THE TALES OF THE INNOCENT MIGINGO (PART 19)

The grueling tasks of looking after cattle, fetching water for sale with the two donkey, pruning trees within the compound, helping mom with the farm work and going around schools with the gospel was greatly overwhelming. The burden and commitment to all these tasks were so heavy that there was no way I could isolate any of them for elimination. I had to take over in herding the cattle after our herdsman, Charles Odiany, decided to quit working for us. He went on terrorizing the young beautiful widows who had all the cash inherited from their dead husbands.

I fervently prayed to God, on a daily basis, for something that could give me some more money as the little cash I was getting from the two donkeys was not enough to meet all my requirements. If there was one thing I hated was witnessing my mom struggling to make ends meet. I shared my feelings with one brother who promised to get me some kind of a job but to my surprise he asked me to go and take care of his grandmother’s cattle which would pay me around Kes. 1.200 a month. The pain that I felt after the news was so heart breaking that I decided to delete this guys name from my friends list. How could he even think of such a job for a form four-leaver? The fact that I was taking care of my dad’s cattle did not necessarily qualify me to be every Dick and Harry’s herdsman. That was not my portion.

A few months later I was informed of an announcement from the Chief’s Baraza (gathering) that there was a recruitment exercise for an NGO which would surely pay well. I was among five hundred applicants and I was lucky to be among fifty people called for the interview. A day to the interview, I went for a nice stylish hair cut, the kind of cut that would automatically win me the most anticipated job – data collector. The barber, Awat Oyoo, decided to put his funny styles on my head on a day that mistakes were not to be tolerated. I couldn’t even dare appear before my dad that evening and therefore I decided to shave everything – Jordan style. Dad shouted at me that evening and assured me of failure in the interview owing to my pathetic hair style; but I encouraged myself in the Lord. That night I prayed in tongues that sounded like Latin coupled with a lot of Kijaka and very heavy English!

The following day, I went for the interview and to my surprise there were more that one hundred people waiting to be interviewed; the fifty of us plus the other opportunistic two legged parasites. My turn for the interview came at around 4pm that evening with one Phoebe giving me very easy but challenging IQ questions. I passed.

The joy of getting a very well paying job with the then Plan International (now Plan Kenya) was so fulfilling. The fact that only ten of us were recruited out of over five hundred people was just amazing. Our job was to interview at least ten families per day and decide whether they were needy or not with each questionnaire earning us a hooping one hundred shillings. This meant that we were taking home one thousand shillings a day – tax free.

Plan Int. Recruits

We were then to go through an orientation programme which would take just a day. The ten of us were taken to Tom Mboya Labour College, Kisumu. Each of us was picked by the same vehicle from our respective homesteads and driven straight to Kisumu City. The whole Plan Int. top brass was present at the event. On arrival, we took a lot of snacks as if the world would end before noon of the same day. When lunch time clock rung, we all walked to the dining room with those fully inflated stomachs. I had listened carefully to the advice of my old man “Do not do anything that the Director does not do. If she serves one piece of chicken, do the same”. One of my fellow new recruits approached the food with vigour like a lion approaching its prey. His dad never gave him any table manners instructions. He ended up serving too much mushroom soup for starters. When the main course was brought, the human being behaved as if he wanted to hide his soup under the table. “It’s okey, you can take another plate for the main course” Phoebe advised him. This guy had a heart of gravel. He went ahead and added some vegetables and meat on the same soup messing up the whole thing. No matter how much he tried to hurry to complete the food, it was next to impossible as he had served everything in hyena quantities. Wait until the table was cleared and desserts were served; most of us were as full as the village ticks and nothing could find any space therein. These people wanted to kill us with food.

When we embarked on the job back home, I realized that that people were very poor out there with some surviving on only natural fruits on a daily basis. I witnessed a nursing mother going without food with her tiny skinny baby sticking on the emaciated breasts which would not produce any liquid matter at whatever cost. Most of the time the guides would comfort me rather that the suffering families as my knees would refuse to carry me beyond their gates. I would scramble down and groan painfully at the helpless situations I had just witnessed. There was a home where a lady of about twenty four was widowed and neglected. The grave was still fresh by the house with her two closely spaced and emaciated children sitting on her laps with no hope of any meal in the foreseeable future. This woman was so young but had nowhere to go as she had refused to be inherited. Her parents back at home rejected her since she dropped out of school to be married to this confused young fisherman who professed love to her. She was filled with regret and agony beyond measure. Her in-laws couldn’t come to her home as she was a carrier of mikolo. I sometimes went out of my way to give out some cash to assist even just for a day.

After about eight months, I got promoted to be the head of data collectors, a promotion that was not confirmed in writing. This meant that it was nolonger required of me to go to the homesteads but only cross-check the questionnaires from the other data collectors. I did my work peacefully for some time until a lethal rumour hit the Reru airwaves. “Migingo the grandson of a wife inheritor has struck Ong’ele’s (not real name) grandson’s name from the list of the needy children” One woman who guided us the data collectors romoured. Ong’ele was one guy who was feared in the village as he was good with the magic arts. He had a magic stick that he would just point at his victim and blood would just ooze from all his openings. Who wanted to cross this old man’s path?

One Sunday morning, I woke up to find Ong’ele in my step mother’s house together with my dad. They were talking in low tones but I could hear the mention of my name. I knew I was in for some huge elephant shit. “Henure iluongi gi babani” (Henry your dad is calling you) Elsa, my step mom called out for me. I felt my world crashing down when I received that summon. I already had issues with the village elders and I did not know whether it was the same issues coming out or some other more dangerous ones.

“I want you to apologise to this mzee for striking his grandson’s name from the list of the needy children” dad roared.

“Dad I do not know what you are talking about” I responded.

With Dad & herds boy

“Don’t pretend, I just need an apology and I will forgive you. If you don’t apologise, I will point at you with this magic stick and be sure you will wake up in another world tomorrow” the old man threatened.

This old man refused to believe me but ended up humiliating my dad as he literally went on his knees tearfully begging him not to point that little but ugly stick towards my direction.

“Dad please let him point at me. What wrong with you? Don’t beg him, I have done nothing wrong. Whatever he’s saying is just but a romour” I reasoned. Ong’ele, the old man ended up not only pointing at me with the stick but also saying some malicious cursing words. I was not supposed to wake up the following morning.

That evening, I went into deep prayers and fasting commanding ever demon to disappear into the lake of fire. I also commanded all my opening not to produce anything that is not meant for them and they obeyed. My eyes could only produce tears of victory with my mouth shouting praises. There was neither blood in my urine nor in the solid latrine matter. I was as fit as a fiddle despite the thunderous threats from the stone hearted old man.

Dad had no idea that I had visited the hospital that day just before I returned home and I was due for a sick off the following day. The doctors claimed that I did not have enough fluids in my body. The following morning, I heard some steps around my brother’s house where I was “chasing sleep”. Those were the footsteps of my dad who was very worried about my well being that morning. I woke up an hour later and went straight to the market to buy breakfast for the two families. That was when I knew that so many other elders were involved in this conspiracy. They were like “what? You mean this kid is still alive?” I was not only alive but also stable enough to ride my bicycle across the market at high speed. The God whom I serve rescued me from the hands of my false accusers.

The villagers were so aggrieved by the fact that I, a grandson of Mango the terrorist, was having a well paying job. They claimed that such jobs were meant for the families with great backgrounds. These people were so sarcastic. They wanted all women to be inherited upon the demise of their husbands but when these inheritors gave birth to some offspring, the innocent ones were declared outcasts for several generations. This was very unfair but who cared? I personally didn’t. I never got any rest from these old men when I was working with Plan Int.

I later resigned from the job and joined college. I understand Phoebe looked for me thereafter but no one gave me the information until it was too late.


Yours in His Service

Migingo Awat