Having conquered the small fish, Oscar and I decided to go for the
whales, the first being Oscar’s Dad, Mzee Nyalenge. Mzee Nyalenge was
(and still is) a huge man who commanded both respect and fear in equal
measure. He was referred to as ‘ten men’ by his peers due to his massive
size. We approached him with courageously despite the prevailing fear.
We really walked him through the bible but he proved to be a very hard
nut to crack. Oscar then decided to expose everything that God had saved
him from to the amazement of everybody who was present. Mzee, Nyalenge
was shocked beyong comprehension at the things his own son revealed to
him. He thanked God for saving his son. That afternoon we decided to
visit the areas surrounding Ochok Primary; that is where we would get
more people who would be more than willing to come to the Lord. The very
first home we went to drew shockers in our feeble spiritual back bones;
the beautiful Karen was also there. I had not given her my testimony
since she was not around the day we visited her home. My apparatus
refused to know itself when I remembered the love I had for Karen
previously. She was even more beautiful this time round. I had to
suppress whatever was lifting its head. “In Jesus name – freeze!” I
whispered and it froze.
That day Oscar was in his usual
brown bulky corduroy trouser matched with a white shirt, and I was in
my favorite lady like high waist oversize jeans. The jeans had space for
the hips and huge behind. I wore it low waist since then I did not know
how to put on high waist. Karen, was in the company of many ladies,
about six, mostly young adults but we said “let come what may, we will
still preach to them”. I started by greeting them then continued with
“as you all know, my name is Migingo the son of Awat Mango; what you
don’t know is that I have accepted Christ and I’m now born again” All of
them went silent for some seconds before bursting into mockery
laughter. “Migingo - Saved!” Aching’e Omindo, the sister to Eman Omindo
shouted while pointing at me, amidst much laughter. “If Migingo is saved
then everybody is saved” she added. Oscar took over very fast to rescue
the situation but the girls were like high on something not close to
water. “Migingo, dhinwa kucho gi long machalo mar jadiewo!” (Migingo get
off us with that trouser which is hanging as if you’ve been on a
diarrhea spree” the same lady retorted. I was so hurt to see my beloved
Karen also laughing at me. We then left them in peace in accordance with
the scriptures and went to preach to other people who were ready to
listen.
Back at home, my dad who had come home for the
weekend, was busy thinking of how well to utilize our new found energy.
As soon as we arrived, he asked us to get into his car and he drove off;
men, we went from one funeral to another with us praying in each of
them alternately. That day we prayed for the buried and the remaining
families until we got tired. “Why have you not told God to rest him in
peace?” Dad asked at one point. You see we were avoiding such prayers
all along as Luvanda had told me that one’s a man is dead, his fate is
sealed and no amount of prayers can reverse his destiny – salvation is
now or never. In the evening, as usual when dad was around, one of my
cocks went to be with the Lord courtesy of daddy. (I mean the chicken
cock)
Second term opening day reached and as I had
informed my dad, I declined to go back to Maturu under whatever
circumstances; I wanted to go to Ngere High where I was supposed to be
in the first place. Luke also didn’t want to go but his dad had already
paid the non-refundable fees for the whole year leaving him with no
option but to service the fees. The day came when I was to report to
Ngere, I boarded his official car, a seven-seater van which was driven
by a very smartly dressed old man. Something must have been very wrong
with my old man those days - instead of taking me to Ngere, the guy
diverted me to a school in the then Vihiga District known as Givogi High
School. Givogi was also a mixed day and boarding school with the males
as the boarders just like Maturu.
We arrived arrived
safely and dad was fully involved in the registration process. He
insisted on dealing with the Headmistress as the clerk was proving too
difficult. Dad shook the hands of the headmistress and she smiled back
funnily. Dad must have done something funny to the lady’s hands. Then
dad winked and the lady winked back. All along I was watching these two
adults engaged into something that did not bring us to Givogi. Little
did I know that dad was just trying to have a safe passage since he had
not bought for me several requirements like hokey sticks, games uniforms
and several other necessities.
Dad left and I was
directed to the dormitory by the prefect in charge. I noted several
differences between Maturu and Givogi. Unlike Maturu where we had two
small dorms, Givogi had only one but slightly congested dormitory, the
size of a forty seater class room. At least Givogi looked more organized
and well furnished than Maturu. People here spoke Luhya language which
was so different from the Luhya I had been introduced to previously. In
Maturu, we had the Luhya sub tribes like the Kabras and Tachoni -both
speaking lubukusu language; the Kisa -speaking Olushisa and the Kabras -speaking Lubukusu. I was very well acquainted with the lubukusu
language. On the other hand, Givogi was flooded mainly with the Tiriki
and the Maragoli coupled with dots of Bukusu, Tsotso, Wanga and Kisa.
The maragolis there spoke as if there was something they had to vomit
soonest possible and they could die for one thing -TEA! A carton full of
tea bugs worked better than romantic flowers to their ladies then.
The
following day was a sunny morning full of the brightness of the sky
with very nice view of the Serem hills on one side and Nyabondo
mountains on the other. The days callers arrived in their numbers with
the boys walking in a weakling manner as their female counterparts
strode in their fully inflated maskwembes (drum sticks), with
their bags full of not only books but also some snacks to be attached
after every lesson. If there was anything these guys were very good at,
it was taking care of their stomachs. This was like the motto of the fat
bellied girls who would eat endlessly in class while envying the few
scattered slim Luo ladies. I learnt these ladies were the way they were
because of the motivation inculcated in them by their food oriented
cultural saying – I will mention a few: “Akhwesimirisia inzala yeera” (he who suppresses his hunger dies); “Amani okalila (your strength is your source of food); “Amani kokhulia kali herosi” (The power to eat lies in the throat); “Amakumba kabili kakanakania imbwa”
(Two bones confused a dog) meaning focus on one meal – clear; get to
the next- clear then the next – clear and sum it up with a jug of tea –
clear!; “Tsitaywa tsibili shitsitekhwa muyamunyu ndala ta” (Two cocks must NOT be cooked in one pot); “Eshibi shieinda nelifumo” (The stomach’s enemy is a spear); “Eshibi Shieinda shikonanga shionyene” (What you will eat sleeps alone / is hidden); Eshiawima omukhulundu aba yashilia” (whatever (food) you deny an old man, he has eaten it already); “Eshawikomba oshiliila muluchendo”
(You may eat the food you’ve been longing for on a visit) – which
explains why you will never luck visitors when you marry a Luhya; “Eshia omwimani oshilia nali omwibo” (You can take advantage of a mean woman and eat her portion when she is nursing a baby – vanee); “Eshiolilekhwo nishio eshishio”
(What you have eaten is what you count as yours); etc. There are
thousands and thousands of such sayings which explains why Luhyas will
remain Luhyas; if you compete with them you will suffer from throat
exhaustion.
We were only two Luo boys in that school;
my friend Okech (not real name) and I. Oketch was a tall slander Luo boy
with the feet of ostrich; he hailed from Nyabondo mountains (Let me
spare Okech for the future). Christian Union was headed by one Patrick
Malesi with Lumasia as the Secretary. Givogi did not have a stable
library prefect until I came into the picture; I was in charge of both
the Library and the Lisbeth Study Room which I later turned
into a prayer room as the Givogi Borders preferred to study in one class
– we didn’t have electricity thus lantern lamps were the way to go. It
was in this school that I experience the power of God as I had so many
demonic giants to fight. The strength of my salvation was not measured
by the absence of temptations but in their very abundant presence. I
remember one day our lazy Biology teacher sent us to hunt for
grasshoppers for a practical class. I chased one huge grasshopper only
to catch up with it outside the school compound. Little did I know
several ladies were also (supposedly) after the same grasshopper. I
calmly covered the hopper with my right hand so that it would not lose
any of its limbs; all over a sudden I felt another very soft and lovely
hand covering my own. Looking to the direction of the hand, I saw a
smile emanating from a very tenderly beautiful brown Maragoli lady.
“What?” I retorted spiritually “I like you, Henry” She whispered slowly
into my ears. Immediately I discerned that the devil had visited me
together with his earthly relatives and I had therefore to do my
homework well in order to overcome the battalion. There was also
this one called Nanjala (not her real name) who would insist on me
escorting her to the gate every evening. She was a form four and I
wonder what she had to do with a naïve form one student. She must have
been interested in exploding my fuse.
One day I made a
mistake of going back to Mamboleo, on foot, for midterm holidays. I did
not have any cash with me as dad had decided to leave me empty handed as
he claimed I did not need any cash since the previous term, I used all
my cash to but sheep. My colleagues had informed me that Kisumu Town was
visible from Nyabondo Mountains and therefore I decided to try walking
the talk. I didn’t know that whatever is visible is not necessarily
reachable. That was the day I will never forget, climbing and descending
on one long hill and a huge Nyabondo mountain was not an easy task
despite the fact that I could see Kisumu town from afar – a fact that
gave me home and sorrow in equal measure. That walk took close to five
consecutive hours of my lifetime while the return journey took close to
seven hours. When dad realized that the distance was walk able, he
decided to call it quits with giving me cash for transport but rather
asked me to take my old bike to school. I became the only border with a
bicycle in school.
There was this other day, I was
travelling back to Mamboleo (I think it was the close of first term) and
I got a bicycle puncture late in the evening at the pick of Nyambondo
mountains. I remembered I had a friend called Okech, whose home was just
walk able distance from where I was. I obviously took refuge there for
the night – what a welcome! The next day, my friend, insisted that I
wait for breakfast against my will and I obliged. Little did I know that
this course of action would make my ears grasp waves which were not
meant for it. Okech’s dad was half deaf so they had to shout while
talking to him and he also shouted in return. The old man shouted
“Nyathi maluoko ndiga oko kanyo dong’e ne obuoro abuora nyoro. Ang’o ma
pod otimo e dalana ka to piny oseru? Nyoro ochiemo ka kendo orito chai
nang’o? Nyise uru odhi dalagi! Ok adwar nene e dalana ka!!” (I thought
the kid washing his bicycle out there slept here last night. What is he
still doing here after dawn? He ate here yesterday and he’s now still
waiting for tea – why? Tell him to go to their home! I don’t want to see
him in my compound!!). That old man was too late since by that time I
had been Luhyanised and I had faith in their sayings like “Eshawikomba oshiliila muluchendo”
(You may eat the food you’ve been longing for on a visit). I did not
have shame when it came to matters of the intestines. To cut the long
story – I took two cups of tea with several slices of bread while giving
very great stories of how I am a son of a very rich man from Seme Reru.
All this while, the old man had something stuck in his throat;
something that would only disappear at my evaporation. When I was fully
satisfied with the slightly heavy breakfast I sublimed as the old man
remained complaining of the damage I had caused to his gallery – shame
on him!
‘Chiem ma iyieng’ ka okuodo mantie e
thund dhiang' malando cha” (Eat until you’re full like the tick which
is in that brown cow) Daniel D. Awat Mango
Yours in the destruction of galleries,
Migingo Awat
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