A voice from the village

I walk on the dusty roads of my village, in a region so famous for all the harsh attacks of nature; floods. Roads had never been much of importance to our people than the fishing, dikes, bridges, food reserves and the road comes a distant ‘last’ depending on the writer’s preference.

My heavy strong and woody legs were taking me towards the beach, here many of my age mates had kids and depended on their relatives in the ‘town’ to provide for some cash which they misused with a hope of getting more and a promise by their relatives that they would accommodate them in town so that they may be ‘successful’ as they are.

Inyende a buddy of mine had the best of stories. He was one of the lucky few to have visited the ‘town’ and I always knock on his door for a story or two, but only after buying him a glass of our local brew mlingilo. He had gone to ‘town’ and came back a village hero, smart but poor than most of us. People in the village talked of his failures; that’s why he came back to ‘congest’ the village when he should be there with the rest, who came back to the village to spend their hard earned money mostly in the big occasion ‘Christmas’.

On this day Inyende had promised to reveal the reason why he came back and had lost all interest in going back there. Maybe this would remove the rumour that he had all his ‘property’ robbed in the night leaving him with only his night wears and not even a cent as the job he was working at paid him less as he would occasionally miss most of his meals and he wasn’t in good terms with his landlord either. In pursuit of truth I knocked to his door, a glass of mlingilo at hand and a smile that I wore every time. He welcomed me and took the glass from my hand, took a big sip then said jokingly ‘amalwa kananjira’ to mean alcohol will kill me. He said this often that I stopped relating death with drunkenness.

He started “ never trust other peoples’ successful reality and dream to make them your realities, we must always strive to succeed given the resources we have as whatever that shines has some darkness that’s unseen. I had been invited by my ‘rich’ uncle and he had promised to employ me once we get to his place and if I do better I’d maybe make his successor. This was a dream that I didn’t even think about furthering my education as all was catered for by my philanthropic uncle. On the eve of my travel to the town I had called my cousins and friends who are already in town and told them I will now be their frequent visitor, I haven’t seen them yet up to now. I hopped into the early mbukinya bus to the town and enjoyed my tiring and first travel on a vehicle to Nairobi. I saw the lands past the beautiful lake Victoria that I was used to and all the food that my mother had packed for me got finished halfway the journey, I could only afford a soda that depleted all of my pocket money in hopes that my uncle would pick me up at the bus station.

The town was big, I lost track of the huge buildings and their colours that I was told were critical for me not to get lost. On arrival I waited in vain, the hope I had for my uncle became a wish that I’d fly back home where I had peace of mind. People were not welcoming as those of the village, most of them would associate me with conmen or even a mad man as I kept asking each and every person if they knew my uncle. The night came and I had to sleep on the metallic bench that was cold and I was scared but my heavy sleep wouldn’t let me be. I slept but the shock came as in the morning my bag and other stuffs were no more. Someone took them, and upon asking each and every person walking past me brought me bigger trouble as I was whisked away by askaris.

Inside the police cells I met an ‘entrepreneur ‘who understood my plight and promised to help once we were out there. I was held there for a week until the askaris believed that I had no one to pick me up and no money to give as hongo. They released me for filling their cell and that I was bad for business. The ‘entrepreneur’ had information of my release and sent some guy to come pick me up. Upon reaching his home he welcomed me and with no further time to waste he explained his business; he was a drug lord and a multi-millionaire.

Tomorrow bring enough mlingilo for more of the story” he said as he rushed me out of his hut as he was going fishing, the lake was calling.