not been one hundred percent disadvantaged growing that way. I had learnt skills like being a hardcore and another fundamental skill –how to fend for myself. So many other escapades we cannot just ignore like swimming in a water puddle and mud sliding. Don`t forget about time management on a mission. Everything you do no matter how little must have a time line to adhere to.

I was nine years old and in upper primary. Around this time, I loved and abhorred school in equal measure. We had a class teacher whom I hated plus other issues cropped up and terrible stuff was going on in my life. I was happy since I did not have to go home early as classes ended at four o`clock and so I was spared the chores at home. These jobs I abhorred entailed cutting Napier grass, fetching water and digging. There was always something for me to do and amongst all the chores; I abhorred digging with all my heart.

I tiptoed to my grandma`s purse and stole some money from there. It was a Tuesday morning and I was vigilant enough to make sure all my aunts had left. I anticipated taking less money from there. Maybe a five or ten shillings note but unfortunately grandma had stored some big money. I did not have the time to check, as I would be late for school. It was bailment for safe custody as usual. I put the note in my shirt pocket and hurried off to school.

It was mid-day after ten o`clock break when my grandma came spitting venom demanding for answers. First my aunts were led out of the classroom and I could see King`ethu swear with Satan that she did not touch any money.

"Who might have stolen it then if it's not you people? ''

Furious granny snapped almost attracting everyone's attention.

Teachers had begun to gather around her and a bunch of naughty kids had started peeping from half-shut doors and windows.

"I swear I did not touch it"

Aunt Jerioth had said looking tensed.

She turned her dress pockets inside out to confirm she wasn`t lying and some two or three githeri grains fell off from the right pocket. My turn for interrogations came. I was hurled out by one of the female teachers.

I turned down the allegations by utter mischief. I was smart enough to have survived the cross-examination. The five hundred note was right in my shirt pocket and I expected them to frisk search me which they didn`t. I commended myself for being a smart ass and that was it. We were all suspects and no one was found guilty. Poor granny had no choice but to leave the school compound infuriated like hell.

During lunch break, my other friend and I from school a boy of my size known as Muchori had spent the whole of that hour shopping. We gave ourselves a lunch treat at Marekia's that cost us a total of sixty shillings. I was there to take care of the bills. The two plates of chips were on me. We window-shopped and had so much fun. We purchased disco watches at Karoki`s. Two of them and I tell you there was so much glory those days owning a disco watch.

Upon reaching home, my aunt Waceke invaded me before I even had a chance to enter the kitchen door. She frisked me and my forty days were now over. She retrieved the remaining balance and my new disco watch. I thought of dodging to evade judgment but that wasn`t the case. She raised alarm and the whole family gathered.

They beat me up, tear my uniform into shreds and coerced me to say where the extra money was. When they summed up all the balance that was with me plus the one hundred and fifty shillings I used to purchase the watch, it added up to three hundred Kenyan shillings. I had to puke the remaining two hundred.

I had to rat on my friend all the same. I wasn`t being a snitch but the donkey`s beating I received forced me to. They tied me with a rope they used to tether the red bull and we marched towards charity. We had bumped at my friend and he had surrendered the watch though he did not evade being captured and our poor hands were chained together. I was so scared I thought they would lynch us.

We begged for mercy and our begging was turned down. My aunt Waringa from Nairobi had visited and she was the most vocal. She bashed my head all the way to the trading center. I resisted the urge to insult her- a dog since it wasn`t her money that was stolen and she wasn`t a police officer .All the same we returned the watches to where we bought them and got a refund. Only sixty shillings was missing. We had eaten chips for lunch. I had sworn to myself that I will pay back the sixty shillings in my lifetime.

That episode turned my life to a living hell. Sleeping hungry and receiving beatings was the order of the day which I deserved because I was a little thief son of nobody. I was not intending to live in a battlefield so I resolved to leave and give up school all the same. I stuffed the few clothes I owned in polythene- all that I had in this world and rolled out of the compound. I would be lying if I said I knew where my destination was. I didn`t and I had no business knowing. All I had wanted to be is in the run and no doubt I resolved to be a fugitive. I was a little boy of eight years then, clad on rags and bare feet.

I walked towards Aberdare ranges and hoped I would find a refugee somewhere...anywhere. My head span but I was comfortable since I had made a successful escape from the prison camp. I walked in little strides clinging to my hope, a hope of finding a foster home.

A bright idea came to my mind and I congratulated myself for being a smarty-pants. I decided to enter each home and ask for a grazing job. I had dealt with cattle and sheep since day one at my grandpa's, so I had the experience. I could even milk a cow very well. I entered the first home and I had been chased away by a woman, a buxom woman wearing a black tattered dress.

"Get out, little brat, I know what are you up to, steal my eggs again? msheeew...'' She said threatening to chop off my head with a blunt panga she was holding.

I thought she was kidding while she charged towards me with a rhino speed. I swerved at one side to avoid a body on body collision. She tripped over a log and crushed her head on the fence post before crumbling down legs and hands apart. I stood there to watch before fleeing to wherever I had come from. She reminded me of someone somehow .A basking hippo.

I wandered the whole of the neighborhood searching for a job. It seemed like my luck was slim so I hauled my frail figure at least to catch a breath. I had taken a nap and I woke up to a vulture flapping his wing just a few meters away. The scavenger wished I was dead maybe. The way he kept looking at me with begging eyes exposed the whole truth. He was hungry and praying that I turn into a corpse. He was disappointed since I clutched to my polythene, sprung to my feet and hauled my rotten carcass to look for a job.

I loitered all afternoon entering and leaving country home`s gates. Most people did not even give me time to explain myself while others chased me away. It's obvious a barefoot kid on rags and scales and horny toes is never welcome in anyone's home. Especially the classic country home with a gate, a hedge and flowers planted all around the house. Not the type of houses with windowpanes and corrugated iron sheets for a roof. Other kids my age avoided me like plague. Of course, I looked odd- a little bit scrawny, massive dirt, with stench, hungry and job seeker .All that made me a special child but no one ever took their time to think. I was a fugitive of war and a prisoner by birth.

At around dusk I had not yet secured myself the grazing job. Chances were high that I would spend the night out in the cold. It was now dark and I was terribly shaking when I tiptoed to one of the classic homes with a metal gate.

I peeped at the lock hole to master the condition of the inside since most home of that kind had fierce German shepherds. One had attacked me sometimes back when we went for a plum harvesting spree at my neighbor`s with my little brother. Upon making sure, all was clear; I tiptoed and hopped in an old Volkswagen car wreck that parked at the middle of that compound. There was sawdust inside and I buried myself for the night.

I drifted away to dreamland and now my troubles faded away at the very moment. I woke up to a tap on my shoulder and little slaps on my head. I jolted amidst confusion but before I could shoot for the gate, the middle-aged woman assured me that all would be perfect.

I believed her since I saw the trust on her face. I had been through so much and people who were supposed to be my caretakers betrayed me. I wasn`t convinced how I could trust a stranger after she caught me trespassing at her compound. One thing that made me believe her may be is because she looked beautiful. I have always believed those beautiful women are docile by nature. She led me to her house and offered me a cup of tea. I was still shivering so she brought the jiko near where I was sitting so that I could catch some warmth.

There was no one in the house; it was just the cat and us. She said she would let me stay if I agreed to look after her cattle for only ten shillings per day. How could I decline that offer? At least I was happy I had somewhere to call home. My duties entailed grazing the five Friesians down the valley, which I did with diligence for the few days I was there. The woman`s husband worked in Nairobi and all their kids were in boarding schools.

I had secured myself a job and three weeks were barely over when she announced that she has a responsibility to take me home. She`d attended a baraza at the chief`s camp the previous day and there was an announcement about a lost child. She said the description matched the child of a devil that I was. I did not argue or resist so I let it be.

The next day was Tuesday and we got on transit towards Kiambogo village, trailing behind her, black polythene dangling on my right hand. It is this black polythene that contained all my wealth. Khaki shorts and a shirt that was supposed to be my school uniform. I thought about my brother, I thought about the army camp that was our home, I thought about all scary episodes I had been through and decided to escape but then I thought about school and decided to just submit and get home.

Except for the challenges I encountered as a pupil, I had no problem with studying and learning. I loved school and to be honest, I had topped my class since nursery school to lower school, top primary, high school and college. Problem had never been school and even after being out of class for the longest time, I would do exams beside those other kids that never had challenges in life. I would beat them a hook line and twelve-tone sinker. I just trailed behind my employee and obeyed.

We reached my grandma`s at around nine o`clock in the morning. We found her sweeping the compound so she stood to receive the visitor and me. She looked at me with a murderers gaze but I glanced away to avoid the sharp eyes.

"Good morning Maina's grandmother?'' my employer greeted.

"Good morning,'' Maina's grandmother responded coldly.

I did not dare greet her... all I did was to stare at the already swept ground. I did not know if I were breathing. All I remember is that I was listening to my heartbeat and my horny big toe was wriggling threatening to bury itself on the ground when granny attacked me with a broom.

I scampered for safety to the back of our house where I found my uncle Kariuki cutting Napier grass for the cows. He pursued me and got hold of my clothing. My shirt suffered a massive shred and all the buttons popped away. It happened so quickly and the whole drama was incomprehensible. He gave me two hot slaps at the temple and I passed out. I only woke up some minutes later to a swollen jaw.

I was denied supper that evening and slept while my stomach rumbled but that was fine since I had survived it. I returned to school all the same and everyone interrogated me about where I had been. They now knew me as little thief and I was the new topic in school. Kids didn`t want to mingle with money thief so I was a reject already. I never had any tactic to retaliate so I just let them do their thing.

At break time, I would pull myself away at a distance and watch from there. It all escalated so quickly and within no time, I found myself at class six. Though I was the smallest in my class, it did not stop me from scoring good marks. I struggled to cope with school and my demanding home.

xxxxxxxxx

Kim was now a big boy and had graduated from grazing chicken. He was now fully in-charge of the sheep. He had taught me how to hold on to a sheep and ride on it like a horse. That was a serious crime so we did it undercover.

One afternoon my brother had an accident. He jumped over one of the ewe`s back and the animal was running all over there when it decided to run home. It trotted at such a high speed that the rider was unable to alight. The bastard went running to the compound in front of our house and my brother was caught red handed.

"Kim, so you are always doing this?'' grandpa snapped from behind the tank.

The sheep rider did not have time to answer questions so he alighted and fled for safety. Grandpa wasn`t amused one bit. The ruling was that my brother had to pay for his atrocities.

It was by far a serious crime and grandpa was not ready to forgive such a heinous act.

My brother was guilty and he knew it would be hard to evade justice. He concluded that he won`t be coming home and so he was at large when a searching mission was launched. There were flashes of light at the corn-field the Napier grass and on treetops. It was obvious my brother could hide anywhere. He was notorious in every little way. The search had proved futile when we heard people chatting coming towards the house. There were three or four older boys and one juvenile hood rat. The brat turned out to be Kim.

Kim was handed to my uncle and I was certain that he would be killed that tonight. I felt massive pity for him but there was little I could do. Maybe I could beg grandpa to spare him but that could make him suspect that I too was a sheep co- rider. I decided to keep to myself even though deep down I was hurting. The captured little soldier cowed with fright.

I was observant enough to have noted that the two veins on both temples near the hairline had vasodilated so they protruded out maybe as a sign of defeat. Probably he had shown his white flag. As a kid my brother wasn`t a faint heart so seeing him that way I knew the great hero who he was had resigned to fate.

Grandpas' eyes sparkled dangerously to the tin lamp light. Little brother was rattled all the way to hell. He got Kim by the collar and knocked him over to the ground. My aunt King'ethu had kept fine rod waiting for that job- to beat my brother to death. They ripped out his shorts and severely beat him randomly when he resisted.

Grandpa trampled on his neck with the heel of his boot to restrain him. I wanted to catfight, and to do it more than anything. I wanted to protect my brother from our heartless grandpa but I did not have the courage. I wanted to whack him with a hot pan on the head – but how could I? I was only a kid my grandpa ought to have known better than I.

In my tradition, old people were always right but I did not like the scenario. Almost everyone believed in the spare the rod, spoil the child proverb. Little brother cried his lungs out and tears rolled down my cheeks too. That was our new home for us you know.

xxxxxxxxx

I was pulling the railings to pave way for the wheelbarrow I was to push out of the cattle boma. It was on a Friday morning. One of those I abhorred with every bone in my body. It was misty and the weather was dripping cold. I waded to the unpaved track to the garden and puff! I tripped over and hit on the hard ground headfirst. The sprawling left me with a fractured forehead and I had to take four stitches on my forehead.

"Are you blind?'' grandpa snapped from inside the maize field.

"I was trying to push the damn thing...."I answered while sobbing trying to pull myself up on my feet.

Uncle Daudi got the information about my accident, he showed up from amidst the head tall Napier grass.

"Fool!" "Can`t he ride the wheelbarrow carefully?'' he was almost shouting now.

"I rode it just the way I should ''I acknowledged.

Some people are lunatics I tell you. Uncle Daudi was about to slap me over my haphazard wheelbarrow driving. So heartless he could not notice the gaping cut on my forehead and the gushing torrents of blood.

The imbecile was reprimanded by granny so he withdrawn his hand mid-air. I did not blame him since I knew the effects of bhang. He vanished in the maize field at the left. Grandma had watched him sway his rump away without even saying anything. This time she did not curse, she just stared at the rolling butt on suspenders hitched at the shoulders. She just dismissed him with a shrug and turned to address me.

"Let me take care of you'' she said breathlessly.

We jumped over the other side of the fence to Dr. Mukunya `s compound. The fat doc had administered some first aid to stop the wound from bleeding and referred us to Endarasha health center. He said that we should hurry up and get it stitched before the numbing ceased. That way he said it won`t be more painful and I thanked God since he did not sprinkle some salt like grandma always did whenever there`s a case of injury of the kind.

I could feel the urgency and I was nervous my injury was serious. At least grandma had a heart and was caring unlike those others. They really lacked sympathy may be bhang made them think that I never had a driving license and the blame was all on me.

We walked down the murram road past the little hill, the water puddle across the wheat field to Endarasha health center. There were many patients waiting for attention. Others were lining outside the consultation room while others were lying on the floor after their sickness and suffering took severe toll on them.

I could hear nurses laughing from behind doors and it dawned to me how those government facilities were ineffective, a little bit unmanaged and almost dormant. What I saw there reflected a lot of arrogance by the health workers. We waited for almost two good hours before a nurse beckoned us inside to the consultation room. There was a sharp pain in the gaping wound and I felt a little bit hazy. The man with drowsy eyes and a fat belly was supposed to be the doctor.

"Young man, what's your name?'' he asked.

"His name is Nahashon... yeah Nahashon Maina''

Granny answered.

"How old is he?'' Granny answered again eyeing the drably walls of the small consultation room.

So many other questions were stormed to granny and she answered all of them correctly. I thought I heard him ask if I were male or female but I later came to learn that I was hallucinating. My brains were about to shut off when the fat nurse directed us to the small theatre at the left. Granny dropped me there and closed the door behind her and I was now alone with the two women on white coats.

I had my wound examined and my pulse rate checked. I was led to the bed size stretcher with green leather coating and they made me to lie on my back. One of the gorgeous brunettes administered anesthesia and I was ready for the stitching, after just seconds the wound was numb and all the pain was gone. The taller lady wearing a wig beneath a white cap settled down on my forehead with a needle and stitching threads. The needle was crooked to form a letter 'G' and the equipment scared hell out of me.

I froze to the sight of the small basin bearing theatre equipment. Massive scalpels, scissors, tongs, needles, syringes and so on and so forth. I would opt to be in an army store full of artillery and explosives rather than be in such a messy place. A theatre should be the last place anyone should end up to.

"Just close your eyes boy and let your fears drown'' the doctor said softly grabbing a bit of my skins that had been ripped apart.

I could feel the needle pierce but it was just a slight touch with a pain so far away to a place I couldn`t trace. The little pains faded after some ten minutes of operation and the doctor swapped the needle with a pair of scissors.

"You see boy, I knew you were nice. I am almost through now. Thank you for your cooperation. ''

The doctor finally said nipping the hanging little threads.

I let out a sigh of relief, took a deep breath and slowly closed my eyes. They had said I could just relax before leaving while they packed painkillers and antibiotics for me. The accident had left me with a permanent scar on my forehead.

xxxxxxxxx

After a long time, mother had come to visit us from where she worked. She had denied receiving a couple of letters I had sent through the post office.

"You might have scribbled the wrong address all the same," she told me.

"No mama I put 321 Gilgil" I assured her.

She`d brought us clothes and delicacies. Kim had never won shoes for a long time and he was adapted. I bet he was comfortable without them because he wasn`t excited. He just stared at the black big shoes and let out a crazy laugh. Our little feet were now scaled and hard. I gathered all the new clothes and packed them in new iron sheet box that I had previously purchased with some little money I saved.

There was the baggy trouser that I threw in the fire after checking at the black label and read "Tammy girl" I hated girls because they were always creating trouble where there was none. Like my aunts were always inciting and snitching on us all the time. I ended up not liking girls.

"Girls are assholes" I had tried to explain to Kim.

"Yes you are right they always think they are special more than other people are" Kim had told me letting out a whizz.

We both hated girls and we did not intend to have to wear girls' clothes so we got rid of them by throwing them to the blazing blue gum fire by the bush.

Mother`s visit lasted for a day and she`d left and life went back to normal. We had solemnly retreated to our daily assignments in the camp. I had taken it for camping after our neighbor who used to feed us sometimes once told me that I should never succumb to petty shortcomings.

"Once you are fully grown you can move out to the world" She once told me.

I had nodded to agree.

She`d told me that the world is so wide. You could choose to travel to any place you wanted to and be anyone you had desired to be .I eagerly waited for that day. She`d taught me to live one day at a time, to always be focused and never falter.

They could treat us with blatant brutality but that was definitely a gateway to prevail in life, a visa to prosper and grow to our unique selves. She said that everything that has a beginning has an end and I believed her since nothing would last forever. Even a rock weathers. I have never let this old lady name fade from my memories. She was mother to Mwarania.

Something was strange about mother to Mwarania as a distant relative; she was educated and had a career. She loved us unconditionally even after all others had treated us like rags.

Everyone from my home hated her in every way. She was supposed to be a close friend but all that was like a fairy tale. We had been warned myriad a time to keep our scaled feet off her compound but I never heeded to those warnings. To me, she`s a nice person with such motherly love that we lacked. They could beat us if caught visiting her house but we never stopped.

She was always quarrelling with my grandma over nothing and that made the whole issue look awful. Mother to Mwarania had a son who was my favorite buddy around that time. Shit happened and he committed suicide during 2003 December holidays. It was later discovered that he was a blatant addict of coke. I felt at a loss and wished if only I could have been in a position to prevent that outrageous happening.

They called me up for questioning and I adamantly denied the allegations. They said that I knew it was to happen. I was honest and very open that I wasn`t aware. The whole scenario was ridiculous. The boy attended good schools all through nursery, primary and was in high school.

It somehow made me feel like a looser but I did know something for sure – life can be such a bitch. I had been exposed to torture, I had known nothing but disappointment all of my life. I could not deny that I was a disadvantaged kid from birth. With all the good things life offered, Drake had taken way his own life. It made me reflect and seek for answers that I could not find.

After Drake`s death, my days grew more grim since I spent most of my time without a playmate. I had learnt to cope. I had tried to befriend some other boys from the other side of the valley but it never worked. We had organized a raid on Stephen`s pawpaw garden and the escapade was a success. When the pawpaw owner discovered what had happened to his fruits, we were the suspects and the traitors had sold me out. I earned me a trophy war that evening and the next day I couldn`t sit on by buttock. I spent considerable time lying on my tummy. I skipped school for some two days.

At class eight, I was now a few centimeters tall but still the same dwarf as compared to my classmates. We were grouped in three classes and that was done according to performance. I was a member of class eight Batian. There was Lenana and Nelion. Our classes were named after the peaks of Mt Kenya. I heard Lenana was the son of Mbatian who was a Maasai paramount chief during the pre-colonial period – my poor history and account was not doing me any justice here.

Nevertheless, all I know is that I was at Batian; I encountered rivalry from my opponents the repeaters. Though I was always among the top students, my performance had deteriorated perhaps there was nothing wrong with not always being the best. A brilliant student should try to be dull sometimes so that they won`t get discouraged if they genuinely tailed in contexts. In school, dreams are sold out to kids. They keep mum about what happens or how one should cope if those dreams are shattered and don`t work. I continued stifling in math though it had never been a setback until later.

We were set to sit for our main examination on November 11. It was new millennium and I was to get to score good marks so that I could get admission to a good secondary school. I had ticked Kagumo School Nyeri High School and alliance school. That was some sort of tripping symptoms since it never happened with all that effort. The exam was supposed to be a walk over. I was supposed to be easy for Christ sake! The day was a success in all means.

The invigilators arrived on time and the police officers on guard were vigilant too. I was index number 002. I sat right behind James who had his desk placed behind the door. In sheer tension, my hand palms sweat profusely and that gave me real trouble but who was I not to overcome? I was the lion of Judah. I knew from the bottom part of my heart one thing...That the war wasn`t carnal it was the lord's.

I knew I was a victor so I employed a tension absorber and within no time, I was accustomed to the quiet exam mood. I beat my panic a hook, line and twelve tones sinker. I had to win the battle no matter what. I just hoped and focused towards my goal. The examinations saved me a great deal for the three days because I was laid off my daily chores.

Results were released after one long month. It was like waiting for a ship at the dock of the bay without any signal. When the results were out, it was all over the radio and newspapers and I could catch a glimpse of the headlines. Names of the top candidates were scribbled on big caps. Kenya wasn`t an island and I was not shocked to see my name missing.

I knew the examination body involved could always manipulate results to favor various groups or schools or certain kids whose father`s owned the country. I wasn`t appalled one bit. Once I decided to water down the suspense, I trekked to my former school and my name was second from the top. I had performed excellently, a fair mark of four hundred and thirty out of the seven hundred. Now that ought to have earned me a chance in at least a good school but it never happened.

When my calling letter came, I was appalled for I did not expect admission in such a not famous school. I had expected a calling letter from at least a provincial school, a score of four hundred and thirty out of seven hundred? Mugunda secondary was just a village school for Christ sake! However, the calling letters had no point all the same. After that the calling letters didn`t mean anything since I never joined Mugunda secondary either... no one had cared or someone was irresponsible.

I had no mentor, I never had the nurturing and honestly, there was no driving force in my life. I had the setbacks and in the setbacks, I had to conquer something. Something I did not understand. At my tender age, I was accustomed to waking up at day dawn and walking to school. I was never told the reason why I had to do that. No one dared explain and I was not told the destination of it all. No one ever pointed out how long the distance would be. The worst part is ...they made me start a journey they would never help me understand and they won`t pull their socks to make me complete.

While my classmates and friends at lower school joined high school, I was forced to stay behind. Duties were assigned and I was to adhere to the rules – pluck pyrethrum and graze cattle. It was like that for a whole two years and I saw a reason to change my story. In January 2003, I started demanding for my rights to school.

The biggest challenge was... I did not know who to convince anyone and how. First, my mother had neglected me and had never been concerned. I had to beseech my granny and I had to put effort. It was the hardest thing to do – being persuasive for a thirteen year old in a strange land amongst strangers is real tough ordeal. Nevertheless, I was determined and I had the guts because I knew my life depended solely on my resilience. I aired my grievances all the same.

It was a foggy Saturday morning and mist hanged all around the atmosphere. Everyone was on heavy clothing and my strategic planning had to work. I had a point and I wanted to be a human with sense.

"I just want to join secondary school"

I announced while moving my hands automatically with blatant expertise as I picked the already blossomed pyrethrum flowers.

"Now that's crazy because you are already late and no school can admit you," uncle Kariuki acknowledged.

The words hit me like heavy blows and I didn`t know how to prove him otherwise. Uncle Kariuki himself had never been more brilliant than I was. We picked pyrethrum together, I performed extra chores which he didn`t yet he was a student in a reputable boarding school credit to the money I helped earn. Yet I had no school fees and no one thought about it. The whole affliction left me heartbroken and hopeless.

All the same, I could see my future in the magic lantern that kept me in track. I could see what I will finally come to when my journey winds down. No one believed in me, but I had to keep to myself and do what I had to. I wanted to make everyone to have no choice but believe in me. Therefore, I decided to approach a distant relative so he could persuade the principal of the low class school I attended to secure me a position. He did without hesitation as my past records shown who I was, that bright kid that had no support.

I travelled and bought myself uniform with some little cash I saved in a certain tin I hid under the bed. Then after admission, I woke up one morning, dressed up and went out for a hunt. I had to search my mother for the school fees. I was in the company of a neighbor who helped me trace her.

I felt humiliated when she had to ask everyone in the small town about my mother`s location. As a young woman, widowed and lowly educated, the world was never her oyster. She hid away from us so that she won`t be subjected to the heavy burden of clothing us, feeding us and educating us. It`s any only today I pause when I reflect and understand that may be she could not easily afford it...which she actually did(I was born an ingrate) .It wasn`t rose flowers and confetti.

She`d to move out from home and get herself a life and that was compulsory but then, how does one find herself a life out in the world without credentials to qualify them for some sort of service to the world? The world does not pay up to someone who don`t help much.

To earn a good life out there you need to have skills or talent and favor. Like how it happens when one joins the world of business (favor) basically, has to be present for success. It's the capital that determines fate of it...literally, there has to be a combination of factors. In addition, that to me, can be trusted if one moves out of the comfort zone. As long as one wakes up every morning and show up, some people don`t have any goals and live for the sake of it. Now that`s the difference there is between humans of this earth.

We trekked to the east from where we had alighted from the battered Nissan matatu. I trailed behind the tall, lean woman clutching to my polythene. She walked with huge strides so I had to run to keep up to her pace. We stopped to enquire from a plump woman who was operating a small green grocery near the railway.

"Do you know mother of Maina from Nyeri?" she desperately enquired.

"Woman, how can someone know when the town is now flocking with people?" the woman, puzzled like silly answered the question with question but that's was no surprise – Kenyans are that way.

"She`s a medium height woman of slight built" Wangui (my neighbor was called that) insisted with soaring determination.

"May be you can go enquire all over here but I assure you, it would be hard like nonsense. You have to spend the whole bloody day wandering" the grocery dealer answered looking irritated.

We never lost hope and before dusk, at least we had gotten a hint about where my mother worked. A bodaboda man had narrated how he came to know her since he had operated for some time now.

"Ooh that one, I know her because I`m a supplier" he told us glancing at a passing truck.

"Supplier, What are you supplying?" Wangui asked him brightening up.

"I supply beer from the depot to the bars and dens and wherever they sell it" he said offering to lead us to where my mother worked.

We followed obediently behind him as the sheep follows the butcher. He led us to an alley and then to a mushrooming shantytown below. My instincts started sending mixed messages about the whole issue of having to follow a stranger to some shitty shacks land but I had no define choice but to follow unquestionably. We swerved to a line of shacks with unkempt outsides. The whole place was leaking of stench.

There was a lot of human shit scattering all around... the sort of a worldly hell. I tried to object but I was scolded to stop being childish.

"Me, I don't sooth oh. It`s either you follow me or you can as well go to hell" the tall man with bloodshot eyes warned spitting a mass of black shit from his mouth.

"He`s just a kid" Wangui now was telling him when we got a sight of three young fellas sitting beside a leaking sewer smoking blunt.

A black smoke hanged all over their heads. Upon seeing us, they sprung to their feet and headed to our direction. I sensed Wangui tensed as she now slowed down almost coming to a stop.

"Hey, come on what are you standing for? "The man on the lead hissed attempting to drag Wangui.

"What is happening?"Wangui enquired looking worried like hell.

"When you are here, you don`t ask questions. All you do is follow." The man warned.

They dragged us to a little shack in the middle of the shanty and closed the tin door behind us.

The other two blunt smoking fellows joined and I knew we were screwed already. One of them had started roughing me up shoving his cigar burnt hands in my pocket. Those fingers were as hard as sticks. It was damn painful when he tapped on my head demanding for all the money I had so I let him have it - the whole three hundred Kenyan shillings. They robbed me off my sweater and shoes.

Wangui was now letting out shrieks behind the curtains when they finished mugging me. They ordered me to sit on the wet floor, which I did without even having to object. The screaming behind the curtains had now changed to soft moans. After the soft moans, there was the grunts and grave silence.

When the three men emerged from the curtain, the other one who had been keeping vigil at the door vanished to the curtains. I expected Wangui to have given all the money she had. It was the same story again. Soft moans and grunts... while at the front part of the shack insides, they had me sit on wet mud. They threatened to beat up Wangui if she continued crying and they ordered me up and led us to the tin door. They showed us the way out while they headed to the opposite direction.

We traced our way out of the little hell on earth to the battered tarmac above. I noticed Wangui was walking with a slight limp and I felt sorry for her but there was burning anguish in me since I had seen it coming. I don`t know why grown-ups of nowadays won`t see far. I could see there was an impending danger and Wangui led us right inside the hole. We found our way to the police station. Wading bare feet across the field to the police booking desk, an officer called.

"Hello why are you bare feet? What has befallen you?"The cop asked.

"We got conned and..." Wangui started sobbing again.

The uniformed police officer led us to the booking desk where we recorded a statement. The police officers at that station, almost all of them, confessed that they know the person we were looking for – my mother.

One offered to take me to my mother`s working place while Wangui was dropped to the clinic. I bet the thugs had roughed her so much and the limping had to be treated. Therefore, we part ways with Wangui that evening and I never saw her again. I heard she got married to a Maasai warrior.

The cop led me to a narrow corridor that seemed to harbor little business parlors with compartments. Some had already closed down while others were busy putting their display merchandise to safety inside the little shops. This cop must be a celebrity or something – I said to myself. Almost everyone greeted him and I could tell he was a man of the people.

"Who is the little boy?"a woman asked from behind the shop`s counter.

"He`s Jane's son" he answered.

"What?....I never thought Jane had any kids" the lady replied throwing a perplexed look.

He finally answered her smiling then turning on the right to the little aisles.

All this time, I was on tattered shorts and bare feet. I resembled a rained on chicken.

We entered through a metal door to a small corridor then to a splendor room full of plastic chairs and table arranged neatly. There was a small compartment at the left secured with wire mesh. There was some soft rock music playing on the speakers and a group of six men were sitting at the corner chatting their evening out while they drank.

"Hey Jane" the cop called

...and there she was – my mother.

"Hey, what brings you here at this time of the day? You are still on duty I bet.... Or maybe you are out to arrest someone" mother asked him looking serious.

"Not really, I have your son with me" the cop said.

"What! Who? Where is he?" all this time the short brat who`s Jane`s son had not been noticed since he was as short as a hammer and the tall counter won`t encourage that.

"He`s right here." The cop said pointing out at the ragged brat that was I.

Mother came through the small door to meet me. She was shocked to see me looking like a burrowing mole. She never expected to get his son who`s supposed to be at granny`s right here popping eyes at her looking like a hedgehog.

"Thanks Ben" she quickly thanked the cop as he vanished through the main door.

"I will be coming to take two for the road and I'm done with work" Ben announced shooting to the staircase.

Mother called someone to relieve her from work so that she could take me home and get to the root of the matter. She purchased a pair of slippers for me and promised to get me new clothes at the shop near where she lived.

We were ferried to my mother`s by a motor cyclist after shopping. At the same point, I felt some strange feeling, that my mother was a stranger and I was out of place but still I had the right to a mother, a parent and not just a caretaker who put little effort in making my life straight. So much in spicing a kid`s life... not just offering them food and clothes in their back....a roof above their heads. That`s not enough and surely I did lack something and the deficiency was the culprit behind the way I was feeling.

I felt like I just terrorized the woman who was supposed to be my mother. I felt that I had no right to invade her private life as she chose to have it all by herself. I felt either she was being sufficiently philanthropic to buy me things or she was just forced to. I did not like the feelings I swear but my chances of choice were slim and I was sure about that.

My mother`s house was located in some sort of a decent neighborhood. The compound had a gate and there was a stone fence all around the rentals. It was a modern bedsitter with the bathroom and lavatory inside the house. She`d to lay down instructions that were coupled up with verbal user manual or else I won`t have survived in that house. I was used to my kitchen bedroom with soot dangerously hanging over my face threatening to come crumbling down in my eyes to make me blind.

I had narrated to her what had befallen us and she was sorry. She didn`t say she was but the look in her eyes told it all. I could have kept my big forehead to Nyeri and save everyone that trouble. Well, I didn`t and all I was asking for was my school fees which I definitely got after throwing a tough fight.

My mother had told me a myriad times that one won`t need education to survive in this world. However, I have always differed with her reasoning. She`s my mother and she`s right according to her and I respected her as my parent – not her decisions. I had coaxed my way through high school for the four years without fear that I was going against anyone`s will. I was just following my heart. We all somehow have a unique path in life and the roads to destiny and success are always divergent. It was hard at first but she later admitted that I should have gone to school and no doubt, I started school.

School wasn`t all roses and confetti- the journey had been bumpy but the determination for a future propelled me. I had to work on myself and be someone. I had to improve myself from the village herdsmen I was to something. Most times, I would be sent home for school fees but luckily, I had support from granny who later had to approve it because I maintained high grades in school.

Everyone was baffled when I emerged the best student upon sitting my first examination. During my history paper, they had instructed me to move my desk closer to the invigilator just to be sure I wasn`t cheating. I topped again on that paper and now it was clear I was talented. I had been elected class prefect, soared to a compound prefect to the school captain. That wasn't much to me for such a school had never been my dream but I had to admit, accept and move on.

Sometimes I was on faded uniform and tattered shoes but some other times I wasn`t. It's difficult to try and look normal while everything about you is surely out of place. My predicaments and life hardships were real. The vicious cycle of hardships betrayed me in all means. The vicious cycle of life made me feel like I was in a form of acceleration. I could borrow even school uniform from other students and that felt awful. My little ego was badly bruised but I had to stick in school.

As a high school student, I was curtailed from enjoying other privileges like school tours and such. I was forced to stay behind when everyone toured places. It made me feel like I never meant anything to anyone. It has no sense to drop such sentiments but that was what I felt. My mother was kind to have toiled to earn me school fees. After all that was what was important.

Something I would never fail to note my life had incredibly changed since I joined high school. Now I could wear shoes and trousers. Unlike back then when I hobbled bare feet. It doesn`t matter if I had only one pair of black shoes. That stunk for prolonged use. It had affected my self- esteem a couple of times when the damned shoes had decided to be fish mouthed and had left my twisted horny toes exposed. Other students had strained no to burst out laughing when I addressed them at the high ground since I was the school captain. They watched as my horny toes wriggled shyly from behind the tatter line on my shoes. My pullover had the biggest hole of all the holes at the back where the elbow bone lay. I had to roll sleeves to conceal them like army combat.

Success could become more elusive if one had to sit coy in the comfort zone and wait for things to perk on their own. I had learned tactics on how to survive and beat against all odds. I somehow learned how to maneuver in every situation. The school had laid out rules and regulations and one of them stipulated that we must carry sport gear on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. That comprised a short, a t-shirt and sport shoes.

I purchased long pants to adorn myself on Sunday. I bet a genius inventor designed it and he exactly knew my wailings and woes as far as I was concerned. The trouser had zippers just below the knees and one could dismantle the upper part from the lower one to make it a short. I was sorted on that one already.

About the shoes, I had borrowed a pair from my uncle and could serve a dual purpose. That ankle boot was gorgeous. I could use it on normal school days and still use it on sports. Although I had never been active in school games, I played table tennis with mercy and Pius in the old dusty hall near the school entrance.

I loved being in school all the time, because I abhorred the garden work and senseless chores at home. I hated how everyone picked on me whenever some job cropped up. Fetching water and chopping firewood. At high school, I decided to become defiant so no one could handle me now. I had built a little crib for myself. I had a bed put in place, a table and a chair.

My crib was built behind granny`s main house and the building material was timber on three side and off cuts at one side. It was roofed using iron sheets – I had sold chicken to buy myself that expensive shit. My crib had a unique inside. I hung photographs of Christina Aguilera and Ashanti. A poster of Michael Jackson hung behind the door and the whole place looked just magnificent.

I somehow rose to a popular kid amongst the girls. I had a bunch of them from neighboring schools. The rivalries were my classmates and schoolmates in Charity. I was always the top student in school, had been a class prefect, a compound prefect and a school captain. I could express and verbalize my feelings more articulately than kids my age could. Therefore, I ended up a darling to many girls and boys, with boys being jealous about their girls having to get my attention. I was hated and loved at the same time.

I had a teacher who had unmitigated interest about my affairs in school. She lent me books to read so that I could polish my languages skills. Having hailed from the village, attended a mother tongue speaking primary school and now a local mediocre secondary, learning the queens Language wasn`t a simple affair. Transforming all the way from speaking and writing broken English to a pro took a lot of hard work and determination.

The slender Mrs. Muruthi would always come to afternoon classes. She never failed to keep an eye on the dozing me. She watched my every move so I never dared evade school homework. She encouraged me to get involved in school debates and motions. Other kids did not like her or they were simply bored.

I remember with vividness how they would throw little rocks and pieces of chalks at her when she turned away to scribble something on the blackboard. Sometimes she was vexed and won`t stop herself from spitting fury and utter anguish.

"Shame on you little bastards"

She had once cursed and I pitied her. If I ever had the powers to stop the sons of the devil from, instigating harassment on the youngish lady, then I could. I was planning to be a secret spy but then I resisted the idea since I did not wish to be an enemy of the other students. Actually, I had teachers that knew their jobs well except some few who were not dedicated.

I had a teacher who took me through mathematics. He was a drunkard. I bet he was an addict since he would shake terribly on dry spells. When sober he couldn't perform and that made us stifle in mathematics. My final grades succumbed to his not having to equip us with the necessary mathematics skills. I had scored a fork.

Having scored good grades in other subjects, I felt demoralized. My overall score was average when rounded with an automatic drop due to the fail in mathematics. All my hopes shattered since I could not join university, so I gave up school all the same.

Upon completion of my form four examination, we had organized a little party with some of my friends. The plan was drawn and schedule drafted. We were to march in some butchery, order some fried beef before proceeding to Mirangi bar. We entered the bar at around 2pm. More drunkards sat in groups while they enjoyed their drinking sprees. Some Kikuyu secular songs played from the gargling radio cassette. We settled on the long chairs at the counter while we ordered Tusker and Kane. We were excited that we had completed the hellish four years of studying.

It was worth celebrating and no doubt, the six of us was into it. We drank our favorite booze while we chatted happily. Some two drunkards started arguing from the corner. Within seconds, a scuffle had erupted and now one of them was lying on the filthy floor with punches rained on him at random. We took hasty sips and the beer was bitter at first. We had not been regular drinkers all the same. The contents of the glasses went on growing sweeter and sweeter as we proceeded.

"You son of a cow" the fighting drunkards hurled insults to each other.

"I did not even touch the bloody thing"the one lying flat acknowledged.

"I ain`t taking shit, from you thief"the offended announced clubbing the keg thief. He had let out a loud haul before some chaps and the bartender came to the keg thief rescue. The brawl had left him on bad shape one could tell to the manner he puked. No doubt, he was empty stomach since the puke was pure booze and nothing more- Just white foam.

We did not like Mirangi bar after the chaos so we had dried up our glasses and walked out. We had felt tipsy. I was feeling high and wished mercy was there. I was in the mood to seduce a girl and have a good time but that wasn`t drawn in the script of the movie we were about to act. We crossed over to Gikeno bar at the other side of the street opposite Mirangi bar.

It was approaching dusk and twilight had vaguely vanished when we hit the door at Gikeno. There were more people here than the previous joint. We secured seats at the corner and ordered. Now the table was full of bottles waiting to be emptied. Everyone drank to his grave –kega staggered his way to the urinal and on his comeback, he announced what a big person he was.

"You have no idea of who I am" Now he was saying to a prostitute who was hanging around him like a hovering fly.

"Tell me who you are lover boy"

She was now saying trying to lock his hand with hers.

"My father is a big person in the government and you should be aware hic..."his father was a cart pusher though. He proceeded drifting closer to the now fascinated old prostitute.

There was something about Kega that made him look comic at the age of a high scholar. His head was balding. It looked like an old man's. The world around started spinning and now I could not feel my lips. We pulled prostitutes so we could dance with them for drinks and the evening was awesome. I was feeling a little bit hazy so I retreated to my seat and continued boozing.

Before eight o`clock, I had started to feel dizzy and had passed out. What happened from that minute I can`t recall. I woke up to a severe pain in my throat and rumbling stomach. I was in my crib and I could not account how I ended up there. Now that escalated so quickly and the unfolding of events remains a mystery up to date.

I had puked green stuff on my bed and I could not understand. The beer wasn`t green in color neither the meat we had feasted on the previous day. It made me reflect about beer – it was poisonous or I just had too much being an amateur drinker.

My throat was inflamed since I could not swallow anything easily. I had recuperated after some days and I swore something to myself. To never ever, indulge in alcohol as long as I lived. That school leaver's bash had welcomed us to the cruel world that we exist in until now. It was exciting until reality started creeping in...

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# PART TWO
# CHAPTER ONE

After my 'O 'levels I was skeptical if I could stay in the village. I had resolved to travel and tour the world. I knew it was time to hatch and leave the eggshell. I boarded a battered matatu at seven o'clock and settled to comfort at the far corner .The machine rattled towards Mweiga and I only remained hopeful that I would be fortunate enough to find a life- a good life elsewhere.

I partially opened the glass window and started glancing at the wheat fields beyond. The already dry straws moved solemnly to the moderate wind of Talau plains. If only I could be hopeful like the wheat growing on the semi-arid area persevering all the hellish adverse weather conditions, maybe I could be a human with sense.

Talau had been the victim of notorious drought spells over the years, but still the locals had the faith and that could not stop them from being optimistic. The red clay soil looked thirsty almost cracking to huge gullies that could swallow a toddler. Beyond the horizon to the west, I could see the Githuuri hill. Fog had formed around and the sight was blurry.

The locomotive rammed in a ditch and everyone started hurling from their seats heads hitting the ceiling. The driver had to stop for us to arrange seats, while the women collected their wigs. The passengers started lamenting about the local government not being responsible enough. One aged man seated at the front with his walking stick extending from his grip said almost furious.

"When we voted for Kanyingi we thought that he would turn around tables and change the story seems like we headed for doom.'' he said sounding desperate.

"Seems Kanyingi is a high tech embezzler than Kimanango,'' another one sandwiched between two women commented too.

It dawned to me how much of public funds they squandered. I personally knew Kimanango and his private life. I started now seeing the reality, Kimanango's lavish lifestyle... the house and flashy cars. There was rumors that the funds had already been released to tarmac the road we were travelling on. The ministry of roads had never followed up on the embezzled funds. People had demonstrated about the impotence of the area councilor who had been Kimanango at that time but nothing happened.

I had meditated as the matatu lurched towards Kanyagia. I thought about diverse issues from how the government affected the lives of the people and the negligence that its representatives exhibited. I did not understand why public funds were embezzled and no one was arrested nor confronted for the same issue. If someone dared raise the motion, he was silenced to eternity. Price of necessities had soared due to heavy taxation and the common citizen had no choice but to languish in poverty.

At one side of the matatu inside, there was a tiny sticker of the president. I shifted my eyes from the window and went deep into meditation. Our eyes met. I felt a wave of hope he was the messiah and the redeemer of the country from the predicaments that the previous government had dragged us into, I recalled how he had taken over from his predecessor. I saw him seated on a wheelchair, one of his hands plastered, leg stretching forward, and his neck stiff in a neck brace. Now I could hear clearly the very words he uttered the day of his swearing in.

"I Meja Kamali, swear by the almighty God to serve the people of Kenya...with diligence...honesty...and transparency... so help me God."

The words in my memory were somehow altered no doubt but the significance of the syllables remain fresh in my mind. I saw something different from his predecessor whom I had known for some time now. I was conversant to the horrible stories of Magu torture and political assassinations during his regime.

These were mere fables that carried painful reality.

According to the country laws, there was no evidence and no one could be punishable or answerable. It could be true maybe the assassination of Dr. Hook, the legendary leader was assassinated. Maybe the false hood on this could be equal to the truth or maybe no one knows or someone above the law was responsible, so the prosecution would be nothing but sound impossibilities.

It triggered vivid aura of interest about how privileged one could be if they had to be in power. Then the lust for power and fame started creeping in and I found myself wanting to be the president. Those were mere dreams... those were mere hallucinations at a young age. Honestly, I did not like what I read in those history books- the abuse of power and office by African presidents. Magu's name was at the top.

There had been these scary tales about Magu but still he had the good side of him. I remember as a school- boy I used to get the 'chakula ya Magu' at school. He had the children's affair at heart. We cannot deny the fact and I loved him for that.

In the transport sector, our country had Magu buses. So many schools started and the brainchild was Magu.I think people should not have wanted him to be perfect. Every other human is flawed – being something or someone is a journey to perfection. I will not have expected him to be non- erratic.

As we approached river Honi, the matatu accelerated to tap the stamina to climb the steep hill to Mweiga. Everyone was now dusting themselves off the weather road debris of dust that had settled on clothing. I looked around at peoples' heads, they were all earth red and I stifled a laugh. All the passengers resembled moles. At the gate near Mary Immaculate secondary school there was a police barrier, the driver slowed down for security checkup.

All the same, the battered matatu looked not roadworthy to me but it was able to transport us right. I saw the driver fetch something from his shirt pocket and gave out to the police standing just a few inches from the front car door. I suppose it was a driving license, though he ripped off one of the pages since he tossed something into his uniform pocket. I had no business knowing so I continued daydreaming while our locomotive transporter purred off towards Nyeri.

I alighted and crossed Kimathi Street to the rift valley matatu station. I had made up my mind to go and a try my luck in another place. It was a long journey and all my energy was drained. My knees were bent throughout the journey from Nyeri, to Nyahururu, then wherever.

At Nyahururu, a drama ensued when some touts scrambled to pursue me to go on board the vehicles they had been assigned to fill. I wanted to board the matatu of my choice. One tout pulled my backpack off my shoulders and the straps almost ripped. Another one on a buggy pair of trousers, bad breath and shaggy hair was battling the one carrying my backpack to take charge of it.

A fight almost erupted when I announced I was to travel with the pimped one. I had my bag fetched from wrecked matatu representative and he could not hide his disappointment. He hurled some embarrassing insults, I kept mum. Touts are notorious to vulgar language and rough handling of passengers.

I was lucky to secure a seat at the cockpit; soft music was playing from the deck at the dashboard. Along the Gilgil -Nyahururu road we came across a road show campaign for Mafefe F.M a vernacular radio station.

Upon reaching Olkalou, there was a massive stretch of white tents that took almost a whole acre of land. Upon enquiring, the driver enlightened me that those were internally displaced persons refugee camps.

I heard over the radio and watched on television the post-election violence that had erupted in the country after incumbent president had been announced as the winner. This was after the controversial general election. His opponent Jace Likimani of LPM party had claimed to have won the elections against his opponent Meja Kamali.

Violence had erupted between the Kamali and Jace supporters. It became a political, economic and humanitarian crisis, which left scores dead, and a thousand maimed. People were driven out of their homes as their houses were set ablaze and babies killed.

It was all over the TV. The blazing flames that saw over thirty people dead, little children and women burnt alive after taking a refuge in a church. A mob set the church ablaze because most of the people that were sheltering there hailed from Kamali's clan. It had appalled me how people could be so heartless, cold and barbaric to such a point of being so inhuman.

I could now reflect why the common African would forever remain backward. There was stagnant water all around. I could identify with the people in those tents, deplorable conditions that they had to persevere. I was sure the tents were not immune to the impending cold and the frequent thunderstorms and rain.

I imagined how the little children coiled themselves clinging to each other inside these tents. I imagined how the aged and sick lings bore hard times fending for themselves. I did not see the point as to why a human being having sound mind and common sense would kill his long time neighbor because of divergence in political or even religious affiliations.

I thought about Kamali and Jace with their bodyguards. None of the politicians' son or daughter were killed nor displaced by the violence. I was vexed by my own imagination about the commoners who I thought were pre-medieval nincompoops with empty craniums. People did not deserve to die that way; it was as if we had sold our souls to the devil for nothing at all.

For instance, Life had already given me a challenge; unable to get my school fees and necessities for a decent life while the government still existed...( I don't know what's wrong with my head) It did not even make sense why one should fight for someone who only wanted to fill his stomach. It dawned to me that it was this same way to any other country boy – the same type of bad life with scores dying, succumbing to hunger.

If people could have just dared to think even for a second, then no single soul would be dead on such pointless deaths. I partially closed my eyes and let my brains wander. The white tents memories remained etched in my head.

So many issues had clogged my brain and now I was suffocating. Things juggled in my mind- what does the government entail? What are the citizen's democratic rights? What is the duty of the government to the citizen and vice versa? I found myself asking questions to myself that I hardly found any answers.

Then I had a foolish idea creep in, that a government is a body oppressing the common citizen... that the government is the controller of a country whereby some big cats are the sole beneficiaries. And the government controls the country resources. So why were the people fighting? – Is it because someone controlled their minds or what? The common citizen being illiterate and arrogant... they failed to suspect that the top politicians were just using them for their selfish gain. I had a self-discovery that the people doing the fighting were robots or puppets or just bloody marionettes and someone was behind the strings, to manipulate and control them.

When you are illiterate and greedy, you sell your soul to the devil because the devil has what you do not have and you have what he does not have...you got the body...they have the goddamn money! It was a wealth, resource and money issue, which the government controls. As long as there is the government and the taxes, the fighting will never cease if the common citizens are irrational and illiterate, has no regular jobs and such. As far as the education system keep brainwashing kids and selling dreams to them. It is known that humans are naturally envious and greedy – literate powerful people control a country and use the illiterate hungry commoners.

If my brother is the president, there is a notion that he will get everyone related to him an easy way through because he has all the power and sovereignty. I would be your minister even though I was born without brains... it would be a chain of family relations right from the ministers descending to the chief's post at the grass root. Now the term tribalism, nepotism, and corruption come into picture vividly well.

I woke up to a slight tap on my head. My backpack had already been taken out from the little boot and was lying on the ground. I picked it up and started shuffling to syndicate. I found mother preparing to go to work. After offering me something to drink, she left me in the solitude of her little rented house. I wasn't comfortable staying with her so I opted to shift to a house that mother's old time friend Carol owned.

Carol's house was a single room that was built of iron sheets. There was a bed inside and some little crockery. Mother had said that Carol had left for another town but she still kept her house intact since she'd never been settled whenever she had left to. The house was tidy and spacious enough for one village brat. After staying there for some time, probably three weeks I now started touring the town. Back then it was a tiny town with the central business district full of archaic buildings built by Indians during the pre- colonial period.

It was exciting being here since it was not like being in the village. Everything was different here... from the way people talked to their dressing.

Being an army center, there were many girls unlike in the village. Girls here looked more cunning and intelligent than their ages. They wore skimpy clothing to attract the attention of perhaps their clients the soldiers.

I was barely 20 years old when I started breaking my voice and slight beard had begun to grow. People told me it wasn't a beard, it was just hair. As the days passed I got a desire to look for a job and to have my own house and stuff. A place I could be my own boss and have some privacy. Somewhere my mother could not see me or shout orders.

There was an elderly girl living at the house next door that I admired. I had seduced her and most of the time I would go there to break the boredom in her house. Looking into my mother's situation, the lowly paid job and having no interest to have me enroll in a college; I had lost directions in life.

After announcement of the country 'O' level results, I returned to the village so I could fetch it and I was unhappy since I did not score straight A's as I anticipated. I had a few B's, C's a D and a fail in mathematics. I even gave up persuading anyone to enroll me in a college. My life crushed and it was over for me.

I knew my potentials and getting those low grades had never been my potion. I did not blame the delay before enrolling to a secondary school or the demotivation of having to enroll in mediocre secondary school against my wish and potentials. I did not blame God for having me pass through all the predicaments. He did give me a sharp brain and that's all that mattered.

I did not have anyone to explain to me that my grades do not define the person I was. I let the grades affect my life and my frustrations grew immensely with time. I topped in my examination at my school but the grades were so poor according to me, I did cry and swore never to set my feet in a classroom again.

Without a guide or a mentor, the world had filled that gap. Now I had to learn on my own or perish. I had to choose the right path to success. With all the naivety, I was let loose into the world. Being semi- educated I could secure myself a little job or anything- Just a job to give my life a jump start- a living so to say. I was roaming at the railway station in the afternoon bored and frustrated about the direction life had taken.

The mid afternoon sun was scorching and I had resolved to go and sit under a shade when I heard someone whistling. Unsure of whom the whistle was being directed to, I turned around to get a glimpse...and there was Sam.

We both smiled at each other for a moment. He was my schoolmate back then in Endashara. We had never been friends back then since he was a member of a certain gang of notorious boys who were fond of terrorizing quiet little boys. Their mischief had triggered hatred that I carried in my heart for all those years.

I was bullied and harassed; I remember how they pinched my cheeks and got amused when my face changed pinkish. The color change awarded me a nickname-chameleon. Now Sam was here wandering at the railway station just as I did. Maybe he was also bored as I was and he wanted to make friends with me. I had no choice but to accept his friendship offer.

As we sat under the shade, we began discussing certain diverse issues. Sam in one of his conversations had mentioned being through with his 'O' levels and was yet to join a college. He had not yet joined since his mother had some financial constraints and so he opted into hustling and bustling to earn a living.

Through his hustles, he managed to rent a crib in the suburbs. He offered to take me there to clear my doubts about it. We both started walking and after a ten minutes' walk, we had reached Sam's neighborhood. Several shanties covered the whole area. His shack was at the rear end so we marched on the narrow path at the center. We passed a congregating bunch of ghetto women whom did not know anything... just mere gossip, according to how Sam knew them.

''How do you expect a class two drop out to secure themselves a job Maina?'' Sam asked me looking a bit surprised.

"I am also aware that some of them don't even have a single school certificate... some are even very arrogant to get even a birth certificate which are offered free of charge." I acknowledged.

Sam chuckled and then said that most of the unmarried women in these shanties were prostitutes. I had detested them but later I came to learn how not to judge anyone with the choices they make. Maybe you will not understand having not walked in their shoes. I was a critic but had changed with time and I hardly raised a finger, all I did was to respect everyone in whatever situations they were in or how they made their ends meet.

You never know what other choices someone had to choose from to settle on being a harlot. Sam's crib was the one with a tinned door. One could easily distinguish it from the rest since it had a white curtain dangling from two nails at each side of the door. Some shacks had timber doors while others had doors made from beaten tanks.

The line of shacks opposite was constructed using off-cuts and rusty iron sheets while Sam's was constructed from beaten tanks. We bent down to enter the tiny house. Upon reaching inside, I noticed that the tiny room was tidy and there was a polythene carpet on the floor. This gave us enough comfort as we sat down chatting.

There was paraffin stove and some little crockery stuffed at the corner of the crib. The bed took a larger part of the small house while the living room and the kitchen took the smaller part. I had told him how I got bored having to live close to my mother monitoring and he had offered to let me move in with him.

I was excited so I let Sam know that I could not wait to shift. That evening, I picked my backpack in transit to Sam's. We had agreed to share the four hundred shillings that was the amount for rent.

We would wake up early at the crack of dawn and go to the construction sites to look for a job. If we were lucky enough to secure a position, we would hustle and bustle the whole day carrying mortar on bucket, digging ditches and lifting stones. Sometimes our hands would get blistered but we had to sweat off our bodies for a living.

Sometimes the days were empty and we were drained off hope. Many are the times the construction supervisor would have us return home. He picked on us only on occasions when there was short of hands. Sam and I had lean bodies and that made us to be humans of less use at the construction sites, compared to the gigantics who flooded to secure themselves positions every morning.

When we lacked money to purchase necessities, we would rather trek all the way to my mother's. Life had taken a dramatic turn at some point. I felt miserable to have my heart beating. One evening as we were sitting on the polythene carpet, Sam came up with a bright idea. I had to second it since there was no other means of survival.

"We could walk around all neighborhoods for second hand books."

Sam told me.

"Then borrow or how do we do it?"

I had asked him with an ounce of interest.

"We just purchase them on fair price, and then sell them off at a higher price"

Sam had explained scratching the top if his head

"Then where do we get the capital from?"

I asked eyeing the whole room with massive sympathy.

"We could just look for a construction job; a last one then we can use what we earn if we are lucky enough to secure ourselves a position"

Sam articulated.

"Now that's a bright idea"

I was saying when we heard a soft knock at the door. I went to check, and opening the door partially I demanded to know who was knocking.

"Hey who is it?"

I asked,

"It's me Chege"

The black gigantic figure in a mackintosh answered pushing through to the partially opened door. Chege walked up to the spot where Sam was sitting as he gathered his long mackintosh to a heap on his navel. He then proceeded and sited on his butt besides Sam.

I had known him from day one since he lived in the second shack at the second row from the corner. He had an old cassette recorder that will not let humans of the shantytown sleep in peace.

It was like someone had tuned the darned radio on, adjusted the volume knob to full blast and had it stuck with superglue- always at full blast.

"What brings you here at this hour?"

Sam asked Chege as he removed a lid from the little pot that we used to cook. The stove wicks were solemnly burning and could hear the little crackling sound. Silence engulfed the air for a moment then Chege spoke

"I got evicted."

He said looking sad.

"Now what are you gonna do?" Sam asked.

"I just want you to let me stay for a sleep over then I can sort things out tomorrow"

Chege announced.

We never had intentions to let our privacy invaded that way but we had no choice. We had to accommodate him since he had been a neighbor with sense. It had not been long ago since he had saved us from burglars who had sprayed our shack with a sedater and we had been unconscious.

The burglars had gone ahead and broke in the house- gathered all we had ready for shipment. They had striped us off our clothes .We were lying on the floor frail arms spread and legs apart when Chege heard a racket and called two other neighbors to come and check what was happening. They identified the suspects and efforts to have them brought to book had been futile since they went underground and had been at large ever since.

We had opened a roadside air bookshop at the road near the post office. One person would roam the neighborhood collecting old novels and textbooks while the other person was left on business location to attend to customers. The black market business as we called it was not badly off. We could make some little cash for pocket money and upkeep when the days were better. Other times people would just come... carry books on credit and dodge so we gave up all the same.

Sam had relatives in Mombasa so he had to travel to see if we could secure ourselves little jobs there in the coastal town. I remained behind so that I would take care of the few belongings we had in the shack. He called after a week and announced that he was lucky enough to secure himself a place at the export processing zone. The plans were that he connects me through after a week; he kept his promise of connecting me. I sold out the crockery, our wrecked bed, and then packed the bed sheets and I was ready to leave.

I boarded a coast bus at ten o'clock in the evening. I dozed off most part of the journey as the bus purred towards Mombasa. It was at night and we were deprived off that privilege to site see. Before we reached Voi, I had had enough sleep so I stayed awake so that I could see dawn.

As we reached Miritini it was already 6 am and I started the frantic calls to avoid getting past the spot where I was supposed to alight from. I remember holding my big backpack at the side to the road when Sam showed up from behind the old houses at the opposite side of the road. We shook hands while he led me to the narrow path that led to the mushrooming estate.

We entered one of the houses that had a mattress lay on the floor. Sam was a genius. He'd already rented a house with the help of his sister. All we had to do is pimp it and get settled. I thought to myself when kneeling to sit on the new mattress.

Sam had gone to work while I remained behind to familiarize myself with the new environment. I had spent the whole day strolling. The hot weather was suffocating so one was forced to wear scanty clothing... just a vest and a pair of shorts could do then.

I saw ship approaching from the horizon as I was sitting at mama Ngina drive. I had never seen a sight so spectacular. I had boarded the likoni ferry to the other side of the ocean and the ride felt just cool. At round five o'clock, Sam had hit the door looking haggard and exhausted; we'd gone to his sister's house for the supper that evening.

His sister had been excited to see me since it had been quite some time since we saw each other. We had schooled together at Endarasha primary school and she'd been my classmate and desk mate.

We had been rivals with me developing a detesting attitude towards her. I thought her protruding front teeth made her look ugly. I remember her brother was notorious in mugging us off the roasted maize that we carried to school. Upon reaching Mombasa, I discovered that the school dropout had turned to beach boy and had baptized himself Smith – Mr. Smith for that matter.

It was on a Tuesday when we boarded a matatu to King'orani export processing zone. Sam being a new employee had his job card. All he needed to do was to just flash it to the checking security guard in blue uniform. A lanyard dangled hopelessly from his left arm when he beckoned me to wait outside the gate. He pointed with the baton he was brandishing almost threatening to clobber us to death.

The company foreman was to come and select other new employees and I felt like I hit a jackpot when I was selected. The new employees marched inside the go-downs where group leaders and quality checkers were eagerly waiting to assign them day duties. I was assigned one table with Sam and our jobs was to thread in the machine needles, pull the work piece, apply glue on stickers and stick them to the work piece then pass over to the machine operators. We were kind of machine operator assistants and our co-ordination determined if we reached the work target.

The managers were skinny Indians who had no shame reprimanding the Africans. One day as I was trying to fix a thread in the tiny sewing machine needle when one of the bloody Indians kicked my butt then started talking like the agent of the devil he was;

"Vow many days working eh?"

He barked.

"Five days, sir"

I answered shaking terribly.

"Pipe day's workings not know eh?"

The son of the cow hissed.

I did not answer rather I decided to keep mum when the corpse of a human snorted again.

"Pipe days fuckin? pipe days fucking eh?"

He hurled those insults then swayed his almost shrunken rump to the row opposite. I wanted to call him a honey badger but then, I decided to just curse under my breath.

"Go get your stinking albino cunt fucked inside out."

I muttered silently and faired on doing my job.

It's here I had learnt malingering at work. I would take ages to have stickers sprayed then I would pretend to be busy watching and pushing the work piece while in the real sense I was dozing off. After all Mohamed was just using us because we were nothing but poor Africans. One morning the imbecile had the guts to tell us that he never needed us in his company; he said that his company would still run without us.

We'd been lowly paid and we had nowhere to air our grievances to since the country's labor organizations were controlled by these very rich aliens. If one were to lodge a complaint about the working conditions and low wages, definitely one would be silenced since the work labor bosses had always been bribed to keep to themselves. My country had been turned to a hell in earth and justice was denied to the poor who'd no choice but to just be the slaves whom they were condemned to be.

At lunch break, EPZ employees would gather in little groups while taking beans. We would queue up only to get two beans dipped in a plate full of soup for ten shillings.

It made me think of the saying "the poor and weak have no justice" and that other old saying in our community that says "the one that don't have a tail get the flies on it whisked away by God". Then without even letting us catch a breath, Mohammed would come shouting in broken English.

"vot you doing sitting vo ass eh?"

The bugger would say and people would spring up to their feet and ran back to work.

The donkeywork had been too much I was conspiring to give up when I received a phone call from mother. She had told me how her boss had made it on connecting me to the army. She instructed that I start my journey to the next day.

I had been excited so we bid goodbye with my Taita EPZ girlfriend and I promised to visit once I graduated from the army school in Eldoret. I had my first kiss encounter and those memories live etched at the back of my head since now. They are nothing but just mere memories that I cherish up to this minute. I never heard from this Taita girl ever again since I misplaced contacts and so much staff cropped up from then.

My life turned tragic-the kind of life you would say is complicated. I had travelled to upcountry and upon arrival; we had a small meeting at the bar upstairs. There was my mother, her boss, the boss's concubine and a slightly built ebony blackie who introduced himself as major Okello.

Major Okello said that he worked at the military training school at Eldoret. He acknowledged how he had powers and authority to have me join the military. There were two of us: a guy named Mike and I. Mike was the son of the unofficial spouse to my mother's boss. Deliberations were made and plans drawn on the board.

My mum's boss beckoned me to follow him to the bar lavatory where he handed me a bunch of thousand shillings notes for counting. I counted the money and it added up to a hundred thousand Kenyan shillings. He explained that the major demanded for hundred and fifty thousand shillings to have us join the military. Of which the amount would add up to three hundred thousand Kenyan shillings since there were two of us. Then he said that mum should complete the sum and cough fifty thousand shillings.

Mum's bunny job was not well paying and the bugger knew that very well. I was astonished that he still expected her to contribute the fifty thousand. To make the matter worse the man said that I should refund that cash as soon as I graduated from the military school. I did not object but to be honest I would have refunded it over my dead body.

Major Okello had advised that we travel to Eldoret the following day. He said we were supposed to carry the money since my mum's boss had doubted. He left with two passports size photographs from Mike and I. I was excited for the assurance that I will join the Army. You can imagine the fantasies about having to wear Army combat uniform, general saluting with a gun and slow marching. That was a dream come true and I couldn't wait for darkness to cease and pave way for the crack of dawn.

That night seemed longer. I was in suspense and saying I closed my eyes or slumbered, I would be a chronic liar. I had rolled on the bed the whole night with sessions of heavy sweating and stares at the ceiling. Mama Wagaki (my mum's boss spouse) picked me at mum's around eight o'clock in the morning. Having stuffed some few changing clothes in a suitcase I had borrowed, we marched to the matatu station and bought tickets for the next road travel to Eldoret. We had picked Mike at Nakuru town and all was perfect.

We reached Eldoret at around noon. Mama Wagaki instructed us to stick at a position in front of Eldoret post office while she trotted towards the heart of the small town. We had not objected. That was just a perfect chance to chat and get to know each other. Mike wasn't bright as he seemed and I noticed that apart from having a bigger body than mine he almost resembled a full grown man. I have had boyish features even at advanced age.

At my late twenties, people confused me for the inexperienced nineteen year old. I learnt that mama Wagaki was mike's real grandmother. She was the real mother of mike's dad. He had said that his parents were divorced so his aunt who lived in Nakuru had adopted him. He did not pass well in his "O" level so they could not take him to college even if they had the money. They had decided to connect the boy to the military so he could have a life. I reflected to Mike's story and mine. No doubt we were direct opposite of each other.

On my case I was joining the military because mum's boss would not have lent me money to school with because that would take long to pay back. It was through my mum's coaxing that he offered to help; my instincts were awake .I could sense it wasn't out of will. Mum was her employee where she did donkeywork for three thousand shillings a month. She was the caretaker, barmaid, the cook, the washing machine and lodging attendant for damn three thousand shillings.

I pitied my mother for she worked that hard to just get food and pay the one thousand five hundred Kenyan shillings rent for the six by six room she lived in. One could not even turn inside that house. The bugger of an employer had no feelings. He never took his time to understand that mum was a mother, she had kids to cater for and she could not evade the responsibilities of a parent just because she was poor.

We had stuck to the spot at Eldoret post office. The sun was scorching but the breeze covered us just fine. We stayed there for a whole half day before mama Wagaki showed up. She turned up around seven o'clock looking exhausted but content. She said that we were to meet major Okello at Sirikwa, a 3 star hotel located at a street I do not remember the name. We reached to a low level class hotel at down town Eldoret and had taken supper-we had ugali served with sukuma wiki.

After washing our hands then we rolled out to the lit streets and walked to Sirikwa hotel. We found major Okello with some other two fellows.He introduced them as sergeant Salim and lieutenant Mugo. Mama Wagaki took a seat besides the major while Mike and I pulled seats directly opposite them. Major Okello ordered sodas for us and the meeting deliberations were due. Sergeant Salim and Lieutenant Mugo did not speak much... they just eyed us examining us from head to toe.

Major Okello handed us two identifications cards that he claimed that they were army identification cards. My names had errors with both sir name and last name wrongly spelt. The magnitude of errors made me start doubting major Okello's credibility and the completely bloody deal. I couldn't have dismissed the deal but I had nothing to lose. They were just helping me so I did not have a say. I kept to myself. The buffoon had fake army ID's for us and even he did not blink when he was lying.

We scattered after major Okello's assurance that he would pick us the following day so that we start training in the barracks immediately. We hobbled in the dark to down town Eldoret where lodgings are cheaper. Mama Wagaki secured herself a room that cost eight hundred shillings while she paid another one at five hundred shillings, for Mike and me. We woke up at five o'clock... had a shower and checked on Mama Wagaki upstairs where she was already waiting.

Upon reaching Eldoret CBD, Mama Wagaki instructed us to stand at a point where someone would pick us then she vanished in the crowd to the air market at the left. She would frequently call through Mike's cell phone to make sure we had not shifted. After a whole hour, standing at that junction, a battered white saloon car came to a scratching halt. A man jumped out of the back seat. We recognized him and when he approached where we were standing, he started speaking

"hey, boys!" He greeted.

"Hey major!" we responded while major Okello beckoned us to the car.

Sergeant Salim was at the cockpit while another fat bellied man was sitting at the back seat. I slumped besides the fat hog while Mike sat at the seat beside the door.

"Lock the door young man" the fat bellied man told Mike.

''OKAY'' Mike answered him as he thumbed the small protrusion at the door that was supposed to engage the car lock.

The car took a wild turn at the left and the accelerations sent it rolling out of the town heading to the North. Everyone was mum except for Major Okello who was speaking with someone at the phone.

"Yes George, did you organize?" He was saying "come through the nine 9KRgate"

The heavy voice at the other end announced.

"Okay okay..............right away"

He hung up turning around to see if we were still around .No doubt we were right there where he expected us to be. My mind kept racing as we approached the maize fields some few kilometers out of Eldoret town. The evergreen fields and the contrasting hue of the blue sky made me feel serene but how could I doubt my instincts? I did not trust any of them.

I had scrolled to messages icon in my cell phones, clicked "write message" then scribbled the car's number plate and forwarded the message to someone in case something happened to me and mike, maybe they would somehow trace the twist of events.

I now started imagining how I had seen a dead man without skin dumped at a market near Gilgil. I saw them killing us and I was scared to the core. My mind never played games with me and I knew the buggers were out to no good. I had consoled myself with some verse I read somewhere that our fight is not carnal... but for the Lord. We reached at same junction and the car turned right accelerating down the narrow tarmac road.

We had travelled for about half a kilometer when I saw something that looked like army barracks. I glanced out of the window and no doubt there it was "Moto Barracks" the signboard read.

Upon reading further, the signboard that stood sentinel at the heavily guarded metal gate read "Recruit Training School." Then I was about to piss on myself when the car accelerated past the gate down the road. I expected us to take a right turn but that did not happen. It was a mind boggle at my part and I could not judge how Mike felt. He sat there very contented wearing a face without worries. May be he had the whole clue what was happening while I had not even a hint!

"Go to Soy"

Major Okello ordered the Sergeant who took the wheel after an abrupt stop.

"Ok sir"

Sergeant Salim responded engaging the ignition.

All this time, my mind had stopped thinking, so I was just sitting there frozen waiting for my fate. Getting us skinned and our eyes plucked out scared me to the core. One is prone to think on that direction when they have a sharp mind and they are aware of the evils they are likely to deal with.

Soy was a tourist escape I discovered with varnished cottages and well-maintained swimming pools. There were grass-thatched huts exhibiting preservation of African culture. We entered one of the huts and there were massive cowrie shells, traditional beads, ornaments and gourds.

We all settled to the shade at the center of the tourist lodge and we formed a sort of conference. A Brigadier Rotich joined us and major Okello introduced him. The Brigadier said that he had just arrived from military range since he was on a tracksuit. How was that supposed to be a blatant lie? I knew it was and so I would text my mother all the happenings of that day.

Mother would scold me at the phone and I felt like a freak. She made me think that I was born a big fool. No one ever believed in everything I said. I just gave up to fate and submitted hoping that one day everyone's gonna have no choice but to believe in me. The plan was to drop us to Moto barracks so that we could join other recruits for training.

We hopped in the salon car except the fat belly and mama Wagaki. The car raced westwards to Moto Barracks. After five minutes' drive; we were at 9KR gate. Salim engaged the brakes and the car lurched forward. The two soldiers on guard did not even search the car and that made it clear our connectors were regular soldiers at Moto barracks. Other soldiers on army combat were doing exercise drills at a field nearby. We were instructed to hop out of the car. Brigadier Rotich followed suit leaving Major Okello and the rugged sergeant Salim in the car.

They drove away without even bidding us goodbye. There was a building on our right; we marched there for urine checkup. After a whole hour waiting for the doctor who wasn't around, Brigadier said that checkups are not mandatory especially when one is well connected so we proceeded to the little barbershop at the left where we had our heads clean shaved Jordan style.

After staying at the barbershop waiting for the whole afternoon, Mike and I had given up. My suspicion was not in vain and no doubt, something fishy was cooking. The brigadier from hell instructed that we stick at the barbershop for he needed to make something right inside the camp. He never returned and the controversial mama Wagaki wasn't giving any assertive assurance about fixing things out.

We had made frantic calls and all proved futile. It was almost dusk when I resolved that it was time to take control of our affairs, plan how we could reach town and search for Mike's granny. We did not have even a single coin with us. Soldiers became suspicious of us inside the camp and immediately we were driven out.

We explained what had happened. They said they did not know a major Okello or Brigadier Rotich. Not even a sergeant Salim. Now I started seeing the stark reality I had known from the previous night when they brought fake ID cards.

We shuffled to the main road now overwhelmed with what has happening to us. A bright idea struck me, I pulled mike by the hand to the little shopping center near the Barracks. I explained to well-wishers who helped us with Matatu fare to Eldoret town. It was almost nightfall as we reached town. Mike had called granny and luckily her phone went through.

"Cucu where are you?"

The irritated Mike asked

"I'm down at the hotel where we had supper."

She announced then hung up.

My mind had never fooled me all that time. Now it was clear that the whole idea of joining military was just a dream. They were just fantasies and the people that had offered to connect us were just fairy tales- people like that did not exist and so the major Okello was scam. We had been demoralized and played -I felt like I had been raped. Gang raped for that matter.

We reached home from Eldoret sad and exhausted. My mother had been saddened than I was. She had lost chunks of money she'd borrowed from relatives. She'd to pay it up since I wasn't lucky enough to join the military so I couldn't afford to repay. She was compelled to strain so hard to pay up the cash. It was a painful experience but I felt may be mum could have advised me to join college and study rather than join the military.

Being ignorant as a family was the ultimate price we were to pay. I had to spend the whole of that year without a steady job and I knew Mohamed wouldn't want to see me again. I stuck in upcountry where I worked at a construction site until the following year when another person came on the way and offered to help us.

I had known the man as my mum's former employer. The tall aging myopic man adjusted his bifocals one afternoon and assured me help. He said that I was to join college...yes a college and I was astonished for there were few people in the world who could part with a dime to take a stranger's son to college

xxxxxxxxx

CHAPTER TWO

##  COLLEGE

My mother rummaged her skirt pockets for the keys. I waited patiently putting the box on my head to cover myself from the slight drizzles. The sky was now grey and soared ready to let down a torrent. The ragged mountains of Gilgil were now covered in dense fog. A lightning flashed across the already darkening skies like it was released from a shudder. I knew it would rain so I thought that meant blessings for me. That was the day I was going to join college.

Mum unbolted the door and I entered her single room. I placed my tin box beside her bed. She'd now shifted from her original house to a sort of an upgraded shack house built of iron sheets from the wall to the roofing. It is in this house I saw a very large gutter rat. It had whiskers that looked like a sweeping broom. Mama had explained how she'd tried to poison the gigantic gutter rats but that never worked for her. I saw a huge rat shoot from one corner to the other corner of my mum's house. I screamed.

She said she'd be embarrassed to have guests in her house and I understood. I had dreams that one day I would get a job and help her. I was the only hope in the small family of two-my brother had dropped out of school and that was quite understandable since he had not been a very bright student. He had decided to save mother the heartache of having to bear burden of educating two kids without a steady source of income or support of any kind.

I packed all my clothing in the box not forgetting to include some toothpaste and tissue. Heavens opened up; cats and dogs had started raining when mother said that I must be patient since it won't rain forever. I was excited like every other kid in their first day to join college. After a whole hour of heavy raining, the torrents ceased and so mum called to say that I was ready.

The man's voice at the other end said that we should bring everything near the road and hanged up. We hurled the heavy tin box wading in the muddy path to the tarmac somewhere near there. A black car appeared from the horizon and mum said that it was he. Within no time the car had reached our spot. It came to a screeching halt and a bifocaled Mr. Francis hopped out.

"How are you mother and Maina?"

He greeted moving forward to shake our hands.

"I'm good Mr. Francis," Mother responded

"This is the boy you've been telling me about? He must be Maina right."

He enquired.

"Yeah...this is Maina...don't you call me mama Maina?"

They both laughed.

Mum helped me pick the tin box to the car. Mr. Francis opened the boot and beckoned us to load the box while he banged the door then pulling it a little to check if the lock was perfectly engaged.

Mother was scheduled to report to work so she let Mr. Francis drive me to college. We left without even a word of advice from mother. Not even a word to encourage me. I had lived all my life to that day without her mentorship. Way back from primary to secondary school. I had lived without her so I somehow learnt how to motivate, encourage and congratulate myself.

I'm always perusing my photo album to reminisce the old memories; these very memories of me receiving prizes from various dignitaries in school. My mama never featured in any of these photographs and I felt unimportant and unwanted.

My aging grandmother featured in all photographs though- that's respect enough to make me not want anyone else appear in those photographs. My grandmother had been my sole pillar throughout the years I lived in her house. Despite the flaws, she'd housed me till I was old enough- heavens bless her.

Our car rattled through town heading north. I was now catching a glimpse of the army barracks married quarters on the left when Mr. Francis acknowledged that we were about to reach our destination.

We drove past Garrison secondary school and headed right. The car took a right swerve; I could see small shades built outside a metal gate guarded heavily. The guards on that gate wore green and grey uniforms and berets. Their feet weren't on ordinary shoes. They wore military boots- they looked like police officers to me but they had neither guns nor anything... just batons.

The college itself lied in a deep valley at the suburbs. I could see long stone buildings that were scattered on a large stretch of land. On our right there was algae invested waters resembling large green swimming pools. Adjacent to the dams there were the servant's quarters elegant flats all painted red.

At the horizon when facing east, the college was surrounded by rugged mountains covered by a mass of shrubs.

Mr. Francis engaged the breaking and the car came to a screeching halt with a forward lurch. He turned around adjusting his bifocals.

"Maina this is the place"

He announced.

"Okay"

I said looking confused.

I never heard of a college where they wore police attire. I did not wish to join the army after the botched attempt, where mother lost huge chunks of money to cons. Mr. Francis made effort and he knew conviction was guaranteed since I was desperate. He was told that I was looking forward to starting work as a cheap hotel waiter in town.

He opened the small pocket at the car dashboard and pulled out a document that was white in color. The name dash had been white washed; indicating that there was a first name in the calling letter meaning that the document belonged to another person. He said that I was lucky to have secured myself a chance in the college. It was a government college so success was hundred percent guaranteed. I saw light at the end of the tunnel but I was too stupid not to question how those things were guaranteed.

Mr. Francis helped me scoop the tin box to the college gate where my name was booked in a black book. We proceeded to a desk where gentlemen in uniform received us. A hefty bloodshot man was sitting on a chair besides a table. He asked to check on the calling letter that Mr. Francis handled to him immediately. Holding the document with gigantic or rather fat fingers , he looked up and asked Mr. Francis whom the reference was, I didn't know what reference meant so that was none of my business.

"The reference is Mr. Murage"

He told him.

"Hope you have cleared with him?"

He asked him.

"Yes, we already settled that long time ago"

Mr. Francis said.

I floated when the two men held that dialogue. I could not grasp and I wasn't even aware what was happening. They agreed and Mr. Francis was free to leave. He turned around and waved goodbye. I stood like a millennium fool with my tin box lying on the ground next to my feet.

"What's your name kurutu?"

The hefty bloodshot asked me,

"My name is Nahashon."

I answered.

"Nahashon what? You have one name like a bitch?"

"Nahashon Maina."

"What the hell! In here you are supposed to end every sentence with the word sir or afande?"

"You hear that blarry kurutu."

I was struck by terror and I started shaking terribly. The uniformed bugger sprung from his seat and slapped me hard across the face. Tears started rolling down my cheeks because I did nothing wrong.

"Why are you weeping ....son of a harlot?" He asked me again almost knocking me flat on the ground.

"Stand up little idiot!" he screamed at me and ordered me to stand which I did.

He gave me a hard kick with the tip of his boot and I let out a howl.

"Corporals take this porcupine to the barracks!"

He called on the skinny corporal who was running from down a narrow tarmac vanishing to the blue gum trees at the horizon. Other kurutus were waiting somewhere down the narrow tarmac.

The skinny corporal with frail arms ordered me to pick my tiny box and put it on my head. I struggled with the heavy thing and I was able to hoist it to my head amid serious staggers. He explained how in the camp people don't just walk.

He said that there is a special way of walking anytime you are in the camp. One was supposed to start every move with the left leg and call out left then right then left that way all the way to immortality. I left righted on slight staggers to the group walking down the road.

Everyone had their luggage on their heads and we were supposed to fall-in.

The corporal helped us arrange ourselves in groups with each comprising three ranks. We were now marching towards the barracks singing left right in unison. The scrawny thing had us stop so many times explaining stuff that we did not understand. Some defiant recruits were now impatient and walked with big strides.

More corporals joined and we regretted going to college, they made us go around the camp carrying heavy luggage on own heads. We had been tortured and we cried. I had no idea why those people tortured us and what they had to gain from such animosity. However, I later learnt that they were passing over the camp's traditions and norms- we had been cursed, condemned of being poor and sold to slavery.

We were forced to call- out and beaten up severely. The whole camp was in confusion and not only the whole camp. I was confused; we made an urgent stop at a small barbershop that the college service men operated. One was supposed to pay ten shillings for a cut –rearing hair was highly forbidden in the discipline camp. When my turn came to be shaved, someone satirized me and I decided to retaliate to the ridicule.

The uniformed skunk moron said something and the others burst out a laugh. My retaliation wasn't more than a click of the tongue. They made me kneel on the tarmac then beat me up forcing me to walk on my knees. I crawled while they stumbled on me with their soldier boots. I crawled for about one hundred meters when they ordered me to stand up. My knees were skinned off and they were bleeding profusely. One of them slapped me on both ears and I was rendered deaf.

The barber man applied all the brutality he had learnt since he was born on my head. Apart from shaving me, he saw the need to have the battered shaving machine cut my head's skin. Having carried a heavy box on the same head top, it was swollen and numbing pain cut deep to my skull as he applied force to a clean shave of Jordan style.

I was to chest out, hold my chin up, no whining and no complaints since I was now a member of the soldier fraternity. To them that wasn't brutality. That was part of training as dictated by the camp masters. After shaving, I was ordered to lie down outside the small barbershop and roll on the mud while I got stumped with boots.

It was muddy; my clothes got all muddy and wet. They finished the 'combing out civilian attitude' by dipping me in a water puddle. They had hauled insults at me saying that I had to shed off civilian attitude and embrace soldier attitudes. That was the only explanations I got for being tortured.

Benin Barrack was the one adjacent to the college mess. I was finally to land there after reshuffle. They didn't explain if it's going to happen soon. Before the reshuffle, I stuck to Mozambique Barrack at the corner near the muddy raw recruit dais. I went there the very first day I reported to the college. Mozambique had drably walls, cracked floor and the door was missing. Just opposite the empty space that was supposed to be the door where small cubicles where the Barrack Non Commissioned Officers (N.C.O'S) lived. During the first week, the harassment by N.C.O'S and other service men was immense.

We were to climb the Smooth Barrack walls while someone spanked us with a stick. If anyone dared to resist they would call for reinforcement by N.C.O.S from other Barracks and even call the camp security. No one would want to face an encounter with the camp security.

The brutes would pluck out ones toes and finger nails for resisting training. They would lock you up in a cold room near the gate or make you sleep immersed in a tank full of cold water for a whole night. They had locked me up one Sunday for conversing with a girl named Mumbi. She was a recruit from Thika Barrack. I was forced to wear a rugged dress for the whole of that Sunday and to water flower gardens as I walked bare feet. This was after caning- by then I had been hardened so that wasn't a big of a deal.

We were provided with blue mattresses, green blankets to cover ourselves with. There were no beds at the first weeks so we would arrange the mattress on a column beside the wall, then arrange the tin boxes each besides our mattresses.

In the evening, we would gather at the front of the Barrack and the N.C.O.S would force us to sing hymns while sitting on the cold floor. If one was caught dozing off, the punishment was a thorough beating or sitting in a basin full of water whole session or support with one's arms against a wall, legs up.

After a prolonged sitting session, the N.C.O.S would emerge from the small cubicle and order us to sleep. This was after midnight and no one was supposed to sit anywhere near a mattress before then. We all knew the consequences of violating barracks rules or the general law of the camp.

The N.C.O.S would hit one of the boxes with a stick at three O'clock in the morning and shout

"up!"

All of us would spring to our feet, clutch one's beddings and wade across the Barrack to the empty cube at the far end near the window. Then we would pour water that we fetched last evening until the empty barrack was flooded.

We had neither squeezers nor brooms to sweep away the water; we had rags, old towels and t-shirts. We would arrange them in a line from one corner and haul towards the opening that was supposed to be the door. We would repeat that exercise until the barrack was spotlessly clean and dry. We were careful enough to stick to the timeline.

We would make a queue to pick breakfast. Fellow recruits served breakfast that comprised of thin tea and two slices of bread. Sometimes it wouldn't be enough some recruits would miss the precious commodity that kept us alive. Other times we would scramble and that was highly prohibited in the camp. It was a serious crime by the way. If caught scrambling for food the consequences were lethal. I remember being forced to crawl on the tarmac with our stomachs, and then support ourselves on the same with our knuckles. My knuckles had turned black ever since.

I had now grown skinny and my skin had turned black. That training had rendered me ill right from the first day. I would never forget how the N.C.O.S forced me to feed from a bathing bucket the very first day I joined. I was compelled to feed from it since missing supper would mean I would have less energy conserve for exercises the next day. I had imagined the public washing basin and I had puked.

I did not like the food but my hunger and lack of it had taught me how to like it. I had been sick and weak. The whole camp had been sick having everyone not been in a position to attend to a long call. I would not understand how a normal human who is feeding could last a whole week and a half without shitting.

After that fateful week when the recruits had not shitted, the unexpected happened. Almost everyone developed a running stomach. It was this type of diarrhea where one experienced pain in the anus while shitting bloody water. I could hardly walk and the N.C.O.S won't stop beating me - I just wanted to die but something urged me to stay alive. I had conspired for an escape but the assurance that I would get a job to drive my mum out of poverty let me stay even with all that torture.

I had drifted away to a strained slumber when someone beckoned me to enter the small consultation room. I bet those were quack doctors in that shifty room. After explaining how I was feeling, without even having clear facts about the ailment I was suffering from, they had prescribed me with painkillers even without diagnosis.

I returned to the barrack until tomorrow when I was to be picked by the camp van together with other recruits to the government hospital. I clumsily dragged myself and shuffled to the barracks down camp. I watched as recruits matched on the other tarmac across the field calling out. Others would run right to touch the big barracks and scramble right back.

"I want the last one!" The corporal shouted.

The tailing recruits got kicked with boots and their faces would be smeared with mud. I sneaked to the barracks and slept. I had a friend by the name Kairu who had picked blocks of ugali for me that I tried to swallow but I couldn't. In the camp, Ugali was prepared in a funny way. They would boil water in the gigantic cooking drums then pour maize flour, stir for some minutes, then scoop the sludge on metal trays. They would then array the shit to dry on the sun, and then cut the hardened stuff to small blocks for the swine to feed on. Ugali blocks were served with ndengu which was full of stones. On Thursdays, one could get a full block of Ugali and a plate full of soup with one piece of meat submerging.

Upon reaching the government hospital, tenths of us were led to the consultation room at the end of the railed pavement. My turn came so I dragged myself inside the room and slumped on a chair right opposite where the doctor was sitting.

The corporal guarded us while the aging bifocaled doctor carried out the examination; it more or less resembled excess interrogation. The illiterate corporal had yapped that we'd been feeding from the dustbin after the doctor diagnosed scores of amoebic dysentery. I had proved to him that it was a blatant lie. The good food they claimed to offer to the recruits wasn't up to standard and the whole issue was kept a secret since it was termed as a whoevers affair.

The camp masters were petty food thieves. They would sometimes hijack the recruits' food so the ration wasn't enough and if anyone ever fed from the dustbin, it was their fault. The doctor prescribed two packets of drugs and instructed that I should finish the dosage to suppress the dysentery .upon reaching the barracks; I discovered that quarantine had been set up. A barrack was set aside for the sick and the convalescences. I had spent the next two weeks in the quarantine together with other patients.

After recuperating, I had re-joined other barrack mates for training. I had learnt a lot in drills that involved marching and parade exercises. We would fall-in and form a platoon consisting of three ranks; rear rank, center and the front rank. The camp had to follow strict schedule .After physical training, we would fall –in to the morning parade then proceeds to class then to drills and physical training. Class involved having to over crowd in a room where we sat on the floor. We were provided with writing material. They taught us about the acts of the organization that was the college.

It's here I had learnt that one of the organization's aim is crowd control. It was meant to discourage idling of youths all over the country. I listened without writing anything and dosed off most of the time. I would be lying if I said I was interested. Everything about the whole ordeal made no sense to me. I could see deep into the future and that very camp had no point. I felt cheated and betrayed and I hated the fact that I had to suffer that much because I had a poor mother and my dad was long dead.

Physical training involved running for hours outside the college compound. We would run all the way to the Lake...up the rugged mountains then back to the camp. The exercise left us drained of energy and haggard. This exercise made me to pee all the blood in my veins. After running sessions, I noticed that I was urinating blood, which was very abnormal. I had reported to the N.C.O.S who booked an appointment for me to see the doctor the following day.

I was back at the hospital one more time. In the consultation room, they handed little bottles with rubber lids and instructed me to fill it with my urine, which I did. The lab technologist in a white dustcoat vanished with the urine-filled bottles and reappeared after some thirty minutes. He handed over the lab results to the doctor in charge. I could catch a glimpse of what was scribbled on the sheet of paper.

"Calcium oxalate noted" I resisted the urge to enquire what calcium oxalate was and what disease symptoms that was.

The corporal's big eyes bulged threatening to jump from the eye sockets so I just resolved to keeping to myself. The doctor said I had kidney stones. Again drugs were administered and we drove off back to the hellish camp

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. We had trained hard as one of the camp's mantra was "train hard fight easy" my feet were now hardened.

My toe nails fell off due to the pressure that I applied marching and climbing the mountains carrying logs and bags of soil.

After three months stay, we were qualified to wear the grey uniform. They provided us with a pair of uniform- just one pair that cost us so much. We had to wear that uniform the whole day, roll with it on mud, and attend drills and physical training in this pair of uniform.

After programs we were supposed to go straight to personal admin; personal admin involved washing this pair of uniform at six o'clock, discover the means to dry and iron it before midnight. No one would touch the bed leave alone sleeping before the corporal approved.

We had invented a genius method of accelerating the drying of the uniform. After washing, we would sandwich it between two dry towels then wring. After wringing, we would hang it at the cloth line to catch a bit of the evening breeze as we rushed towards the mess with our iron boxes for ember.

The mess story was a dangerous affair. We scooped ember from a wide pit full of burning logs. The damn pit resembled a burning furnace in hell. If you dared stumble or falter steps, that would be the end of you. We had learnt how to be careful and we could take care of ourselves- it was a damn training camp and not a holiday camp.

We had all come to touch with reality. We had to excel no matter what. It dawned to me that the calling letter with the reference shit had been someone else's who had escaped from the camp. That place was more than a death trap to me but I had somehow been a hardcore. The way I grew up had taught me how to be tough and tougher when the going gets rough. I heard narration how the camp had been used to rehabilitate and reform street urchins by the government.

We would look for a small timber to help us draw the straight line on our uniform. The darned line was supposed to run parallel of the side hems to the two front belt loops on either side, and then join to the other one running from the shirt above the belt up to the front pocket to the collar. The iron was supposed to be perfect and very dry... free of tiny ash particles or anything foreign.

The corporal would check and approve before one could sleep. Sometimes we were forced to bribe them with money so that they would be easy on us. If the corporal didn't like you or you had grudge, they would put your uniform in a basin full of water, you would start the draining drying exercise all over again. Some crook recruits would burn their uniforms while ironing and they would tip toe to steal from the barrack cloth line.

I wasn't immune to misfortunes so one day I went for uniform snipping spree when my own uniform was stolen from the cloth line. Failure to attend morning parade would mean lethal consequences. They had issued us with military boots and that meant more trouble. We had to wear this one pair of boots all the time.

The N.C.Os had demonstrated one evening how we were supposed to take care of the boots. You were supposed to wash off the mud and soil or even wipe it-they won't care how you did it as long as they see the work done. The boot polishing wasn't the haphazard ordinary one. You would apply shoe polish with your finger on the region at the toes and the heels, then you would use a "kamneis" (a white piece of cloth) to rub those regions (after melting the shoe polish with candle heat) until the boots were shinny in such a way you could substitute them for your mirror.

Then the corporal would check if you have done everything right so he could approve you're going to bed. It had been a laborious affair and we would hardly sleep so one was always dozing off during the day. I had once rammed on a metal post since the morning run had to happen when it was still dark-I was running half-asleep. Our seniors would always ridicule us saying that a recruit is a strange object that could even sleep and snore in the rain.

As the days passed by, the training had intensified with everyone on full uniform; we now graduated from marching on the muddy field to the dais. The dais was a huge tarmac portion that extended from the administration block to the senior's barracks down the narrow tarmac. There was the podium where the president would sit while presiding the passing out parade. Parade exercise in Dias left some of us maimed. The instructions were that when standing on parade, one should chest out, straighten your hands on the trouser hem, chin up, and put your darned feet at a V-shape and no movement.

One was supposed to ignore an itch or an ant-bite. Standing on that posture for a long time would discourage the normal flow of blood in your veins, your body would become frozen, and one would see darkness engulfing the whole earth. The fall was supposed to be official so many recruits had lost their teeth and had broken limbs reason-falling officially on the hard tarmac.

We had a norm of preserving ugali blocks in tin boxes, so one would gobble the fermenting shit while hurrying off to the Dais. The ugali would further ferment in ones stomach and yeast would be triggered. That was due to the dais furnace heat-now that would make you dizzy and hazy, the reason falls were immense.

We had now mastered the forty steps, twelve steps advance to the Dias and general salute. Marching had never been easy. The hand swinging left our armpits sore and swollen. Our bodies were now lean and straight as that was a requirement for perfect parade exercise. Our passing out rehearsals was conducted on a Monday after a long stay in the camp.

Probably the stay had changed from the normal nine months. On the big day, the vice president landed in a chopper to preside over the passing out parade. He sat on the little podium made of glass and had the paintings of the national flag. We stood on at ease and waited patiently for the commands from the parade commander. When the command came, we executed to attention, then shoulders arms, to forming two ranks and the parade was ready for the vice president to conduct the guard of honor.

The short medium sized man on black suits passed in front of my eyes that I wasn't supposed to even move. I made an eye bulge to see him clearly. The officer in command basic training trailed behind him holding a sword to a front stretch. He adorned himself with green ceremonial uniform. After the guard of honor we formed three ranks, turned right and marched right forward to the Dais where every platoon was supposed to turn then eyes right while marching to honor the vice president.

Upon reaching end of the Dias we halted then double marched to the barracks. The mesmerized civilians stood aside all around the dais. The whole camp was crowded with people from all over the country. They had come to witness the success of their loved ones and to them that marked a true triumph story which on reality marked lots of pain, desperation and twist of fate.

We stored our arms in the barracks and returned to the Dais to meet our relatives who had been eagerly waiting. My grandma together with my aunts and uncles, my mother and brother were present and some other two women I did not recognize. They bought me flowers and helped me cut the cake, the photo man did his job, we had a small family party that my mother had organized and that was it. We had finished our training and so we eagerly waited to see what the next instruction would be.

We were now seniors and the harassments had now ceased. New recruits started joining and we watched as new N.C.Os harassed them as they had done onto us.

We had stayed in the camp for a week, after pass out. We were to pick our boxes from the barracks and gather at the dais since those barracks were not our homes anymore. They were rightfully the new recruits'. We'd given up everything. We gave out the beds, the mattresses and the tattered blankets. Stark reality was now staring down at us.

We were refugees in our own country-just because someone somewhere wasn't responsible but it was for the hope, the hope that we clanged onto that the government would somehow help us. There was the promise that the government would offer jobs and courses.

We spent two days camping at the dais waiting for the respective sub-unit vehicles to pick us from the camp. This is the moment my life was engulfed by cruel darkness. The whole of my barrack was supposed to go for nation building exercise in a holding unit at the capital city. I was denied that chance. Some corrupt officers sold out my position to some other service men from other barracks-they were aware that this holding unit was modernized with the top organization authorities based here so nothing would go wrong. I had been stranded... simply because I was betrayed. I was aware about what happens in the camp and I'd no intentions to engage the top camp officials who were even more corrupt than the junior officers.

I felt so much resentment and hate when my company commander announced that the four of us, me, George and some other two service men I don't remember their names would go to Tana basin at the coast. We heard horrible stories about the despicable climate and the poor living conditions there but we had gone anyway-we were soldiers, well trained soldiers for that matter.

We mingled with the other service men from another barrack that was destined for Tana. We were all rejects and rejects should familiarize themselves to each other. Two green Lorries showed up at the gate and a corporal announced that if one blundered and was left behind, they would be forced to use public transport to Tana and pay own money for bus fare. We were all broke asses with delayed payment.

They were supposed to give us allowances of five hundred shillings each, a bar of soap and tissue every month. We went onboard the Lorries that had little space than all the service men who were meant to travel. They said that we must fit in there so two corporals used their boots to squeeze us to fit. I had no idea how a whole company and a half would fit in the two 3.3 Lorries.

I had coiled myself at stooped posture and the discomfort was unexplainable. Before we reached the capital for a stopover, my whole body was aching. We had supper at the headquarters. That comprised of the usual ugali blocks and soup. I noticed something about the ugali blocks here-they were well cooked. A delicacy I tasted last before joining the college. Reruit school blocks were something else that had no name. Definitely, that wasn't ugali. After supper it was night fall and the drivers announced that we were scheduled to travel overnight so that we would reach Tana basin the following morning.

I didn't imagine having to squeeze ourselves back in the same under spaced lorry. I never had my own lorry so I had no other option. The journey was long and dangerous. Cold winds terrorized us almost the whole journey that took us the whole night. Everyone onboard was quiet except the casual moans of someone having aching joints.

I remember bowing my head and struggling to get a nap, head placed on my knees. We reached Tana Sub-unit at day down. The tiny camp is located at a remote area between Bora and Hola. By then there were three barracks to hold maybe two companies. The barracks were built of rusty iron sheets that had holes everywhere. The dilapidated buildings had no doors, and the windows too were missing. There were no beds or beddings. We were forced to hustle for tattered rags full of dust from the store to use as beddings. I had wondered if the camp could support human life. It looked like an old ruin of a war torn city.

The whole earth in Garissa was covered with glittering sand and no vegetation except for the thorny vegetation -Mathenge shrubs. Our camp was surrounded by these Mathenge shrubs. We were in a desert so we did not expect rain. There had been little worry of where we would live if it rained.

The dilapidated barracks had no difference with sleeping outside on open air. We had taken positions and secured places to keep our tin boxes that now contained uniform only. Our civilian clothes had been used as dusters after turning into tatters. We had never set our feet out of the camp for that was highly prohibited for recruits. One could sneak out but how? The damn camp was heavily guarded all day and night.

We arranged little shreds of dusty mattresses and some old uniforms. We would now guard the camp in turns since failure to do that would mean lenience. We were aware of the hyenas that roamed the neighborhood. I found Tana people (the locals) very strange. They would never talk to us since they believed that we were a part of reformed street children– I found that revelation shocking.

It's true we were kids who had been disadvantaged in life but I felt nothing but great humiliation when they regarded us street urchins. They believed that we were homeless, rejected and poor, that's why the government had to at least find us somewhere and clothes to cover ourselves and something to eat. Maybe at some point it was true but that was none of their business. All the same, we had to survive somehow.

I loved the camp food since they never had us starving. The main dish was rice with beans or ugali with Carmel meat. Tea was plenty and sometimes we would get fresh fruits. Watermelons and bananas were in plenty.

That taught me to never judge a book by its cover. At first I thought not even a single service man would come out of that shitty hole alive. Water was supplied in tankers and the whole camp got enough. We had learnt how to sneak out of the camp to the little town of Bura where we enjoyed watching films in the video houses. I had studied the funny lifestyle of the Orma and Wardei of Tana River.

When the sun went down, I would watch them bring the animals to the small sheds made by placing heaps of Mathenge thorny twigs on the ground. This formed a large circling with a gap at one end. This was supposed to be the artificial cowshed entrance.

The men were scrawny as well as the women. They built small Manyattas like the Masai. They solely depended on food aid from the government since Tana River region is always drought stricken. Sometimes there are ethnic clashes and people would be killed. They used guns to fight and almost every homestead has two guns that are used for protection.

The Orma and Wardei are Muslims and staunch ones for that matter. Their daughters were prohibited from walking or standing by the road to chat with men. Women had bungles all over their skinny arms and necklaces made of beads and cowrie shells. Their traditional attires or rather modern attire is lessos. They use strange smelling perfume that is made from burning a certain type of shrub. They would tap the smoke with their clothes.

The women fetch water using big oil jelly cans that have a special wire hooked to both ends. That would be used to pull the jelly cans as they roll them on the sand until they reach home.

We could wake up very early in the morning for the morning run. After that, we were to dress up for nation building that involved building Hola- Garsen road. One was supposed to be in boots and the one pair of uniform for fatigue. The other ceremonial uniform had been stored for emergency in case we were ordered to attend to national functions.

The notorious desert sun had turned my skin to a deep pink hue leaving a tone at both biceps where the rolled sleeves of the shirt reached. My chest too had a V-shape mark. We had trouble due to the heat. Our feet were peeled off and turned whitish (ash coloration) while we developed inflammations between our legs. We would finish our jobs in the evening and ride to the camp. I was in the camp for one whole year and nothing showed up.

Service men came and left even without having to build the nation. I came to discover the corrupt ways of the whole organization. It was who knows who scenario. If you knew someone at the top, then you'd not need to worry. All you needed to do is just forward your name and they would forward it. Immediately your days of suffering in Tana concentration camp would end. I didn't know any top cats I so I had to give up. A big number of service men joined the defence forces and the police.

I didn't see it coming and no doubt I learned by my own experience. They would announce about an upcoming police or military recruitment in the camp.

We would be excited and eagerly wait to be recruited. The day would come and the turds would come with names on a piece of paper. We were all children of our country for Christ sake! How comes some were discriminated against? I left the camp with so many questions and not even a single answer.

One was forced to take a course they were not willing to do because all the best ones had been taken by the ones under a Godfather's umbrella.

I chose to give up the whole thing all the same. I left everything behind, even my tin box and their uniform-I had left with nothing to show for it, no job, no course and I admitted I was in a prison worse than a normal prison. I wish I could have murdered someone so they could take me to a real prison.

I bet people have been pardoned from incarceration having reformed and with courses to show. They'd not taken me to that prison to reform from anything. I had been a law abiding citizen all that while. I had wasted one year or my life doing useless things and I just wondered if I could change my walking style to a soldiers drill.

I didn't even see the need to even carry the college certificate with me-I felt that I have been betrayed and discriminated against. It was simply because I did not know anyone in a top government seat. I accepted and moved on. I knew good things were meant for the few but I had the grit to keep trying. I knew what was expected of me-just resilience and focus. That was nothing to me-just a hell of a camp with no sense.

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# CHAPTER THREE

I had gone back to my home like a coward. Critics pointed fingers and the ignorant people cursed saying I couldn't get help. I wondered if someone could opt to leave if there's light. If only people could take time and walk that very desperation road I travelled. I was the only person who knew where the shoe pinched-no doubt my admonishers won't walk a mile on those shoes I wore for a thousand miles.

I had no business explaining because it shouldn't have irked them-it was my life. I'd been lucky to leave that hell in one piece. I had seen people deviate from their morals to bad and the ugly. Talk about indulging blunt, being depressed and hopeless. It's the ultimate price I had to pay for being unfit-it was a survival for the fittest scenario and extinction for the weakest species.

I had been welcomed with frequent scolding and lectures from mother who said I was less a man and I had been hurt. I resolved to just walk out and face the world on my own. I had to conquer the very world that had me screwed. I had sworn never to return with my tail coiled between my legs again. As I was roaming around town, I saw some two Indian buggers on a backstreet looking confused as if looking for something.

I decided to approach them and enquire if I could offer any help. I drifted nearer and I greeted them. They said that they were working for Ramesh Engineering Company that had signed a contract with a foreign company to install optic fiber cables on the whole of East Africa. They had decided to look for hands since there was a shortage of the same. Many people weren't willing to do the risky job which was lowly paid.

I was down on my luck by birth; I had no choice but to join the Baniani's company. We were divided into three groups with each group comprising of two fundis and one hand man. There were two Indian machine operators, other two extra hands to assist the machine operators – on hand each, and then the inactive always-dozing off two watchmen.

Our business entailed removing the earth wire from tall electric towers; we would hoist derricks to a considerable stretch of towers, and then secure rollers whereby the earth wire was chain pulled to the rollers for easy removal.

The line was live and one would hear the crackling sound of electric power. The fundis were supposed to be extra careful because any stupid mistake would mean death, death by electrocution. After hoisting the derricks and securing the darned wire on rollers, then all the fundis would come down to the ground and radio call the two machine operators. All of us were armed with walkie talkies because the job entailed serious team work.

Mamu and Mama were experienced machine operators who had fixed the optic fiber from Naivasha to Kapsabet in less than five months. Except the challenges and the nature of that job, there was fun. The Indians spoke broken English, they would use me as the bridge and interpreter whenever they starved sexually.

Mamu would say

"Mina get- re mama –re"

"Vow much payment?''

Mamu would ask.

"It's just one hundred and fifty – one ride"

I would tell him.

"Not-re mina ben chot van pipty van shot big money chutia"

He would complain.

Then I would advise him to pick a girl for a whole night instead.

He would agree and give me commission after the struck deal is done. I would hurry to the brothel and pick the girls. One day, I decided to surprise mamu so I picked a buxom lady. Mamu was wearing a hood and he was peeping from behind the gate. We alighted from the bodaboda with my big mama the udder threatening to spill to the ground. Mamu wasn't amused and he was cursing from behind the gate.

"mina-re ehh benchot a big-re mama no good...

A small small mama gud eh no taking-re."

Mamu declined the offer claiming that big woman have all the goodies succulent. The buggers were supposed to be my bosses so I needed not to object. I explained to the lady and she'd no problem understanding. We about turned so that I could select another lean meat. He approved that one saying

"this one good-re".

We had recruited two ladies who were in charge of taking care of our stomach affairs. They would serve food on credit and we would pay immediately we got our wages. Some hands were slippery... always trying to default the debts. Shiku was one gorgeous brunette with luminescent dolly eyes. Her rump was well rounded and the figure was enticing. Everyone had pulled up their socks to trying their luck.

All the fundis had been engaged reason being they were more respected and the wages had more sense. The malnourished hands with coarse skin had not been anything one would look at twice. I had been a genius enough to keep my little lust to myself. Seduction is a game; that takes away energy with money being the fuel of which I had none- or what does one do with a drooping prick.

I think Shiku liked me since I always caught her staring at me or maybe she wondered what such a handsome boy could be doing there –in Ramesh's company, one was assured of a donkeywork, low salary and death either of AIDS or electrocution. My prick had come to live on pay day. Well..., I need not explain what used to happen on pay day only fools don't have a hint.

Something about pay day makes me want to laugh. Buggers would gather in groups of four and attend to a drinking spree. After taking five for the road; you won't comprehend the bragging in that joint. Hands would miraculously turn to top seat government officials. Mutua all of a sudden would turn to the very person that existed in his childhood dreams. - a ranger. He'd broken his nose one payday after exhausting peanuts that was his salary. He ordered drinks for everyone.

When the patron demanded to be paid, he slipped a hand in his pocket and you know what he felt, his natural twelve hundred and soil particles. He was badly beaten, like a stray cat that stole grandma's eight shilling cooking fat when I was young.

Other times the fundis who turned to big government executives when drank would have lice crawling on the collars of their shirts. I was overwhelmed how people believed those lies. I think when some people are drunk they become blind or stupid.

Don't ask me about payday again. If you have to, ask about Mutua and Mwalimu. It's heartbreaking that Mutua later died in a terrific electrocution. A chain pulley cost him his life. He had been pumping to pull the earth wire so that he could hoist to a roller when the chain pulley's tail fell below him suspending itself to the magnetic field. He's was no more and we had been hit by tragedy.

I resigned the very day fundi Mutua's body was being lowered from the towers by a hired rescue team. If I say Mutua hadn't been turned to a big piece of coal, then I would be lying. I was Mutua's hand, I resolved to leave and no doubt I didn't know where to leave to. I had no home, and homelessness was somehow so real that I never came to terms with it up to date.

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I boarded a matatu to and before I reached Nakuru, I had embraced a bright idea that crept in. I resolved that the only place I could find refuge was Nairobi. Upon reaching Nakuru I boarded a matatu to Nairobi. I still had the little money I saved so I had no problem going to Nairobi to look for a job.

I reached Nyamakima at six o'clock, bounced to a downtown hotel where I had supper. The waiter directed me to a cheap down town lodging along Latema Road. I coughed five hundred shillings and I had somewhere to lay my head for that night. The game plan was to patrol the vibrant city the following day for a job. I had my "O" level certificates in my backpack, so I had hope something would somehow show up.

I woke up at six o'clock and showered ready for the job hustle. I entered almost a hundred offices, when I almost gave up that last office discouraged me so badly. I found a fat belly on bifocals. Upon seeing me, he sagged the spectacles letting them rest on the bridge of his nose before eyeing me with bulging eyes that looked like small golf balls.

All this time while, I was wriggling my big toes in the battered shoes, shifting the stare to the leg resting on what looked like a little chair. On clear screening, I discovered that his foot had swollen big toe. I bet the bugger was either suffering from gout or the toe was probably pregnant.

"Eeeh.......what brings you here young man?"

"I am looking for a job sir."

I said checking on my dumpy palms.

"What kind of job do you want?" he enquired.

"Any type of a job that you might be offering"

"There is nothing like any type of job"

I had started to explain how I had scored a C plain in my "O" levels when he demanded to know how I managed to enter in the heavily guarded building. He called somewhere and two minutes hardly ended before two hefty security guards popped in and frog marched me downstairs .After ejection through the glass pane whirl door, one watchman gave a rough jerk and I went sprawling hands first on the hard concrete. My knee had been hurt and was having slight bleeding. I gathered my backpack and my sweater that had scattered to different direction when I took the kick. I hurled my rotten carcass up river road past Kencom to Uhuru Park where I basked the whole of the remaining half day.

Dusk was creeping in so I checked in the lodging where I had slept last night. I had booked a room and had taken a shower .I locked my room and walked down street in search of something to eat.

I took my supper in some cool joint around Muthurwa. It comprised of Ugali served with a mixture of beans and cabbage which I gobbled with so much greed. Having not taken anything since morning I was starving to death. A couple sitting opposite corner of the low-income earners hotel stared and I stared back. I paid the bills and shuffled right out.

The following day we met with an old friend of mine that we schooled with back at Endarasha. He wore a battered grey pullover and a pair of black worn-out shoes. Toes protruded out threatening to stab someone. He paused for a moment then went ahead to say what he'd been doing since he dropped out of school at class three. He narrated to me how he secured himself a job in industrial area. He said he lived in some place down there somewhere called Kwa Njenga. I noted that now King'ori had grown some muscles unlike the flat chested me.

King'ori must have been one eagle eyed chap. I wondered how he noticed me at the streetlights. It had been almost ten years since we saw each other. He said he was married and he was hurrying up to catch up with his wife back in the house. We bid each other goodbye with a promise that he would pick me up the following morning at a point where there was a junction and some big heap of garbage.

The vibrant city had now awakened to life with people from all walks of life, blushing shoulders hurrying off to work. Traffic had begun to soar and looking dawn past the garbage heap I could see uniformed county council askaris hauling a city hawker to a waiting city council van.

They roughed him up and held him by the collar. Another city council askari brute yanked on his belt from behind pushing him forward. The hawker stricken by terror tried to disenchant himself by kicking allover at random which was all in vain. He took two slaps on his temple and he was spitting blood.

They frog marched him, hurled him in the waiting van and drove off. I found myself scared to the brutality of the city people. A minute had not ended when a group of rowdy youths shot from between two building heading down to Nairobi River. I came to learn that they had conspired on a mission to rob pedestrians. Purses and mobile phones were snatched, quite a number. I discovered that the notorious gang was not deterred by the soaring number of pedestrians.

They had brandished machetes and crude weapons that sent a shrill down my spine. I pictured how it would be if someone tried to apprehend the intoxicated mugs. I was buried in thoughts almost everything around me turning to a hazy blur. My heart almost skipped a beatt when someone tapped my shoulder. It was King'ori and he was pulling my hand beckoning me to an unpaved path down Muthurwa market.

We took a right turn then descended to a little valley, then up a little hill to the railway line above. We trekked on a narrow murram road besides residential houses that looked like a mushrooming civil servants quarter then beyond to jogoo road. We took a right turn to again a narrow tunnel that was full of traffic. I was lost in the maze when kingori announced that we were now crossing Lungalunga road.

We marched right in front of a wrought iron gate where two security guards manned. There was a big signboard written "VAN DEVSHI ENTERPRISES". The Indian name almost made me freeze. Thinking of where I had come from, the condescending Mohammed of EPZ and the disparaging TOTO of Ramesh Engineerings and now Van whatever.

I started seeing what the vicious circle were all about-curses and bad luck. I hesitated but King'ori assured me that inside that gate lived the best people exhibiting the best hearts and a good job was waiting. I knew what I needed so I trailed behind him like the brave man I thought I was. I was in need of money and so turning back would have meant disaster.

We shuffled to a glass whirl door that led us to a little corridor that ended to what looked like a waiting area.

A gorgeous lady, classy with manicured talons sat right behind a mahogany table that had trophies placed on top. She jerked her head for what looked like an effort to keep strands of her fine hair away from her face. Then she expertly fingered the strands making a perfect press behind the ears. She did it in a way that could make one think she was trying to show off her manicured talons. She did that using one finger stretching the others away from that very finger.

"Good morning King'ori...how can I help you?" She greeted.

"I want to see Krishna... Is he in his office?" He told her

"He just arrived let me check with him".

The gorgeous lady who I suspected was Krishna's secretary called the landline telephone on her table then she asked us to enter Krishna's office. Krishna was an aging Baniani with sharp eyes that looked like the only trademark he wore. He confronted King'ori for being lenient about something I did not understand. Then after introducing me to his boss, Kingori was signaled to roll right out and wait at the reception.

When left alone with Krishna, he articulated the terms and conditions and the nature of the job. The job seemed like would turn out to be a daunting task but I dared try it. I popped right out of Krishna's office and found King'ori waiting. We hurried to the warehouse at the far end where other staffs were changing for the day's job. I was issued with old safety boots, an apron and gloves.

Duties were assigned and mine was to help throw the metal bars in the melting furnace. I decided to secure my boots with an extra covering since I was warned of incidences where one would catch fire.

There were short tanks filled with water arranged on a row to help one extinguish themselves if they caught fire. I was a retard to have done that- covering my boots with manilas or may be that was a thought of a genius. No doubt I caught fire but before it could consume the manila then the boot and then to my feet. I had made a successful dive in one of the drums.

Having undergone paramilitary conversion, occurrences like that one's were cumbered with expertise or else I would have been incapacitated for life.

The old crow caught the occurrence in one of the CCTV's and came running. He settled it to a lecture then accused King'ori of bringing a mediocre. King'ori had defended me saying that I was an amateur and the Indian son of a cow had spat on the ground and left. That had been the longest day of my life but I somehow overcame it with a promise to myself – that I would rather stay jobless if that was the only job the world could offer.

We closed job at around five o'clock. I had slipped off the aprons cursing the day that I met King'ori. A strong stench of sweat emanated from beneath my armpits and the damn apron was all white due to precipitated body salt. We lined up at the small window behind and received our day wage. I staffed the three hundred shillings into my back pocket knowing that it had been earned with sweat and pain.

We parted ways with King'ori. His stooping shoulders vanished down the littered path to Kwa Njenga while I waded to Muthurwa then Latema. I checked in my room and I was shocked to learn that I was running out of cash. There was two thousand shillings remaining plus the three hundred I earned at Van Devshi. I saw the need to look for a lasting solution since the remaining cash wasn't enough to take me even for a week. I had to hustle and bustle for survival. Three days passed and there was no solution to all my predicaments. Before the lodging attendants resolved to throw me out, I resolved to march out on my own peacefully without commotion.

I had located some old buildings at the railway line and I was certain they were abandoned. I gathered some dry grass outside and laid it at the corner of one of the dilapidated houses. I was proud I had found a home. I lay down using my bag as the pillow. An hour hardly ended when I woke up to kick on my head.

I sprung to my feet but I was met by sheer shock. A bunch of young men wearing rags had surrounded me. They all brandished clubs and blunt objects. I knew my territory was captured, I saw no need of fighting a losing battle. I showed my red flag and raised my hands up awkwardly and waited for the ruling.

I was relieved when the intoxicated morons did not clobber my head to death. Apart from wearing dirty stinking rags, they were all barefoot and sniffing glue. They snatched my bag away and beat me up. The tallest of them who seemed to be their spokesperson addressed me. I noticed his front teeth were missing and something was wrong with his skin. It was coarse like crocodile's.

He said that I must join them and that entailed having to wear rags, and then following them to mugging sprees. They had sworn to kill me and dump my body to Nairobi River. They had taken away my clean clothes and offered me rags. I had a full bottle of glue to complement that gear. Our first mission was to rob motorists on traffic.

We would snatch mobile phones and sell them off in a black market at a very cheap price. I had an idea to buy some new clothes so that I could go sell off the stolen mobile phones and valuables at fairer price. I knew people would barely offer more than money enough to buy a loaf to a street urchin.

We had a small meeting and that agenda was tabled. They voluntarily agreed and so we shot for our first mission with sense. Each contributed what they could afford so that I could purchase some clothes to make me look like an executive. I was to wear those when going out for business.

All the boys believed in me when I brought money enough for bread and milk. We'd eaten and saved. I graduated to being the mastermind. I could plan burglary and mugging missions for the entire street kid fraternity. I drew plans and now everyone relied on me for advice. We had cut down glue sniffing but we'd to be on rags for our missions to succeed. I helped operate stolen mobile phones and disable trackers.

Life changed when one of us messed with a wrong person. Oti had snatched a briefcase from a car on traffic at Muindi Mbingu. The documents consisted of some court rulings file and documents to some grabbed land in westlands.

We had no business to do with shitty papers so we ripped them into shreds and scattered them all over. We were relaxing after day's work when we heard a racket at one of the empty rooms so we went out to check. There were two gunmen and upon spotting us, they started running madly demanding for the briefcase. I sensed danger and decided to flee. Some others who had injuries from previous missions got killed.

I took cover in a culvert where I got my toes chewed by gutter rats. I could hear the two gunmen swearing under their breath as they passed. I had hid there almost for an hour. When I decided that the pursuers were gone, I pulled myself up and started walking towards our haunted house. Upon reaching the house, I was shocked to see almost everyone lying on the floor on pools of blood.

The lifeless bodies of my friends sparked the reality of the gaping truth about the lives we were leading. I saw a reason to reform but I didn't know how. I started walking towards town when a bright idea struck me. It was almost ten o'clock; I marched off to a certain hotel.

"Hey you what do you want here?"

A voice demanded from inside a security central box

"I have something to say please. Let me in so that I explain myself."

I assured

"Go explain yourself to your mother!"

The voice barked.

I had no intentions of getting myself clobbered to death so I turned to walk away. I was nobody, just a scared street urchin. If there's anything hard in the world, let's call it being a homeless destitute. Before I could reach the first gate, I heard someone call me from behind and upon hearing that he was willing to listen to me, I turned around and fidgeted nervously right back.

"As long as you have something sensible to say then I'm willing to listen" the watchman said to me.

"Well I have so much to say.....if only you could help me" I told him desperately.

He led me inside to what looked like a warehouse that had five to six night watchmen with two German shepherds. Upon seeing me, the dogs threatened to tear me into pieces but the hefty security guards restricted the hounds.

I was very certain that I would be dead meat if they unleashed the creatures. They all surrounded me with attention and they were appalled to my touching story. They said they could help secure a security guard job since I had my "O" level certificates which I hid somewhere in the haunted house. They offered to let me sleep in the central box and even offered me some coffee with bread. I thanked them in between taking a hasty sip.

I tiptoed to the haunted house the following day and found a big crowd of people surrounding a green grand tiger Van. Flies hummed from inside the van and I resisted the urge to go bid goodbye to my fallen buddies or else attract attention from other members of public. I was the remnant of that very tragedy and getting me lynched would mean disaster. That black Monday remain etched in my memories. I retreated to a safe distance and I had a moment of soul searching.

I saw myself rummage food from dustbins, I saw myself having to steal to survive, and I saw myself calling a dilapidated ramshackle home. I recalled that fateful night my friends got killed, remembering the gunshots and how I clambered in the culvert to fool my pursuers, sent a shrill down my spine. What if they got me? I imagined one of them pulling the trigger and blowing off my brains. I saw a need to try very hard to change to a human being and stop being the animal that I was.

My heart was willing and so I waited until the people had scattered, I marched to the house that had been our home for ages before halting right in front of the back window where I climbed to retrieve my school certificate from the ceiling.

I came to terms with reality that all my friends were dead and decomposed. It somehow stressed me up but I had to accept that shit happened already. I clutched the little parcel on my chest and shuffled forward to the city council old houses to the railway then down to the little valley. Upon reaching Kahawa house, I submitted my only credentials to the security supervisor who looked at me from toe to head.

He then scratched his head appearing to be in a deep thought. He offered to host me in his house until I could stand on my feet. He ordered a junior to get me new uniform from the stores, he called someone to pick me up so that I could shower and rest in his house before I could report to work the following morning.

Well... his sister picked me up that evening and we commuted all the way to Umoja estate where I received a warm treat from his wife.

People can be hospitable if they wanted to. I spent my night on a cozy couch covering myself with a duvet. I lived my dreams that night to be honest. The sweet fragrance in that house went deep my nostrils to infinity. I had taken a shower last night and the stench had evaporated. You don't know what it means to smell like a squirrel.

I reported to work at Kahawa, a spare parts outlet company I realized. I was deployed to the area near the reception. My job entailed customer service and showing clients' directions. There was a little screen to keep oneself busy... videos was playing...to be precise music videos. They mostly featured Christina Aguilera, Beyoncé and Britney spears..., and so many other western artists.

There was something funny about the videos; in all those videos, girls were kissing girls and others were wearing a goat. I thought about over a million little girls watching and people dismissing it saying it's just music. I thought about homosexuality and all the sexual immorality displayed on those videos. I found myself worrying to what the world was turning to. I knew a girl kissing another girl wasn't proper.

I started developing a strong urge to change something; I was certain what it was-the world. I knew exactly how changing the entire world would start. Just by being aware, that change starts within. I was certain that I had started a long journey to revolutionize the world. I knew what I needed to do- just focus and search for knowledge, seek for wisdom of ages and see the world with the eyes of a child.

When the evening came the day guards handed over to the night guards after thorough patrol and making sure all was perfect. I scribbled on the occurrence book before jumping in my street clothes. It had been a long day at work. I shuffled down Ronald Ngala Street down ...down....to the horizon then turned right to Muthurwa market...

... **TO BE CONTINUED...**

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