“The difference between school and life? In school,
you're taught a lesson and then given a test. In life, you're given a
test that teaches you a lesson.” Tom Bodett
The
first week in Ochok Primary School was not a very easy one; I could
neither understand anybody nor could I be understood. Language barrier
had its true meaning then. I remember greeting the mucus lady “Habari
yako? (How are you?)”; and the response was laugher and mockery.
“Winjeuru ni owacho ni Obari (Listen to him; he’s saying
Obari)”. I felt bullied by these girls leave alone the boys. The boys
here were huge with skins which were as dry as firewood. Their
protruding veins were running around the body like some wild spider
webs. Almost every child in my class was rafuok (missing
the front teeth). Ochok had only one stream unlike my prestigious Soy
School which had three streams. This was a week where my mental faculty
was engaged in comparing and contrasting; Soy was way above Ochok – why
lie?
That week took a tall on me when I developed some running nose. Mom shouted “Athung’a omako nyathini; luonguru Agneta” (This
kid has developed running nose; call Agneta). Agneta was (and still is)
my paternal auntie. She was specialized in dealing with such minor
cases as running nose, joint pains, dizziness etc. My case was well
within her docket. She did not come but I rather was the one taken to
her home just adjuscent to the village market. A seat was brought in the
yard which mom sat on. “Jakotuol ituo?” (Jakotuol are you sick?), she
asked while touching me everywhere. My apparatus froze in fear of an
anticipated touch – it was safe. All her questions went without my
response since I had no knowledge of Dholuo. Mom (Nyaguti) was the one
responding to all of them all this time while carrying me on her laps
like a baby. Such treatment from Nyaguti only aroused my suspicion;
something fishy was obviously cooking. I knew these two women had a
surprise, for me, under their sleeves. Mom knew that I was experienced
at disappearing when needed most and therefore she could let me go no
matter how much I tried.
Agneta disappeared into her
kitchen for close to thirty minutes only to reappear with a pot full of
some nasty smelling boiling substance – it was absolutely not chicken
soup. She left it right there in front of us and sublimed into her
bedroom only to resurface with a kalara blanket. She gestured
to Nyaguti who then held my head facing up as if to expect a peck on my
lips – let me just call it a kiss; Agneta then brought herself closer
and closer and closer to my mouth. At the back of my mind I was praying
that she does not kiss me; I would be afraid to narrate the story of my
first kiss to anybody!! Her mouth landed on my running nose and like a
sewer exhauster, she pulled all the idle substance from my innocent nose
until I heard something like a bell ringing in my head. That was
strange. I closed my eyes for close to 10 seconds as I did not want to
see nor hear what happened to the “subject matter”. The look on my mom’s
face betrayed Agneta – the rest is history. Having completed the first
step, Agneta took me on her laps, holding me tightly, she beckoned mom
to move the hot pot closer to us. Mom then covered both of us with the kalara blanket as Agneta opened the lid to the pot with the irritating boiling substance. I
started shouting for help “Baba!! Baba!! Baba!!!” before I was reminded
that Baba was in Vihiga and could not hear my voice. I sweated from the
irritating smell and heat. Every opening in my body produced one of its
kind; tears from the eyes; sweat from the skin; saliva from the mouth;
very little white matter from the nose; susu from the apparatus and even
my sitting allowance did the obvious though in gaseous form. That was
the true meaning of torture. I was released from that blanket prison
after about ten long minutes. That is what they called afita.
It was meant to detoxify me from every unwanted element unjustifiably
inhabiting my innocent body. The price I pay was surely overwhelming.
The following day I was woken up at about 6:30am to join the rest in tilling orundu.
Orundu is a small garden in the backyard which should be tilled by the
women. Under no circumstance should a man be found masquerading around orundu.
“Kau kwer (Take a jembe)” mom said softly. I never knew that before
going to school one had to pass by the barckyard farm to do some
farming. We had no labourers to take care of the shamba unlike
Vihiga - we had to till it ourselves. I also helped in chasing
houseflies while mom was milking the only indigenous productive cow in
the homestead. The tits were so tiny unlike the ones I was used to; this
one was not even given some hay as a reward. It was just being milked
for free!
That morning I went to school very early only
to be shocked at finding my fellow pupils sweeping the school compound
and the classrooms. Nobody prepared me for all these. Then came the
inspection at the assembly. Everybody was shaven to the skull except me.
The ladies looked funny without hair. My happiest moment was when I
realized that I was the only one in shoes; the rest of the school was
walking barefoot with souls that looked like crocodile skin. They could
walk barefoot without feeling any pain with toes looking like that
instrument Obel Sibuth would use to forcefully sweep sinners to
the hottest part of the hell fire. Obel Sibuth is a Luo man who,
according to Luo elders, is in charge of hell.
Our
class teacher was late for the first lesson only to send another teacher
with the instructions “Japuonju olewo – gouru sigana” (Your teacher is
late – get engaged in story telling). One child would stand and give a
story about the cunning hare and the tortoise; hair and the elephant
etc. Basically all stories were about the hair and some other stupid
animal. They were indeed very interesting to the town boy.
That
weekend; I was introduced to the Reru Roman Catholic church teacher,
Asingo, by Mom and without my permission she enrolled me in what they
called “Confirmation Class”. I was happy to attend the church for the
first time in my infant life. I had never walked my way to church
before. In fact the last time I was in church was when I was baptized by
a white Priest from Bar Korwa Parish. I was given my “Christian” name
Henry to add to my odd traditional names - Migingo Onyore. The name
Onyore died a natural death at that pulpit. Asingo was an old man who
had seven boys who were primary school teachers. They later doubled up
as confirmation class teachers.
Reru Catholic Church
had no priest so we had to walk for two hours to Bar Korwa Parish every
Saturday morning and return in the evening. We did that for close to six
months before Reru Church became a parish. The Bar Korwa Teacher was an
Englishman who was twanging Luo language like kunde na mrenda; I
therefore came out with almost nothing. When I joined the same classes
in the new Reru Parish, one of the Asingo sons realized that I had very
little knowledge of the “Mary mother of God” stuff. He shouted
at me to stand up and recite several prayer lines alone. I knew every
other thing except one; the one I never knew is what Asingo Jnr wanted
me to recite over and over again. It was not easy:
“Misawa
Maria ipong gi nema. Ruoth obed kodi. Ijahawi kuom mom, kendo Jesus
nyathini be jawahi. Maria mtakatifu, min Nyasaye, Ikwanwa wan joketho,
kawuono e kartho. Amen.”
(“Hail Mary, full of
grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and
blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray
for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen”)
This
one I got but the “Apostles Creed” was an elephant to me; I did my
level best but was stuck in the very first paragraph. Asingo Jnr then
canned me thoroughly in front of the pew as he threw insults at
me. That was the last time I went to that Confirmation Class thing. I
never told my mom what happened. If that is what they called church; I
was completely done with it. I handed over my Rosary and every other
confirmation gymnastics to mum. That is how I was done with church.
Having
been through with the church stuff; my weekends began to be very free. I
developed deep friendship with my cousin, Peter Omondi Dwero; we used
to call him Nyakalkada due to the fact that he knew how to make the
polythene balls and feya or katunja. Nyakaldada was going to dad’s church – Nomiya Luo Church also known as Kowalo.
One day he managed to drag me there and what I had made me deprived me
of my peace throughout the service. These human beings really knew how
to twist the Bible. The pastor, Josiya Ralingo, preached tactfully:
Pastor: For without the shedding of blood, there is no forgiveness of sin!!!
Congregation: Amina!!! Hiiii!! Hiii!!
Pastor: That is why we Kowalo people must shed blood for the atonement of our sins!!!
Congregation: Kamanooo (YES in capital letters). Hii!!! Hii!!! (a few added some strange tongue which was obviously not Dholuo).
Pastor:
Ema omiyo nyaka wandus nyithiwa duto mayawuowi eka wabed jomaler
(That’s why we have to circumcise our young boys in order to be clean)
I disappeared never to go back there again. I knew somebody was targeting Migingo and his noble apparatus.
News
reached me that dad was at home waiting to see me and he would be
around for close to one week. I felt some shivers in my backbone as if
somebody had poured ice on me. I knew I was in the deepest Goliath shit.
I had disobeyed the commander in chief of the unarmed Awat family; an
offence that was punishable by many strokes of the cane. That day I got
glued in my step grandmother’s house till Gorety came for me. Her name
was Alseba. Gorety asked me to hip all the blames on her as she knew how
to deal with dad better.
Whatever happened to me after
that made me forget all my names; the only names ringing at the back of
my head were Daniel Dodington Awat Mango son of Stella my beloved but
long dead grandmother. Dad lifted me with my ears with my toes slightly
touching the ground. The old man was furious! This thing was not just
spontaneous, like the post election violence, it had been planned over a
period of time in Vihiga. Then followed chapter two of the discipline –
serious running around the yard ten times. After the ten laps, I was
ordered as per his custom “Gona sarut! (Salut me!)”. This army job must
have made my old man go crazy. “Why did you disappear when we were to
return to Vihiga?” the case began. There is nowhere in the world where
punishment came ahead of the case apart from the Awat Kingdom. “It was
Goretty” I replied as a slap landed across my chick. Blame shifting was a
wrong move. Goretty ran forward and lay on the ground in anticipation
of some strokes. “Dad, before you cane me; I have something to say”
Shouted the innocent girl. “Say fast!” Dad retorted. With a soft but
firm voice she responded “Dad, I love you”. I had never seen my dad as
confused as he was that day. He did not know what to do with her after
that. “Nyaguti, kawe idhi ichwade oko” (Nyaguti take her and cane her
outside) Dad whispered to mom. I was given one more send off stroke
before I sublimed into the kitchen.
Yours in sublimation,
Migingo Awat
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