One day, around August, I was aimlessly walking around Banja Market, a stone throw away from Givogi School, after visiting my dear friends Patrick Malesi and Lumasia. A group of young men noticed me “Huyu ni mjaluo – hajatahiriwa!” (This is a Luo – he’s not yet circumcised!) they shouted. Immediately they started singing chopping songs and shaking their shoulders while dancing towards me. Shivers went down my back like ice; even my apparatus went on a silent mode. I stood still in great fear and trembling, bearing witness to the unspeakable horror approaching me. I couldn’t allow myself to be chopped in public in the middle of the day by people holding bloody knives in both their left and right hands. “What if they make a mistake and chop the whole thing?” I asked myself silently.
I can’t remember how I penetrated the crowd, unhurt but I do recall myself riding on the slopes of Banja heading towards Givogi High with the crowd following me on foot as others shouted shamelessly from their homesteads - all in the name of my simple but innocent foreskin. I rode that bike like a madman from Kogelo without fear or favour with the narrow anticipation that nothing would particularly go wrong. That day I escaped from Male Genital Mutilation (MGM) and promised myself never to walk around Luhya land during chopping festivities.
The following term, third term, I decided to convince my English teacher, Mr. Odhiambo, who was a very good friend of my dad, to talk dad into taking me to Ngere High School. He succeeded but I had to complete third term before joining Ngere. I was also fed up with the form four lady who never gave up on winning my love. My friends referred to her as “Moto Kubwa” due to the fact that her mouse had the capacity of blowing out my apparatus’ fuse. I couldn’t allow that to happen as the consequences would be dire.
Schools closed and I went back to the village to enjoy the company of my friends who had given me less than six months to drop out of salvation. They were shocked to realize that I was still standing in the Lord despite the numerous temptations. They told me that if I successfully remain saved during December holidays, then they’d leave me alone - I managed. I never went to the discos; never worked with the love portion; never fought as I used to; never refused to look after cattle as was my norm previously. I was totally a changed man and the whole village testified to that. I no longer rode my bike very fast while ringing the bell making elderly people scatter in the crowded Reru market as before. I continued preaching from house to house and teaching Sunday school at St. Peter’s Anglican Church. I joined the Revival Fellowship even though it was dominated by very old people.
Ngere High School had some vacancies in form two as most of the parents behaved like my dad when it was time to bring their children to school the previous year. My cousin Luke and I made formal application and we were invited for some interviews which we passed. I knew those were just formalities as my dad was a member of Board of Governors of the school. Several other people failed with their behinds facing up.
The day of reporting to Ngere, my third high school, came with pomp and colour coupled with excitement beyond measure. I learnt that Ngere was also proudly referred to as Masada.Oyier Ojal and Noah Ogwang’ had given me some verbal orientation on that school which I didn’t just want to believe. Dad gave me a rare treat on the Peugeot up to the school and without my knowledge form fours were busy booking me. Ngere had a culture where form ones were “adopted” by form threes while form twos were the sons of form fours. These foster fathers were to provide protection to their ‘sons’ against any undue harassment. Blessed are the cartoons who were sons of Senior School Prefects (SSPs) and Kitchen prefects as they would enjoy top layers.
After the
grueling registration process, I was taken to Ouko Omamo dormitory, the
only red roughcast dormitory in Ngere then, where I was given upper
decker bed. Ouko Omamo was a huge hall without any partitions just like
all other dormitories in the school. Nobody picked me as a son as the
headmaster, with the request of my dad, had insisted that I be Okoko
Guti’s son. Okoko was a very tall Luo man hailing from South Nyanza;
simple put, he was my mom’s cousin making him automatically my uncle. I
had earlier considered him my champion, mentor and guide. I was dearly
looking up to him in almost every aspect of life and I was so free in
sharing with him my problems; but that was before I joined Ngere. When
Okoko reported to school atht same week, he was not very happy having me
sleep on his upper decker. He looked noticeably sad to have me around
him. “Nera ang’o ma rach koso wiyi kuot koda” (Uncle, what’s wrong or
you’re ashamed of me?” I enquired. He assured me that things were cool.The same night, one Odeny, came and slept in a bed adjacent to ours but sleep refused to cooperate with him. He then woke me up to help him catch some sleep. “Ja form one chiew ihoya anindi” (Form one, wake up, and soothe me to sleep) he roared while shaking me furiously. I climbed down from my decker smiling while thinking that it was some kind of a welcoming joke. I looked at my Uncles face, who was also woken up by the shaking of the bed, to see if he was okey with the “joke”. The human being just closed his eyes and went back to sleep leaving me with the silly bully. I realized that he was surely bullying me when he landed a slap on my chicks and shouted in capital letters “SING!!!!”. “Odeny nindi nind aninda Odeny nindi” (Odeny sleep, just sleep Odeny sleep) I sung my own-composed song softly while Odeny’s eyes were widely glittering in the darkness. Those days there was no electric power in Ngere and the old generator was going off at exactly 10pm. It was after 10pm when sleep refused to befriend Odeny. This creature voluntarily refused to sleep despite my efforts. “Mano to ja form one mane magonwa koko no? Ling’ kata wawiti oko sani!!” (Which is that form one making noise for us? Keep quiet or we throw you out) one horrific voice roared from a far off corner of the dorm.
At this time I was so afraid with tears rolling freely down my cheeks. My uncle, who I trusted so much, had already left me into the hands of my persecutors. I knew I was alone and within me I cried “Jesus help me. You’re my only hope in this situation”. I did not know whether to continue singing or stop. I decided to stop and climb back to my bed. Just as I made the first step, Odeny grabbed me shouting “Ja form one ni ochaya! Iparo ni ka dalau?” (This form one is looking down upon me! You think this is your home?). He pulled me back and asked me to sing another song. In deep agony and tears still flowing from their glands I got hold of a famous tune:
Mama ma nyaka nende idhi e chiro (Mom since you went to the market)
To iweya gi lelo ni (And you left me with this noisy one)
To Ng’a ma rite to ng’a? (who will take care of him?)
Ringi nyathini ywak (Run your child is crying)
Reti, nyathini otimo potlololo (Come quickly, your child is full of diarrhea)At the mention of potlololo, which is a Luo slung for diarrhea; the whole dorm went into uncontrollable laughter! Immediately, I knew I was in trouble as I had woken up even the sleeping giants. Odeny on the other hand was so mad at me since I had insinuated that he had soiled himself. The dormitory prefect then intervened and I was left to sleep.
That night I slept thinking of Maturu and Givogi. I almost regretted why I came to this rowdy school. Just as I was trying to catch more sleep, I felt some strokes of the cane on my back with the shouts minyaga into the latrines holes.
(Advisory: Maths ahead)
Vectors in three-dimensional, ordinary space are mathematical objects that can be manipulated according to well-defined rules. Let’s assume the three-dimensional is W which is an ordered triple of real numbers W=(a,b,c); a,b & C being components of W. The length or magnitude of the vector, W, is therefore the square root of the sum of “a” squared, b squared and c squared.
If you have not understood the above paragraph, you must have been a form four or three in Masada when I was in form two. You’re part of the people who were soiling the latrines to give the innocent Migingo and others such hard work.
Yours Lullaby
Migingo Awat
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