In Standard Eight, the very last class in Primary School, I was very excellent in my behavior. I think I had overcome the temptations of adolescence. As much as I had not literally slept with any woman, my heart was very filthy and I decided to turn to God. My sister Gorety used to bring people she called “brethren” to our home but dad never allowed me to sit with them since I was not “born again”. Those are the only evenings we would evade the usual porridge for tea. “Brethren” used to take a lot of tea with makati siagi (battered bread) before embarking into continuous prayers; each of them speaking in different tongues. Dad was like ‘What language is that?’ I had no knowledge of the Bible because I was taught, in the confirmation class, that reading the Bible would introduce headache into my comfortable skull. I did not need headache during my national exam year.
I do not know whether it was a national exam fever wearing me down or just the fear of God - I felt the need to pray a lot. I used to light candles in my room – red, white, blue name them. I could just pray silently for my exams but I never came out shouting “I’m born again”. I was, in fact, not born again but in my heart I wanted peace with God. I was still determined to do some earthly gymnastics during the December holidays as soon as I completed my KCPE exams. “Born again” was a term introduced to me by my beloved sister Gorety; I loved her so much but couldn’t just understand what happened to her when she got into this “born again” thing. She nolonger wanted to apply herbal medicine at my kajumba back. Kajumba is a fungal disease which attacks the skin making it not only change colour but also stink when in contact with unexpected water like rain. Let me just say that it makes a person look like a leopard.
As much as I was trying to be so God fearing, a few leftovers of the old self followed me in class eight. One day Mr. Uhuru Amol was teaching Music in class; I wasn’t interested since I had read through that topic in my previous evening’s study. I decided to swing the desk slowly by slowly to produce some sound like that of a bird or something close to a rat – chwiu! Chwiu! Little did I know that the teacher was keenly following my moves; the guy caught me red handed and men, I was beaten by a black board ruler on the head several times until it was swollen. Thereafter class mates started calling me Otunge (horny since I had a horn). This name earlier legitimately belonged to Noah Ogwang' who had a head which had so many horns. He didn’t like the name at all while I enjoyed calling him by the same name. This led to us fighting thoroughly in the school. Miloma was solely responsible for the fight as he was the one who came with athuwe. Athuwe is the art of making people feel like beating the hell out of each other. The talk of fighting reminds me of Osunga Okaka. Osunga was very tall and hardy. Fighting him was close to impossible as his body was full of bones. One day he crossed my path when he wrote on the village facebook leaves that I was a lover of one Millicent. In deed Millicent was very charming and her hands would wake my shameless python from the slumber, but I had no feelings beyond that. I decided to monjo Osunga demanding detailed explanations as to why he spread romours about the innocent me. The human being did not even let me complete my sentence. He wrestled me to the ground full of okuro, the ground thorns.
Osunga managed to leave me with some scratched emanating from his long hardy nails. “Kama agoyo to agoyo” (Where I’ve beated, I’ve beated – direct translation) I shouted as I walked away having consumed more blows than I delivered. Mom pleaded with me to tell her who on earth inflicted such enormous pain on her son. I couldn't dare tell her since she was a professor of sarcasm. She had earlier made sarcasm out of a very serious issue involving Grace, my elder Sister. Grace together with a few of her friends from Sinyolo Girls High School were having a walk from school (I'm not sure to where) when some young men gave then a serious chase. The men were interested in raping them all. The story was horrific but it ended well. They were not raped. After breathing in relief, mum made a very sarcastic remark. I wasn't ready for such remarks but after much convincing, I decided to tell her that it was Osunga, the son to Okaka. From that day, whenever I committed any mistake, mom would say “Abiro luongoni Osunga” (I’ll call Osunga for you).
Osunga, was very close to Miriam Muga. I decided that the only way to beat Osunga was to befriend Miriam – but how? The prominent weakness of Osunga was academics. He neither knew languages nor mathematics. I decided to be teaching some mathematics and Swahili to the lovely Miriam. Every evening, she would come to our home for the lessons after which I would escort her to their home for "security reasons". In many occassion, we would bump into Osunga. This tore into Osunga’s bowels. Things become elephant when I was overcome by my carnivorous weakness; a weakness that did not permit me to eat vegetables in two consecutive meals and still retain my happy mood. I had refused to take Ugali and mito (vegetable chloroquine) for lunch hence I was so hungry. When I returned home in the evening, tired and hungry, I resorted to odeyo – the hard remains of ugali, in the source pan (sufuria). In the process of scratching the odeyo, the beautiful Osunga's queen appeared catching me in the act. There was no time to throw away the sufuria and there was no way I could have denied ever chwerowing odeyo. She laughed profusely to an extent that I began to hate her. She had come for my maths lessons. The following day, sisal leaves were full of my name “Migingo Ja chwer Odeyo” (Migingo, the Odeyo scratcher). That was the last time I tolerated Miriam around me. I lost the battle.
I decided to fully embark of my studies and prayer for the exams. I nolonger had time to waste on the likes of Osunga and Mirriam. One day, I noticed something strange, a trend which I had never concentrated on before. Onyango Mitana, Tindo and Kubi Ochoro disappeared from class and returned after some thirty minutes talking too much with great courage and vigour. They were fearless with their eyes beaming with joy unfathomed. The following day, I followed them closely without them noticing me. I found them smoking something in the nearby bush. I decided to reveal myself and threatened to report them to the Headmaster. That is when they decided to force me to have a taste of the substance or "we kill you". I refused and promised not to speak a word. We therefore ran back to school. It was break time. These trio started running around the school like wild goats hugging and kissing trees. I bet their minds told them that those were ladies.
After the National exams, I felt there was no longer any need of coming back to school for some closing day ceremonies. Mom insisted and sent me back there forcefully. I arrived late and therefore had to device a plan of settling in the assembly without Mr. Adem Raongo noticing me. Mr. Adem used to have a third eye at the back of his head; nothing would bypass him no matter how small. He was always several steps ahead of us. On this fateful day, many of the big boys and girls came late. We tried to sneak behind him but it was impossible; he just spoke loudly to the school “tell those who are sneaking behind me to come and lie down for some strokes of the cane. They think that completing KCSE is the end of life”. He said that without even turning to our direction and that's how he “closed school with us”. He gave me several shameful strokes of the cane.
During the holiday, I did not get a chance of doing the numerous things I had planned as my dad called me to join the rest of the boys in Mamboleo. My step mom came to join the girls in the village. At Mamboleo, it was the male dominated world; Francis Dwero, James Dwero, Amos Dwero, George Awat, another guy from Gem - Yala, who was a house boy, dad and myself. I was the youngest in the group. We then had to cook even though we knew nothing about cooking. Dad never allowed any of us to step in the kitchen before. It was a grave mistake to be found in the kitchen for whatever reason. The hardest part of the game was fetching firewood by the road side with all those Mamboleo girls watching in wonder. James Dwero, then a University Student, never gave the girls any thought. Luke Nyalenge later joined us and we were given the assignment of watering the blocks to raise our pocket money. The rest of the boys were engaged in very hard labour. Dad never wanted to see anybody relaxing.
Our invitation letters to High School was ready and Luke and I had to rush back home to collect them. We were both invited to join Ngere Boys High School. We were very excited as we rushed to Lukes Dad, Nyalenge Mango, to inform him of the news and later ran to Mamboleo to inform my Dad, Awat Mango, of the same. We were very ready and couldn’t wait to be called Form Ones in a Provincial School – we were in our own class.
Behind the scenes, the two brothers, my dad and Luke’s dad were plotting a plan to divert us to a different school in Lughari Division. We had no idea until the opening date, when my dad’s official driver took the Eldoret route instead of the Bondo route. We were in shock! We remained silent for a very long time; close to one hour before we opened up. “I can’t allow my children to go to a village school” Dad broke the silence and we were like “haha”. Problem came when dad acknowledged that he had no idea of where the school was; he was just informed that the school was after a place known as Luandeti. He had no prior knowledge of Laundeti despite having lived in Eldoret earlier, a stone throw away from there. After much ado, we found the school. My first impression was not very good – why lie. It looked like a primary school to me though teachers were so excited to receive us even without calling letters. We later realized that one of our cousins, Okumu Dinga, was teaching there. He was the one solely responsible for our misery. Dad looked around and against his will added us more pocket money “you’ll need it” he said. That’s how he left us to survive but at least I had my then very trusted friend with me.
Maturu Mixed Day & Boarding Secondary School was a very cold place with very nasty smell from Webuye Paper Factory. I almost puked the first day due to the tenacity of the smell but later on got used to it. Due to the cold weather condition, we did not take bath that night but procrastinated the whole idea till the following day. We went to what they called a communal bathroom which could
The school had only two mini dormitories to carter for less than fifty borders; which automatically found us being in two groups. Luke and I joined our fellow tribesman, Omondi, who was very rude. Our dormitory had no saved person – all of us were sinners heading to hell by doubt as our counterparts, in the other dormitory, were heading to heaven by faith. In class, I was good in all subjects hence attracting most of the girls. The males in the class decided to teach us some Luhya language. They taught us very dirty words, without our knowledge, hence eroding our innocent looks.
In early March that year, Christian Union (C.U) in collaboration with Kenya Students Christian Union (KSCF) organized for what they called Weekend Challenge to lure the form ones into “accepting Jesus into their lives”. The preachers preached their hearts out until Luke Nyalenge, my trusted cousin decided to accept Jesus as his Lord and Savour. Immediately the CU members, led by Brother Wycliffe Luvanda, transferred him from the sinners’ dormitory to the Salvation domitory. Luvanda was known for praying so loudly until even the demons would tremble; his voice could be heard up to Laundeti Market, a kilometer away. He was like an alarm bell for the rest of the students.
Yours in the company of sinners,
Migingo Awat
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