Patrick Wafula Wanyama

Promulgation of the New Kenya Constitution

2010-09-02T08:41:00.000-07:00

Promulgation of the New Kenya Constitution: Friday 27th August 2010 at Uhuru Park, Nairobi. My Pictorial Experience.

Awakening To Marriage

2010-09-02T08:28:00.000-07:00

Hello! You can now read some of the amazing biblical insights into preparing for your marriage in my first publication, Awakening To Marriage, which was published in June 2010. It takes you through the THREE STAGES of Awakening to Marriage: The Naming Stage, The Deep Sleep Stage and The Awakening Stage.
You can order by dialing: +254 721 991 413 :
e-mail: pwwanyama@yahoo.com or pwwanyama@gmail.com:

MAISHA MEMA STUDENTS SEMINAR

2010-09-01T08:02:00.000-07:00

IT WAS A GREAT PRIVILEGE AND UNIQUE EXPERIENCE TO BE WITH YOU MONDAY 30TH AUGUST THROUGH TUESDAY 1st SEPTEMBER 2010. THE TIME WAS TOO SHORT AND I COULD NOT ANSWER ALL YOUR QUESTIONS. WE CATCH UP HERE NOW!

Q: If you meet with your cousin and you do not know her/him and you marry each other and one of them takes him/her to the parent and you recognize the parent and you have already had sex. What can you do?

A: If you are a Christian, marrying a blood relative is biblically wrong. It is called consanguinity and it is an abomination in the eyes of God because it leads to one committing another more horrible sin called incest. When blood relatives involve in sex it is called incest. Read Deuteronomy 26:22; Leviticus 18:6. Just a common sense approach: Suppose you two actually go ahead with your marriage and get children, what would your parents call your children and what would your children call your parents? And suppose blood relatives were allowed to have sex, and one of them happened to be HIV+, don't you think whole families would be extinct? Trust God; He is wise enough to have put these rules in place!

You will need to repent of incest and ask God to deliver you from this sin. and then you break this relationship right now, my dear! Don't you love to go to heaven! If that is the case, there is nothing we cannot give up on this earth for heaven!

Love you!

Q: I have a friend who is suffering from masturbation. Apart from prayers, what can you advice her to do? Rem: She is God-fearing. She says that the thoughts of sexual feelings cannot depart from her, whatever she tries to do somethings, the sexual feelings arise. She had even decided to commit suicide. How can you advice the girl? Pliz it's urgent.

A: Masturbation is done the act of manipulating one's own sex organs in orde to achieve an organism or sexual satisfaction. In order for one to achieve this, one has to fantasize or visualize some who is sexually attractive and imagine he/she is having sex with this person. There are three types of sex: sex of the mind, sex of the eyes and sex of the body. Mathew 5: states that if you look at a woman lustifully, you will have committed adultery with her in your heart. Masturbation, which is commonly known as 'solo sex' is categorized under sex of the mind. You have to imagine that you are practically having sex with the person in your mind before getting the arousal and finally the orgasm.

Masturbation is selfish, as sex was created to be shared and enjoyed between two partners in marriage who love each other. Since masturbation makes you feel guilty and has gotten you addicted to it, it is not a normal and healthy practice. God created you to be happy and free to worship only Him. Anything that makes us its slaves and dampens our happiness and joy, is not in God's plan for us.

Action Plan: Acknowledge that masturbation is evil, confess and repent of it. You then ask God for healing and deliverence from it. You will have to start out one step at a time, no matter how many times you are going to relapse, keep working at it until you are completely out of it. Avoid being alone most of the time and stay in the company of friends who love, appreciate and uplift you and your self-esteem. Avoid reading or watching pornographic material; also avoid sexually stimulating talks or conversations. Above all, worship God with all your heart, mind and spirit and surrender them to Him; find something fulfilling to do;something that will give you a lot of satisfaction and fulfillment. I had the same problem, but God delivered me from it when I honestly acknowledged that I had a problem and started working on overcoming it. To keep myself from relaplsing, I started keeping fish and doing a lot of gardening after school. I would spent a lot of my free time feeding fish or gardening in my flower and vegetable garden such that I ended up satisfactorily tired. I also found some friends who genuinely loved and appreciated me a lot; once I felt that I was very much loved by God and my friends, especially a nice girl called Susan. She admired me for who I was and through her I realised that I had a lot of potential in Literature and Grammar, and apart from teaching her, I started teaching all my peers!

Avoid anything or anyone who would suggest that you are a nobody or send you into depression.

God loves you, my dear; you are wonderfully and fearfully created; believe you me! Do and believe only in the people and things that are going to increase your self-worth and esteem.

Q: Beside biblical beliefs how can masturbation affect someone, yet it is a safe way to prevent the spread of HIV/AIDS and teenage pregnancy?

A: There are no scientifically known or proven effects of masturbation. However, as a Christian, masturbation leads you into the sex of the eyes and the mind, which is a sin, since you have to imagine sex with someone; it is sex through imagination. There are also long term social-emotional effects such as sexual dissatisfaction with your spouse if she/he is not as fanciful or fulfilling as your sex idol or fancy; this could eventually lead to problematic marriage.

Q: Is it bad to listen to love songs?

A: No. It is not. But for why, what, when and where do you listen to it is what matters most. For instance some love songs are very erotic. If you listen to them, they arouse sexual feelings, which in turn, if you are single, may provoke you into pre-mature relationships and hence pre-marital sex. Therefore, use wisdom to determine why you want to listen to the music, what the music says--what is the message, when or under what context are you listening to the music, and where are you listening to the music from, and even with whom are you sharing or enjoying the music with. I one day found out that not all the music we listened to was good; it was very comical when I found out that a certain song to which my peers were frantically dancing to was the cry and lamentation of the musician whose life was broken and had been abandoned by a spouse!

More of your questions and answers are still underway; please be patient...

Sarah and Gai's Wedding

2010-08-28T07:25:00.000-07:00

It is a privilege to dedicate this special page on my blog to you two daring younsters who fought so hard to realize the dream of your life time: being Worlds Apart, but finishing as one: Indeed, thank you for giving me the rare honour of being your MC on Saturday 17th July 2010 at the Nairobi Railway Club. On this special day, I witnessed Australia and Kenya becoming one before my very eyes! Gai's life' journey touched me so much: starting a Sudanese Immigrant in Australia, then being granted Australian Citizenship: as for Sarah, your meandering way from Busia as an orphan, to Nairobi as a hustler, and when God's moment came, just like Esther, you were made a Queen and off to Australia with your King! Do not ever forget to give God the glory and an altar in your matrimony! Amen.

MAY YOU TRULY HAVE A HAPPY MATRIMONY THEREAFTER!

Alice and Neil's Wedding

2010-08-28T06:59:00.000-07:00

It was such a great privilege to be MC at your wedding, on July 24th 2010, at The Cool Breeze Gardens (Muthaiga) Alice and Neil. This page is dedicated to you two and your daughter Trina. You are a role-model to many a young persons who are barred by racial discrimination and prejudice from realizing their dreams. Indeed, in your wedding, America and Kenya met. Especially for Alice, coming from Mwea, Eastern Province, an oprhan, but as strong as steel, to make your mark in Neil's heart in the USA; to Neil, for being so loving that race, skin colour, or distance could not blur your vision to have her! You inspire me so much!

MAY YOU HAVE A HAPPY MATRIMONY EVER AFTER!

2010-06-17T00:58:00.000-07:00

You can now order my New Book Awakening To Marriage!

The New Kenya

2008-10-12T02:08:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking about the New Kenya, the Kenya with a Grand Coalition Government and trying to be happy, but my heart has completely refused to celebrate this New Kenya. In fact, as far as I know my heart, it is still in deep, excruciating mourning. My heart is still bleeding with those who bled; it is still mourning with those who lost their kin and kith; it is still dying with those who died. I want to be allowed to mourn, and nobody should cross my path, as I mourn, lest I crash you in my ire; I refuse to have my tears wiped; let my tears flow; let my sobs flow.

I am still mourning, because the New Kenya has forgotten the tradition of mourning; the New Kenya has abandoned the tradition of funeral and bidding farewell to the departed. Indeed, the New Kenya has forgotten that the spirits of the dead, if not send off well to the ancestral land, will never rest in peace. In fact, they will return to haunt the living in the future.

My beloved country, how can forty precious people be burnt to ashes, in the holy of holies, in the very sanctuary of the Almighty at Eldoret, and the so called New Nation does not even pause to mourn them? How can another 30 plus lives be gutted in a tiny house in Naivasha and this nation does not stop to mourn its precious children? How can we claim to be moral, when what we are doing shortly after these gruesome murders, is clamouring for power, material property, bickering, politickying about 2012 and indulging in the endless historical rivalry as though nothing ever happened? So, tell me why I should not mourn my brothers and sisters? Tell me how my heart will heal, if I have not mourned enough? Tell me why my tears should not be let to flow?

I am mourning, and I have not yet mourned enough. In fact, I want to find out how to mourn properly, loudly and in style. We always do this when a single one of our folks passes on, don't we? In Bungoma where I come from we usually take an average of three days to mourn a beloved one. How long should we take to mourn the more than 80 lives? Multiply this by 3. You get 240 days. This is the least time we can dedicate to mourning the victims who were burnt. We will then minus 80 from 1200, the total number of those killed during the bloodletting that it took to bring the New Kenya to birth; this is the ultimate price paid in cash by sons and daughters of this nation for the New Kenya. I will demand that I be allowed to multiply 1220 by 3 to get the total number of mourning days the New Kenya is supposed to take to mourn its fallen sons and daughters. My brother, sister, you will get a minimum of 10 years mourning period! This is the period I want to be allowed to mourn.

To my style of mourning: first, I want there to be proper naming and listing of my brothers and sisters who died. In our culture, we do not hold a funeral if we have not verified the name and body of the deceased. Then the burial will follow; I want to bury them ceremoniously, as this is my last respect to them. If I do not do this, my memory will not be convinced that he/she died, and therefore, I live in a state of denial all my life. To achieve this, please let me go to the church at Eldoret and erect a plaque or a tall pillar and have all their names curved on it, permanently. Let this church compound be surrendered to me for a memorial park, like the August 7th Nairobi Bomb Blast Memorial, where I will be going annually, during the month of January to commemorate their death, albeit by putting a wreath of red roses at the foot of the plaque, and letting my tears and sobs flow, for ten years. I want this pillar to be there to remind generations to come, of our folly of tribalism and paganism; like in Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, we have paid for our feudalism with the blood of our sons and daughters. Yes, let this message be written on the plaque like this: "We paid for our folly of tribalism with the blood of our sons and daughters. Oh, ye generations, learn from this."

I demand to be allowed to errect another pillar at Naivasha and have the names of the 30 plus brothers and sisters of mine who perished there curved on it; oh, not only those 30 plus, but also those of the remaining, and almost forgotten 1220 fallen sons and daughters of this great nation, curved there. Here, because it is closer to the capital City of Kenya and let whoever is in power always take a short ride to Naivasha to have a look at the pillar before making any decision in their offices.

My brother, the New Kenya should be allowed to mourn.

* * * * * * * * *

This year, I moved into a new a shanty house in the heart of Soweto Slums, in Embakasi. People said I had gone bonkers to move to a worse house with no water and electricity, and farther away from the best infrastructure. Soon after I occupied this new mabati house, I discovered that I had moved to the best place ever. In front, across the fence, there is a small morass and the grass there is tall and ever green; the morass is about 60 square feet. At night bull frogs croak, but in the morning, robins, weaverbirds and sunbirds wake me up. This is beautiful. But that is not all.

There was a lot of rubbish and dumping having been done around the morass. I fenced the part of the morass right in front of my house and added alot of black cotton soil on the dumping and allowed it to decay into a fertile place. I then started planting kales, onions, tomatoes and maize on it. See (above) how they are green, fresh and healthy. Nowadays, I do not buy vegetables from Soweto Market. My neighbours too, who were once sceptical, do sometimes come for a handful of fresh kales.

2006-01-19T07:58:00.000-08:00

NOSTALGIA.
The sun rises in the Eastern sky,
Wrapped in golden orange colors,
Like a ripe orange
On a vast blue sheet.

Party walks out of the mud-hut naked,
Holding his old tattered shirt in hand,
And goes behind the old hut
To bask with nothing in mind.

From the vintage
Of their serene sweet home,
He gazes at the endless fields
Of green maize and forest
Culminating in the undulating
Green hills of Mt. Elgon.

Mother’s sweet voice
Floats across the home,
Summoning everyone for breakfast.

While his brothers and sisters
Go to work on the farm,
He takes the livestock to the valleys to graze.
While the livestock grazes,
He climbs trees.

Father comes home in the evening
Tired from working at Lulu Farm;
They all dash to meet him.
He gets him his tire sandals,
While mother gives him tea.
Father then asks about the livestock,
And mother reports everything.

During weekdays
Those who don’t go to school
Receive father’s notorious stick.
But Party loves home and school
And does well in his exams.

Now he himself is a father
Of beautiful beings,
And works in a big city
A big city with rumbling machines and cars
Instead of rumbling rains, thunders and rivers;
A big city with lofty buildings
Instead of lofty trees;
A city that knows neither serenity nor greenness,
And does not tolerate childhood.

SMILE

2006-01-19T07:47:00.000-08:00

2005-11-22T01:02:00.000-08:00

I am 38 years old, a high school literature and language teacher. I have studied Education and School Management from Kenyatta University.

I am married to Loise and we have four children: Faith, Esther, Elizabeth and Vittorio. We live in Nairobi. I love teaching children and youth and I enjoy writing stories and poems for them. I also enjoy writing stories for adults. My favourite poetry genre is haiku and haibun. My favourite hobby is reading supernatural and adventurous stories, watching adventurous and detective movies and listening to country music. I also love traveling and learning more about the world and foreign cultures.

Thank you for reading my stories. Leave your comments here in the comments section or get in touch with me through: pwwanyama@yahoo.com or Tel: +254 721 99 14 13.

A ROSE AND A NIGHT

2005-11-19T00:53:00.000-08:00

Two weeks ago, I was called to our upcounrty home in Kitale to intervene in one of the most diabolic conflicts I have ever handled. My younger brother Maurice had impregnated a neighbour's daughter, and to everyone's perplexity, the girl had given birth to twins, and the two twins were slated for murder by annihilation and mutilation in accordance with our Bukusu customs, which have it that if a girl gives birth to first borns and they turn out to be twins, it is an abomination and therefore the twins are to be annihilated and mutilated and their bodies thrown away in the forest or river. These particular twins were special in every way; their mother, finding them so beautiful, had gone into exile two weeks after their birth, and had remained in exile for three years. From exile she had come straight to our home with the two bouncing girls. My father, on seeing them had ordered the girl and her children to stay out of the homestead until a meeting involving the parents and village elders was held and the matter dealt with according to our customs.

That is when my brother and the girl managed to get a chance to call me, informing me that the meeting would be the following day. The poor girl and her two children were accommodated in our neighbour's house for the night. It is believed that if the twins are allowed to live, one of their grandparents would die. The bitter alternative to the this inextricable predicament is that one of the twins must be killed while the other be allowed to live. If they are both allowed to live, then one of the boy's parents dies. I found myself in the midst of this obviously diabolic puzzle. No easy way out. I looked at the two innocent kids, playing peacefully in the sunny blissful dusk. They were quite oblivious of the fact that their parents' uncouth customs had condemned them to death; the two parties sat opposite each other outside my father's house, deep in contemplation. I saw from their tightly knitted brows that it was not easy for them either. The two kids were not even permitted to mingle or eat with the rest of the family, so they were under very strict instructions to play in the vicinity of the meeting venue. For quite sometime, a heavy cloud of doom hang over our home as the verdict of the old people including the girl's parents, remained unchallenged. It was an ominous moment. The two young parents who were responsible for these 'heinous' birth were as silent as water in a pot. The youngman was my twenty-one year old brother Maurice and the lady was his former classmate Metrine. It was at this juncture that I raised my voice and requested for permission to speak. The Village Elder nodded his grey head. I was already seething with disgust at how barbaric we had become in our quest for perfection in our customs. No sooner had I opened my mouth than the words spluttered out like a volcano. "Let me ask a question: who is responsible for the birth of these innocent children?" "These two," my father replied without hestation, pointing at Maurice and Metrine. "What penalty is imposed on them? Because if the kids are being punished for being born twins then those who gave birth to them must also be punished. And may I ask you folks another question: who creates twins in the womb?" The old folks looked at each other in surprise. One of them said, "God." "That is right. Now, tell me: who is to blame for their births? And do the twins know they are an abomination and that they are supposed to be killed? And who said first born twins must be killed?And suppose you are one the twins?" A heavy cloud of suspense engulfed the meeting. At last, the Village Elder said, "You boy, you are full of foreign ideas, but they make sense. It is not the fault of these children to be born twins, neither is it the fault of their parents. It is God who created them. Folks, I think the best thing we can do in order to allow them to live is to cleanse them in a ritual using a sheep's blood and cud, which must be mixed with food and given to all the family members including the twins, and then let the entire family eat together." I also suggested that the girl should become Maurice's legal wife; my suggestion was accepted. However, I took this opportunity to warn all the young men and women in the meeting that pre-marital sex was causing so many problems including teenage pregnancy, unplanned children and the spread of Hiv/Aids. I send the entire gathering into peals of laughter when I symbolically illustrated my point using a book and a pen. I asked the young people at the meeting, "When you go to the shop to buy a pen, do you pay first before it is tested for you or it is tested before you pay for it? And who tests it for you to see if it writes?" They all said, "You pay first and the shopkeeper tests it for you." "Yes, the shopkeeper does the testing immediately you pay for the pen. Why do you people doubt what God has made for you when you readily trust the shopkeeper and the manufacturer of the pen?God who created girls and boys made them perfect and has already tested them for you. Yours is just to pay the price and collect the 'pen' Most young people indulge in pre-marital sex because they do not believe God created them perfectly well and that they will still be perfect without trying sex before marriage. They say, "Practiice makes perfect." And now, when you buy the pen, do you just write on any object with it?" Somebody said, "No." Someone else objected, "Suppose you sign a paper with the pen without actually intending to?" "Then make sure you read the terms on the paper carefully before signing it. Another thing is that some of you boys do not even know how to use your pens; you just write on rocks and dirty surfaces without knowing the pen's nib has a small ball that rolls and which can stop rolling if the nib gathers dust or is scrapped against a rough surface. Some of us do not even know how to keep our pens; we should keep them in safe poches where nothing harmful can touch them." "If you keep them in the pocket, the ink will melt and spill." Another young fellow objected. "You should be warned that pens are not supposed to be exposed on too much heat and use common sense to keep it away from sources of heat. So, young folks, one book, one pen. Okay?" "And they should even choose the brand of book; if it is Kasuku Brand, let it remain Kasuku, and if it is Kartasi Brand , let it remain Kartasi Brand!" Metrine interjected. I have never been happier in my work as a children's rights advocate. Maurice and Metrine became wife and husband that evening and the two twins, Rose and Night, became part and parcel of our ten-member family.

THE CELIBATE

2005-11-13T03:00:00.000-08:00

THE sun was high up at the centre of the sky, right above their heads, and their shadows had recoiled between their legs. Every student in the school knew it was passed midday. This story took place in Lumboka Secondary school in Malolomonyo Division, down in Bungoma. It was in September the year 1989.
As the lunch bell went off, Sussy, the Form Three newcomer, and two the two Forth Former—Betty and Catherine—headed for the murembe tree at the western corner of the school compound, with their packed lunch.

Once they reached the rich, cool shade of the tree, each one of them removed her pullover, spread it out on the green grass—it was September, a rainy month; tall grass and other vegetation grew everywhere; maize plants in the fields on the outskirts of the school compound were brown with maturity---sat down on it, and resumed their conversation which had been cut short at the end of long break.
“How odd!” Betty exclaimed, “that a boy of his status should be so lonely. I think he’s so mean with himself!”
“Ah, he is just elusive, if I may put it precisely,” Catherine answered, “The problem with Willy is that you can never get him to say the usual little nonsense that other boys usually engage in as preliminaries to seduction. I say, he is always serious, no-nonsense-like, means what he says and says what he means, and does what he says and means. So, there you are, girls! How do you deal with such a peculiar boy?”

The trio was gossiping about their newly appointed, enigmatic head boy; he was young, very pious in his Christian faith, and very chaste. He always claimed to be ‘saved’.
Sussy listened even more carefully a cocked ear, a dirty sneer on her brown oval face. What are these primitive buddies of mine talking about ? Sussan thought contemptuously. Snakes are just snakes, whether it is a black mamba or green mamba, or cobra, or python or puff adder !And Men are just men. According to Sussan, no one particular boy or man was an angel to surmount the boisterous passions of the body which were responsible for the fall of Adam, and are still responsible for the fall of kings and other great men on this Old planet Earth. And Willy was no exception!
“I find all of you girls very naïve!” Sussy ridiculed, “The fact is, this saint William of yours has never brushed shoulders with a luscious decoy!”
Betty frowned incredibly at Sussan. Her large innocent eyes widened four inches their normal size, accentuating the incredulous look.
“ Believe me you, I have known him as my classmate for fours! He is just the way you see him—very business like. Talk about spiritual or academic issues and you will thrill him. Talk about trivialities and you will get a sharp reproach…But that is not the problem. His problem is that he is handsome, charming with his broad shoulders and a charming broad smile, and very polite and social, but he is very lonely! You know, personally, I usually believe that people like William should always end up with many intimate friends. But that is not the case with saint Willy!…”
Sussy was still not convinced that there was a boy or man of this saintly calibre on this old planet earth; she recalled the many scandals about Pastor Kuloba, the local pastor of the P. A .G Church in her home area. She also recalled scandalous catholic fathers in many parts of the world and her cynicism increased.
“Have you ever tried him?” Sussy burst impudently, the sneer on her face looking even nastier.
“Tried him?” Catherine queried in total flabbergation and astonishment. There was momentary, but total silence and a rapid exchange of astonished glances between Betty and Catherine.
“Hey, Sussy! Do you know what you are saying? Now, for that matter, I am not a devil to try people!” Catherine protested frivolously. The three girls tittered uneasily.
“Sussy, you are taking this thing too far!” Betty cautioned.
“No,” Sussy persisted stubbornly; for Sussy was an obstinate and wayward girl, who was conceited, and very proud. “Then how did you prove he is not capable of doing something diabolic?” Sussy sneered and snickered.
“Sussy dear, you are just a new comer in Lumboka secondary school. Believe what we tell you about this school, its people, and its mysteries. For instance, this mystery of saint William. He is a born-again Christian guy and if you approach him with any sinister motive, he detects it through his remote control system called Holy Spirit. And don’t you joke, Sussy! This guy can rebuke you!” Betty argued hotly, “Don’t ask me how he does this. I cannot explain how he unravels the motives, but be sure you will never catch him unawares!”
“My question was,” Insisted Sussy adamantly, “Have you ever tried him, Betty?”
“Hey! Sussy, I am not a devil either!” Betty cried out. “But hey, girls, I have an idea that can stop this much ado about nothing. Why can’t we bet, Sussy?”
“Oh! That is a brilliant idea!” burst Sussy, “but you must make it a grand prize, buddies!”
“Wow! I agree with Betty, and I suggest two hundred shillings!” Catherine chimed in.
“That is big money, Cathe,” Betty exclaimed, “but be sure the victory will be more costly than the money!”
But Sussy, quite oblivious of the preposterous and treacherous game her little, conceited mind was playing on her, went on and burst into a victorious song and dance.
“I am a winner of men!
I am a winner of men!
I am a winner of men!
I am a winner of men!”

* * * * * * * * *
Sussy was a very brown beautiful nineteen year-old girl. In those days, brownness was a paramount mark of beauty, and Sussy possessed it in abundance. Her oval face was quite unique in its shape; her eyes were big, round and innocent, and her thin lips giving a cute finishing to her appearance. When she smiled or laughed, her smooth, rosy cheeks dimpled, and her spotless white teeth gleamed admirably. Indeed, as many boys in Lumboka Secondary School used to say, Sussy was the Juliet of Lumboka Secondary School.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Let us call it coincidence. Now, it happened that our dear Sussy was staying with her elder sister Everlyne who was married to a certain man in Lumboka Village but in the very neighbourhood where William hailed from. So later that Friday evening, Sussan sat smiling to herself in her sister’s sitting room, putting final touches to her treacherous schemes and strategies and devices. One thing she was always conscious and very sure of about herself was her abundant, tantalizing beauty and charm that always worked instant magic on every man she met. She even remembered the first time she had strolled across Lumboka Market. Even the shopkeepers had forgotten about their business momentarily to gaze at me, she reveried. That is to mean, I had made business to come to a stand still momentarily at the market centre! Because I am an exceptional, peculiar beauty! Oh my! Yes, I was bouncing like princess Diana of Wales! Yes, there is elegance and grace in my step and figure! I have only been here for five months but I am now the most lusted for and trailed after girl by boys around Lumboka Village. I am convinced beyond the shadow of a doubt that William the Monk will fall for my charm and elegance! If he doesn’t, I will put him into a trance like have always done to the other men. My powerful, hypnotic eyes will do it, won’t you, my powerful, hypnotic eyes? She peered into her deep, mysterious pupils through the mirror in her hand. William will not escape this enchanting allurement, nay, decoy…I will unleash all of it on him…Oh, Monday, I wish you were today, now… I must get the two hundred shillings…
* * * * * * * * * * *
On Monday morning, the following week during the morning parade, the Head boy was making announcements when he noticed one very brown girl, who was quite unlike any other girl he had ever seen in Lumboka Secondary School, making amorous faces at him. No one else noticed what was going on, except William, Sussy, and the Omnipresent One.
What is that supposed to mean? The query rippled through William’s mind and he almost used a wrong word in his speech. God help me…Devil, you are defeated in Jesus’ Name! He rebuked in his spirit.
“Last but not least, I wish to emphasize to all the class prefects that classrooms should be swept before five p.m. I detest this time wasting habit of sweeping classrooms in the morning; it is greatly interfering with the morning preps. I hope this will not be repeated in the course of this week. Otherwise, I wish each one of you a successful week. I now hand over to the Master on Duty.” God help me…He said again inwardly. After the M.O.D’s brief announcements, the students dispersed for classes.

Those who knew William closely called him a monk. In fact, his peers always alleged or bantered that he was totally impotent and that his fanatical claims that he was ‘saved’ were just a cover up, an excuse, and a very good alternative to his impotence. But none of the boys ever succeded to get William to expostulate or defend himself over this controversy. This aspect of his character made him even more peculiar and intriguing.
However, William knew himself better than his critics. There were two facts over which no one would not deceive him. One fact was that he knew that before his conversion four years ago, he had been a very hot fornicator. The second fact was that after his conversion, he had become impotent –dead in the body-- for three months! Then afterwards, he had become normal again, but the degree of his normalcy had diminished to a distant echo. And he prayed so much and very often, such that in the place where once tempestuous passions had raged and blazed, now the Holy Spirit blazed and simmered there slowly, constantly…
* * * * * * * *
It was Tuesday evening, and there was a heavy drizzle. William was calmly seated at his desk in their Form Four Class, reading Enid Blytons Five On Treasure Island when suddenly the girl burst into their classroom and made straight for his desk. She trotted so gracefully towards him that not only him, but all his forty-four classmates paused for a moment to stare at Miss Elegance as she walked across the front of the class.
This is the newcomer in Form Three…He pondered…What is her name?…Something must have happened in Form Three…
“Hi Willy!” Sussy chirped in her soft melodious voice. “It is raining like hell out there!” William did not say anything; her just maintained his steely stare at her.
“Ah, move abit, Willy. I wanna sit here with you just for a bit.” Sussy dared.
“Okay, you are welcome,” Willy said coolly and decently, moving to one end of the desk. Sussy immediately planted herself beside William and started wiping drops of water from her black, curly hair.
“Er—Willy,” she started even more boldly, “what were you doing under the cypress treeon Sunday evening?” She looked William straight in the eye and unleashed her enchanting smile.
This is a head-on collision…William mused silently…How cunning the devil is…God help me.
“It is very strange,” William replied in mild surprise, “Oh, I hardly know your name, and here you come storming me with funny questions about my domestic affairs. Please, I don’t usually discuss my domestic life here in school. By the way, who are you?” Sussy looked slightly set aback, but she recovered quickly and continued shinning on Willy with her brilliant smile.
“Ah, Willy, don’t you know me? I am Sussy, the newcomer in Form Three? The girl from Kagame Secondary School?” Sussy from the Devil… He added in his heart.
“Oh, Sussy. Everlyne’s young sister? I have heard about you, and I have been seeing you among other girls on the way home.”
“Yah!”
“Now Sussy, is there something you would like me to do for you?”
“Actually, Willy, I very much wanted to come on Sunday evening, but you were too busy under the cypress tree.”
William almost smiled. He closed and put down the novel. She is very interesting. I have never encountered her type before. He mused in his mind.
“Sussy, you can’t be serious. Is it possible for you to spot someone down there in our homestead, while you are up there in your sister’s compound?”
Sussy smiled even more charmingly at him and he was almost mesmerized by her bewitching charm. It is already working! Bless me… Thought as she noticed his fixed gaze on her face.
“Yes, it is very much possible.”
“Okay, I happen to have a garden under that tree,” I don’t know why I am talking to her … “I usually spend most of my free time there tending my vegetables, roses and other flowers.” I must stop there… I must not talk to her… “And sometimes if you don’t find me there, I’ll always be feeding my tilapia fish at my pond down in the meadow.”
“Wow! Your private life is very intriguing, brother Willy. In fact let me confess that I have never met such and industrious and intriguing young man.” Damn me… I am falling genuinely in love with him. I am not supposed to …it has never happened before. But he is so handsome…look at his very white teeth, his full lips, and dimples on his cheeks, and oh my, his eyes are deep and very powerful…His voice is sonorous and deep and rich and musical…his English is fluent… “By the way, Willy, I need your assistance. You see, I am not very good in poetry, and we have been given an assignment to write a poem about life. I hear you are a poet. Can you assist me?”
“Yes, Sussy, I can teach you simple aspects of poetry such as figurative language, rhyme and rhyme scheme, mood and tone. Then we can try out one or two poems with you. afterwards you can do your assignment.” I don’t know why I am accepting to assist her… “But the time for us to this is the problem. You can give me your book today, let me write the hints for you, then you can collect the book tomorrow morning. Is that okay?”
At this juncture, Sussy did something quite unexpected; she got hold of William’s school bag and asked him to accompany her out on her way home.
“Look Willy, the rain is over now. Let us go home now! I’ll give you the book on our way home.”
“I’ll catch up with you on the way, Sussy,” William dodged the trap tactfully, “You know I have to make sure all the classrooms are locked and ensure everything is in the right place before I leave.”
“Oh, it was great talking to you. I am grateful you have offered to assist me. You will find me getting along the way, or if you don’t catch up with me on the way, don’t bother yourself so mush. I will bring it to your place.” And without waiting for William’s answer, she strode pompously out of the classroom, William’s bag properly strapped on her shoulder. Eyebrows rose. Gee! She exclaimed when she stepped into the cold moist air outside.
* * * * * * * *
It was getting dark when Sussy arrived in William’s garden. The moon was just rising as a mighty golden orange in the East. The clouds had now subsided after the heavy drizzle and the sky was now almost cloudless and dark blue.
“What a beautiful garden you have down here Willy” She exclaimed, startling him. She bounced into the garden.
“Thank you,” he replied coolly and continued to prune the lush vegetables of many varieties.
“These roses are splendid and their aroma is just romantic, especially with the huge golden moon rising in the East and the humid night air! Oh, and look at these cauliflowers! I love everything here!”
“Thank you, Sussy. By the way, where would you prefer to sit, out here or in the cottage?”
William asked courteously.
“Oh, it is lovely out here! The moon is so romantic, the roses aromatic and the garden secluded and tranquil!” Sussy continued to burst with praises for William’s garden, sniffing at every flower and admiring the lush vegetables. Soon, she was holding a whirl of red roses in her slim hand. William, on the other hand took it all very calmly and cordially. But his mind was racing. She looks as fig she is simmering in the golden moonlight. He thought. Sussy moved closer until she was exactly opposite him.
Actually, she was smashing in her light, yellow full dress, which had a wide V-curve at the shoulders that exposed a generous part of her tender back. Her black curly hair was neatly and elaborately combed backwards. And how she turned elegantly around, smiling gaily and rolling her hypnotic eyes at him. She is one of the most fantastic decoys the devil has ever launched at me…
“You can sit on the little chair under the tree. I will join you soon. We will be very brief. I haven’t milked the cow, you know.”
But no sooner had they started discussing the poetry assignment than there came a loud bawling from the direction of a smoky kitchen that made Sussy almost jump out of her skin.
“Sorry, Sussy,” William apologized, “that is my mother. She is calling me to milk the cow. You can hear it mooing. It seems we are not going to discuss your assignment tonight because all odds are against it. But I promise to help you during the morning preps tomorrow.”
“I have no objection, Willy. I understand.”
They rose and stood facing each other, ready to bid one another goodnight. Sussy extended her hand to Willy. As William took it, she pressed it, she pressed and scratched his palm with one of her slim fingers. Satan, you are defeated in Jesus’ name. Willy rebuked. I can’t do it …I can’t!….
“Yes, Sussy, what is it?”
There is no other chance. Sussy resolved in her heart. I’m going to take him by storm, if he does not fall for me.
“Willy, I love you.” She said in a hypnotic voice. “And you can’t pretend that you don’t know what is going on, and that you don’t know that I love you and that you also love me.” Sussy coaxed and then did something that has never been done anywhere else under the sun. Suddenly, William found himself in Sussy’s arms, his chest tightly pressed against her raw jutting breasts and causing instant heat in his body. Sensing that he was already in the fangs of the Old Serpent, he decided to use his secret stamina. He relaxed, smiled and gazed at Sussy directly in the eye.
“Sussy,” He said coolly.
“Yes?”
“Can you hold or sleep with a corpse?” Willy sounded guttural and mysterious now.
“What are you talking about, Willy? Of course I can’t!” She sounded very startled now. Willy grinned inwardly.
“Sussy, you are holding a corpse.” He said even more mysteriously, slowly, almost drawling, and his eyes glinting strangely. Sussy let go of him so suddenly as if she had been holding a hot wire. She started recoiling from him, horror and incredibleness written all over her tender face. She had never been sunned! She moved a few steps away from him, and stared at him, transfixed.
“Sussy, it is written in the Holy Bible that I’m dead in the flesh but a live in spirit and soul. Sussy, I am a walking corpse!”

The breeze was no longer fresh, but as chilly as the fear that was perforating her delicate body. He is truly a walking corpse. She thought as she turned and ran for her dear life.
* * * * * * * * * * * *********************************

It was Wednesday morning when at around 6:45 a.m when Sussy walked into their Form Three Classroom. A few minutes later, her two buddies, Catherine and Betty, who were agog to hear the results of Sussy’s bizarre assignment, joined her.
“Good morning Sussy, girl!” Catherine greeted cheerily.
“Good morning.” Sussy grunted, avoiding looking directly at them.
“Now, now!” Chirped Betty, “let us know immediately what happened. Did you fix the young monk?”
“I almost did it.” Sussy replied dubiously, looking up for the first time.
“What do you mean Sussy?” Catherine asked avidly.
“That chap, as you had warned me earlier, proved to be even stranger than what you told me. Oh, he is a walking corpse! A vege! I swear he is a ghost!” Sussy snapped irritably. Betty and Catherine started laughing heartily.
“Oh, dear me!” Betty cried, “What did he do you?”
“You see I almost succeeded. But suddenly I did not know what went wrong. In fact I managed to hold him till he started heating up, but all of a sudden, he told me weird words.” Sussy shuddered at William’s ghostly words. When her colleagues noticed horrible expression on her face, they stopped laughing. Now they listened keenly to her arduous experience.
I was holding him so tight and close when he asked me whether I could hold or sleep with a corpse! Imagine, Betty! Oh, I don’t want to talk about it. Let it suffice for me to say that I can’t be able to describe how I felt. But it was so strange, and beyond anything I have ever experienced. He said he was a walking corpse and quoted a verse from the Bible that says so! But I almost fixed him! So, girls, let me have half of the bet, Cathe!”
“So what did you do?” Betty grilled, her eyes glinting with laughter.
“So what did you do! Of course I fled form that ghost! I tell you he is not a normal human being. He is a vege! So guys, you will let me have half of the bet, won’t you?”
“You did wonderfully, Sussy. No one has ever come that close to the monk. You are entitled to your full bet!” Catherine declared mirthfully and the long suppressed laughter commenced.

A Marriage in The Valley

2005-11-08T04:33:00.000-08:00

PEOPLE from all the surrounding villages of Matunda and Lukhome, with sad, doleful faces, were already gathering for Jane’s burial in Peter’s home, in our small village of Nyasi. It was around eleven a.m on the twenty-third of February 1993; a dry, cloudless day marked only with intervals of dry, dusty whirlwinds.
Meanwhile, Peter and I were hurriedly compiling Jane’s short life history, which to my amazement, seemed to stretch between strange towns and villages in East Africa. It began at Naivasha, her cradle, weaved through Central Kenya, Mombasa, Voi; then all the way to Kigumba, a strange village in northern Uganda. Then from Kigumba back to Naivasha, then down to the bottom of all the bottoms in the world: The Great Rift Valley; she now lay motionless on the bed at the centre of Peter’s house, in Nyasi Village, Kiminini Location, Trans-Nzoia District, awaiting her final and eternal descend into Sheol. It was only Peter, her bereaved husband, who knew much about her background, so he narrated while I wrote. We were seated under the rich canopy of the bougainvillea tree in front of their house.
Then all of a sudden, we heard the roar like that of a car engine. People started in the direction of the noise. And there it was. The sight of a car was a rare occurrence in our remote village of Nyasi, about twenty-five kilometres west of Kitale town. Out of the blue, a white matatu Peugeot 404 appeared struggling along the narrow bumpy path towards Peter’s home. The drove directly into the crowded compound and parked under the wattle tree in front of Peter’s parents’ house. Strange passengers started alighting from the car. One after another, strange women, conversing in Gikuyu, alighted from the car and formed a small ring near the car. All eyes in the homestead were now fixed on these strangers.

One burly brown woman came forward and enquired, coincidentally, from Peter’s mother:
“Where have you laid Jane’s corpse?”
“Come along,” Peter’s mother said and volunteered to guide the woman and her colleagues into Peter’s house. As they walked, none of them spoke. A few other mourners followed them into the house. I also followed them.

While inside the house, they stood around Jane’s bed, staring expressionlessly and emotionlessly at Jane’s corpse. Who are these strangers and what do they want to do to Jane? I asked myself, but this brown, burly sure has some semblance to Jane. Could she be her mother? I pondered. But they did nothing to Jane; they just continued staring expressionlessly and emotionlessly at her.

Suddenly, a bizarre thing happened. As we were staring curiously at the strangers, while they were staring silently and remorselessly at Jane’s corpse, Jane’s brown, smiling (the smile she loved to smile when she used to be alive) face turned black and ugly and then colourless; black tears started streaming slowly down both sides of her face. While we were still baffled, awestruck and horrified by this awesome phenomenon, a malodorous stench ensued from Jane’s corpse and filled the entire house. Poignant, wordless, spooky silence tightened the entire room and everyone in it. The obnoxious odour increased in intensity until no one could withstand it; the strange women, led by the burly, brown woman, all visibly shocked and horror and fear written all over their faces, started filing out of the room. They headed straight back to their car.
While the other women were hurriedly packing themselves into the car, the burly woman called Nambuye, Peter’s mother, and asked her:
“Are you Jane’s mother-in-law?”
“Yes.” Nambuye replied, “And are you Jane’s mother?”
“Yes,” the burly woman said between tight teeth, “I have given you my consent to burry my daughter.”
“Thank you. That is what we were waiting for. We have been vainly trying to get you or your brother.” But even before Nambuye had finished what she was saying, the woman got into the car and ordered the driver to speed off.

Even long after the car had gone away, Jane was still weeping. Then, one of the eldest women among the mourners approached Nambuye and said:
“Nambuye, she is grieved. Go and console her.”
“Oh, Anyesi, how do I do that? I have never done it before.” Nambuye replied in consternation.
“My daughter, I know this is a totally strange phenomenon to you children of nowadays. But to us old folks, we understand it, we are closer to it. She is still here with us; her soul has not yet departed for the ancestral land, it is still hovering over the body, guarding it. It will start its journey the third day after burial. Now, my daughter, you know she is grieved, just go and talk to her. Persuade her to cease crying.”
The old woman persisted until Nambuye agreed to go and console Jane. Anyesi called other elderly women, and together, they escorted Nambuye back to Jane’s bedside. Encouraged by the elderly women, Nambuye held a handkerchief in one hand and stood over Jane’s weeping corpse.
“My daughter, she uttered solemnly, “You know that I am your mother. I sacrificed all I had in my struggle to save you, but death, oh death, you prevailed against me! And so it snatched you, the Peter’s pearl and the charm of my home, from us. Please Jane!” Nambuye shrieked, “Stop crying! I will keep your word. I won’t let them take you away. They only came to see you, but I am the one who will bury you…We love you…So stop weeping now, Jane…”
At this Juncture, Nambuye stooped and wiped the tears from Jane’s closed eyes, and Jane ceased weeping immediately. A few moments later, the nauseating stench also vanished from the house and Jane’s smiling, brown face returned.
* * * * * * * * * *
The day Peter had brought Jane home from Naivasha, where they had met, loved and married each other while working in a floricultural company called Sulumac Flowers Ltd, their arrival in Nyasi Village had caused quite a sensation for several days. They had arrived, walking hand in hand at a leisurely pace, with resplendent travellers bags strapped neatly on their backs like tourists. They were smartly dressed: Jane was in a blue sports jacket, a well-fitting white blouse, a red mini-skirt, white Reebok shoes and white socks. Peter was clad in a green sports jacket, red T-shirt, blue cowboy jeans and white Reebok shoes. This peculiar sight attracted the attention of the entire village.
The strange, little lady was extremely beautiful in every aspect: she had a short, slim stature, a young flawless, a very rosy-brown face with curly black hair, and full, sensuous thick lips that readily parted in smile to expose spotless white teeth. Her big beautiful innocent eyes that rolled keenly as she squinted around, were fixed on Pater;s face most of the time as she posed curious questions in reaction to the new, strange environment with scattered mud houses, gurgling rivers and streams and mowing cows. It was in the glamorous sunset of November 20th 1991; the sun was just a gigantic red ball over Mt. Elgon, the entire western horizon was splashed in flaming golden colours. The splendid couple was coming home for honeymoon and matrimonial settlement.
“Peter, is that the famous Mt. Elgon?” Jane pointed excitedly at the jutting peaks of the hazy mountain, basking in the rich golden rays of the setting sun.
“Yes” Her enchanted spouse replied.
They conversed in Swahili and English all the time, an indication that she was of a different ethnicity.
* * * * * * * *
In the afternoon of the following day, I was at Peter’s house seated under the sprawling bougainvillea flower in front of their house, listening to Peter’s rare melodramatic love spree with Jane while the bride prepared a cup of tea for us. It transpired between us, and later throughout the entire village that the beautiful lady was not only Peter’s visiting workmate, but his wife, and phenomenally, she was of Kikuyu origin!
“We married against the will of Jane’s mother,” Peter confessed to me, his brown handsome face beaming with satisfaction. I smiled admiringly at him.
“Actually Simiyu, we could not help it! It was a Romeo And Juliet affair! I know you are as educated as I am but you are a born again Christian, and therefore, I doubt if you believe in romance. Have you ever heard of love at first sight? Love so deep and unfathomable that you are ready to risk anything for the sake of that love? I have never loved like this, Simiyu, and I don’t think I will ever love like this!”
“Now, Peter, why was Jane’s mother opposed to your marriage?” I queried, knowing very well it was because of the strong cultural prejudices between our two tribes.
“Are you not a Bukusu? Don’t you know that there have always been strong cultural clashes between the Luhyas and the Kikuyus,” Peter answered without hesitation.
“When Jane’s mother learned of our blossoming love, she sternly forbade her daughter never ever to commit her life to me. But, as I have already confessed to you, our love was deeper than the deepest lake in this country, and it transcended all the prejudices of the two tribes put together, and we soon declared our unwavering plan to marry. When Jane’s mother heard about our adamant plan to marry, she pronounced a curse over our marriage, and vowed never to visit Jane’s matrimonial home if she ever got married to me. You know, Jane’s her only child, her most precious thing in the world, and she has no father. Poor old woman; She went mad with rage, and was completely pissed off when we finally abandoned our jobs and headed west. We are head over heels in love with each other, pal.”
By now, Jane had finished serving us with milk-rich tea and she had now taken her place beside her spouse. As Peter confessed his love for Jane for the umpteenth time, he put his hand tenderly around Jane’s shoulders. At her husband’s loving touch, she responded with a direct amorous look into Peter’s eyes, making go green with envy! It is very true indeed, this Romeo And Juliet affair, I pondered silently. Peter’s young, boisterous, romantic and adventurous character closely resembled that of Romeo, while Jane’s rare, rosy, sensuous beauty perfectly marched that of Juliet. Jane admired Peter’s face with its brown complexion and its black, bushy side whiskers, to say nothing of his hairy body---especially around the chest, hands, and legs---and his deep, soft sonorous voice.

For several weeks, Peter and Jane faced hostility and fiery criticism from all the people in Nyasi Village, but despite this scathing attacks, the young couple, like a lonely lily in a desert, was here to stay.
Opicho, our old next door neighbour lashed out at the strange marriage:
“This women from central Kenya are notorious for running away with children! And children are our most precious legacy; Peter is ruined unless he marries a second wife who is a Bukusu. In fact, according to our culture, marrying from a strange tribe is not a strange thing, but this kind of marriage is void, and therefore, a man has to marry a second wife who is truly a Bukusu. Now, I pity Peter. These Kikuyu women are also very well known for their boundless greed for money; they even murder their husbands in order to inherit their wealth. Can they make good wives for our sons?”

Jane and Peter had not only abandoned their parents but their jobs too. No sooner had they been married for barely one year than Jane was completely assimilated into our Bukusu community, absorbing all our cultural values and practices with relish, and learning the Bukusu language at an extraordinarily rapid rate. Jane also esteemed the elderly folk and treated us young folk with courtesy. This earned Jane a soft spot in the hearts of both the young and the old in Nyasi Village. In fact, by the time Jane and Peter had their first born, Davy, more than a year later, one could hardly distinguish Jane from the rest of our community; she was like one who was born and brought up there. The cultural prejudices were just a social man-made barrier; and what man makes, he can also break.

Jane’s industriousness in farming and business ventures soon started bearing some wealth for them, and soon they opened a business in Kisumu town, in Nyanza province, about one hundred and fifty kilometres from Nyasi Village. Jane ran and managed this business while Peter, like myself, enjoyed farming, and we were always together, exchanging farming technology and ideas.

Soon, we were surprised to hear that Jane’s mother was also running a business in Kisumu and that she was meeting frequently with her daughter, but she was adamant on her stance that she would never step in Jane’s matrimonial home. There was this fateful day on which Jane’s mother walked into Jane’s business stall with some packed lunch and insisted they share the food. As mother and daughter enjoyed the dish, the mother said she could just do with a cold soda. The innocent girl swallowed much of the food; the mother was inwardly filled with ecstasy; her long desired sinister, vindictive mission was being accomplished through the food that her daughter was eating.

The following day, Jane fell suddenly sick, and she never recovered from that sickness; it was a slow, excruciating sickness that gnawed at her slowly, for eleven interminable months; it defied all the stout endeavours made by Peter and his entire family to save her life.

On the morning of February twentieth, that year, while Peter and the rest of the family were weeding maize on the farm, and Jane was lying on a sack next to where Peter was digging, Jane said to her husband:
“Peter, since all my people have refused to visit me while I am sick and bedridden, don’t let them see my corpse when I am dead.”
Peter was stunned. He gazed wordlessly at his once lovely wife, who was now slightly wrinkled at the forehead, her once rosy, brown face now emaciated and haggard.
“Jane, what are you talking about?” Peter asked in a disturbed, anxious voice.
“I mean every word of it, Peter.” Jane replied even more dolefully, tears gleaming in her beautiful eyes. Her once young flawless face was now aged and haggard.
“Don’t let them see my corpse.” She repeated sternly.
“Don’t talk like that, Janny.” Peter said. “You are not going to die, darling. God knows you are not going to die. I need you. David needs you…”
Then, suddenly, when the other members of the family were just starting to show their reaction to this strange conversation between Peter and his wife, Jane’s facial expression changed and she smiled at Peter and changed the topic.
“By the way, my dear, in a long while, we have not taken a family photo,” she suggested, “is it possible for us to take one today?”
“So you are suggesting we take one today?”
“Yes, please after work.” Jane replied and lay back on her sack.
She passed away quietly, at eight o’clock that evening.
* * * * * * * * * * *
A sizeable crowd of women had already gathered in Peter’s compound when I arrived; they were all wailing bitterly. I walked straight into Peter’s house. And there on the bed, at the centre of the sitting room, Jane lay serenely, as though in deep sleep. She had not lost even a bit of her jovial mood. There was now a permanent, triumphant smile on her emaciated face and lips, the smile of one who had conquered a stubborn enemy.

I stood beside the bed, gazing down at her smiling face. I felt a strange impulse and I obeyed it. I stopped over, stretched my hand and touched her cheek. It was still warm. Peter sat motionless in a chair at the head of the bed, staring tearfully at Jane’s face.
“Dan, she has left me.” He said in a voice laden with tears.
“Jane,” I called, “so you have left us?”

As I uttered those words, my own suppressed emotions also came cascading with them, and tears gushed uncontrollably down my cheeks. In all my life, I had never wept publicly in a funeral, but in Jane’s funeral it was different in a strange way. I walked out of the house, wailing a loud. Then, something that had never happened before in our village happened: Peter followed suit. Then all our male age mates and peer friends joined us. It was so strange to see young men wailing in one enormous group. We had broken yet another taboo; men were not supposed to wail in public. But at Jane’s death, it was good to weep.

THE TAMED SNAKE.

2005-11-08T04:27:00.000-08:00

One Wednesday evening during our August holiday, I was weeding cowpeas in our banana garden when I heard hens clucking and making nervous, jerky motions. I left my hoe and snooped cautiously towards the scene.
What I saw nearly knocked the last breath out of me. It was a long, thick, gleaming, black serpent with a chain of beautiful, multi-coloured beads around its neck.
There had always been rampant rumours around Nyasi village that Martie’s late father had been a keeper of a hideous enormous snake, although I had personally never encountered the monster. In fact, people were so much used to the snake that they never bothered themselves so much whenever they spotted it among the bananas or in the bushes. One could just remark in cynical, helpless horror: “There’s the monster!” and hurry away.
And nobody ever dared to kill the snake, because you do not do that and stay alive; the snake possessed potent powers of witchcraft. Marties’s father had been a fearsome neighbour and no one in the entire village ever trifled with him. We children were always sternly warned not to trespass or pluck a fruit on his farm. Even long after he was dead, his spirit still haunted the farm and the banana garden.
Martie’s homestead was next to our banana garden in the moist depression at the extreme western end of our farm. People had always feared passing through this valley at night claiming that Walucho, Martie’s father used to snoop among the bananas after twilight to take his monstrous pet out for an evening stroll…
I seized a stout lose pole from the fence and started stalking the serpent. She was staring at me unblinkingly, fearlessly, and somehow mockingly. There was something mystic, mysterious and daunting in her small, still eyes that gave me the jitters.
For one horrible, breathless moment, my entire body trembled with fear as our eyes met. Her eyes were so cold and merciless and haunting. My hand started shaking violently as I lifted the pole up. So I decided to hold the pole with both hands; I lifted it up above my head, and then brought it down swiftly upon the head of the serpent. The words in the Bible, which God addressed to the serpent, “I shall put great enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her seed; her offspring will crush your head, and you will bite their heel,” rang clearly in my mind.
With another frantic stroke, I crashed the head of the serpent. She writhed in pain for a long, long time before she lay limp and motionless on the ground while I stood there, gasping for breath and perspiring furiously around my forehead and under the armpits. Then, when I was sure the monster was completely dead, I turned and walked away towards the entrance.
As I emerged from the garden, the first person I spotted was Eliza’s brother Tom, who was strolling outside their homestead.
“Tom!” I shouted nervously at the top of my voice, “I’ve killed a very huge snake! Can you please come and help me drag it to the toilet?” My voice sounded tremulous and shaky. But instead of Tom coming to help me he disappeared quickly into their compound. After a moment, Petro and his entire family popped out and all curiously rushed to the garden.
In no time our banana garden was flooded with curious people. And since nobody wanted to have anything to do with this dreadful serpent, which was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people near and far, I decided to drag it to the toilet pit unassisted.
The unconcealable horror on the faces of the people, and the whispered conversations were enough to convey the magnitude of my offence. And to accentuate the dreadfulness of my disastrous act, no one from Martie’s family came to the scene, which was just about two hundred metres away from Martie’s compound.
Fortunately for me, at that time, my father was still away at work at Lulu Lulu Farm, and mother had attended a church function at Shangalamwe Catholic Church.
That night, there was great mourning and lamentation in Martie’s compound. Martie’s mother gathered all the family members and performed a mourning ceremony close to that accorded a dead human being. Later that evening, Martie was sent to our home to notify our family that the total number of days the person who had murdered their ‘daughter’ had to live on this earth was thirty days!
“Serve you right!” Father growled in a startled response, “You will go into the grave alone! Yes, let all your evil deeds go with you! As for me I’ve played my part to bring you up. For the last four months, I’ve persistently warned you against these lunatic protestant ideas, which claim there is no power and harm in witchcraft. But you have given me a deaf ear all along. For now, I wash my hands. Let no harm come to any other members of the family. In fact, soon I shall slaughter a sheep to perform a cleansing ritual to purge my family of the potency of the witchcraft.”
“Father,” I replied dauntlessly and almost cheekily, “What I know is that snakes are there to be killed, says the Bible. Oh, in fact, they are a symbol of Satan! I shall always kill every snake that I come across, whether it is black, white, red, or blue! And there’s no harm in killing snakes, in Jesus’ name!” I retorted aplomply.
Father narrowed his dazed eyes and stared at me wordlessly for a long, long moment without saying anything. Then he dipped a hand in one of his coat pockets, took out a cigarette, stuck it to his lips asked Mildred to give him a glowing faggot. He and lit the cigarette and small billows of smoke started ensuing from his lips and mouth as we sat there in dreadful silence, in our kitchen, waiting for supper.

I FOUGHT WITH SPIRITS FROM THE TWILIGHT ZONE.

2005-11-08T03:45:00.000-08:00

THROUGHOUT my childhood my mother Magdalena often used to remind me of my unusual birth. I was born on November 11th 1971 on a white settler’s farm in Trans-Nzoia District where my parents were squatters.

While I was undertaking a computer course at Microtown Computer Centre in Kitale town in October 1994, I managed
To feed the above dates into the computer and asked it to tell me the exact day on which Iwas born. The amazing machine
Revealed that the day was a Thursday. And , indeed, facts in my file at Kiminini Catholic Church where I was baptized at the age of three months reveal the same details.

Three months after I was born, I developed a baffling abnormality. My stomach bulged and remained inflated like a balloon.This strange symptom was soon accompanied by persistent crying, restlessness, and sleeplessness at night.

After many sleepless nights, and the agony endeavouring vainly to lull me to sleep, my mother decided to consult a witchdoctor to establish the cause of this strange malady.

Julius the Diviner was the most powerful witchdoctor in those days. My mother said that no sooner had she stepped into the diviner’s eerie hut than the spirits called her by name.
“Our daughter,’’ they said in eerie unison, “We know you. Your name is Nabangala.You have a sick child at home and you have come to consult us about the cause of the sickness.Is that true our daughter?’
“Yes, my esteemed grandfathers,’ mother answered in a tremulous voice, bowing at the shrine.
“Then do as our master will tell you and we shall solve your problem.’Then their eerie voices receded into whispers.
At that juncture, Julius the Diviner spoke, requesting my mother to sit down. She sat down on the lone traditional stool opposite the weird shrine.
“My daughter,’ the famous witchdoctor said, “pay the usual consultation fee, and five shillings for the herbs’

After she had paid the consultation fee, the spirits told her that I was being haunted by the spirit of my paternal grandfather who was seeking I be named after him .The spirits elaborated the nature of the sacrifice and the rituals it entailed in order to appease and invite the restless spirit of my grandfather into our home and into my life.

On the night after which this ritual was performed, I slept very peacefully, and a few days later, my distended stomach diminished.

Since that time, I was fondly called by the name of my grandfather, Murambakania, and reared up as a pious Catholic Sunday School child; in fact, I was one of the Massboys at our Kiminini Catholic Church, until I attained the age of eighteen. At that age, a very strange and supernatural experience occurred to me that changed my life for ever.

It was on the fateful night of Sunday the 16th of April, 1989, at around 9:30pm, while in the kitchen with our eldest sister Mary Nekesa , who was preaching to me , that I decided to change and be a born again Christian.

At the time of this momentous experience I was just completing my first in Form One at Nabunga High School, and I had just sat for my Catholic Seminary interview in preparation to join Saint Thomas Aquinas College in Nairobi to pursue Catholic Priesthood, after my “O’ Level.This was in accordance with my parents’ plans.

By the way, my sister Mary is married with seven children, and she lives in West Pokot District.At the time of this tremendous event, she had just paid us a visit to bring the testimony of her conversion to our parents, but her new faith and testimony was strongly rebuffed by our entire family.

On Monday the 17th very early in the morning, Mary, together with the rest of the visitors, left for West Pokot. After seeing her off at Kiminini bus stage, I returned to our home in Nyasi Village, feeling lonely and vulnerable to the imminent, strong forces of opposition which I was bound to face from my stern parents. My father was a very stern and strict parent, he was also an adhering Bukusu traditionalist.
Now one evening a few weeks later, while we were seated in the sitting room, my father paused amid his smoking session- he liked smoking after supper- and asked me:
‘My son, now that you claim to be born again like your sister Mary, and now that you are calling everyone in this home a devil, and I hear that you are even calling me Lucifer himself when I’m drunk, will you also renounce the great name of your grandfather ?’
I told him that the name in itself was harmless, but the traditional rituals it entailed was what would make me reject it.

In our clan , ounce you are named after an ancestor, it is believed that you have inherited his or her character; in fact, you are his or her reincarnation.
For instance, in January 1989, our entire clan of Bakhwami gathered in our home to offer a sacrifice to this paternal grandfather Murambakania. During this ritual I was placed at the shrine of the departed ancestor, and received the sacrifice on his behalf. They offered blood and meat to this ancestor while I sat quietly at the shrine and watched everything in ewe for the required length of time before I joined the rest in the ceremony.
In fact, I was my father’s favourite son, and I was adored just the same way my grandfather , Murambakania was adored when he was alive.
So my father showed great concern and frustration the moment he realised I was no longer worshiping, adoring or honouring the ancestors including my grandfather. When I confirmed to him that I was totally against that name, he replied:
“Well, my son, I warn you in advance, just as I had warned you earlier on: do not trifle around with that sacred name, Murambakania. Your grandfather can be very deadly and vicious at times when he is provoked. You may deny him now, but be sure he will haunt you to death.I, your father, have spoken to you as I’m the one who sired and named you after him.May his spirit avenge itself.That is all, my son”.
Then I told him: “Father, there’s no power under heaven that’s greater than that of Jesus Christ,and there is no other name that is greater than the name of Jesus Christ. It is the name above all names, and every shall bow before Him and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord! Let me tell you , father, I shall pray and bind this troublesome name and spirit called Murambakania in the name of Jesus !”
My father’s eyes bulged and with total flabbergation and bafflement. He replied in a gruffy tone: “My son, how dare you blasfame the ancestors? We shall see.” And then he retired into his bedroom in a huff.

That night, you can well imagine what the subject of my prayer was .While alone in my cottage, I prayed fervently and rebuked the name and spirit of Murambakania many times. Finally, I commanded and bound it, telling it to leave me alone and go to hell , its respective destination. Then, with overwhelming peace and assurance, I slumped into bed and soon I was sound asleep.
But shortly after midnight, I was awakened by a screeching noise and loud bangs on the door. Then, the door rattled open , and some shuffling , spooky, obscure human-like shadows groped into my room.
One of them took the table noisily and turned it upside down. The other one dislodged all the stools, throwing them in different directions.The third one , with ponderous footsteps, leaped towards me.
He pounced on me like a mighty, angry cat, and our combined weight made my safari bed squeak.
“Who are you?” I screamed in breathless terror, ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m your grandfather Murambakania,’ the spook rumbled in a throaty, malevolent tone, ‘You have forsaken me! You are up to no good .You are profaning my name and I have come to kill you because of all these offences! And I’m killing you right now!’
But just before those chilly, lifeless fingers closed in on my throat, I managed to utter a great, ear-piercing scream : ‘In the name of Jesus! Oh, Jes-s-us! In Jesus’ name! Go away! You evil spirits! Go to hell!…’
Immediately, the spooky shadow fell on the floor with a loud thud, then there was some more shuffling and screeching noises, followed by dead silence.