toto times: BAD MANNERS.. -
09-12-2002, 01:44 PM
People,
I think this is the place fit to clear my name and off load kidogo.
This is for Boyi who refused to play with me because I was allegedly caught doing bad manners with Juko. This is to Kabebi who refused to share her chips with me coz she had heard that I was caught doing bad manners and her parents told her not to associate with me coz I had bad manners germs. This is mostly to Njeri who greatly affected my life in a way she might never come to know. This is for Jimmy who after hearing the allegations and after seeing how all the other children were treating me (as if I was covered in boils) took advantage of my needy situation (he was in standard 5 and I in 1) and told me to show him my panty if I wanted to play with his quoro. When I refused, he was furious and told everyone in the esto that anyone caught playing with me(except Juko of course) would be branded a badmanners-er! And boy, that was a lethal name to carry around in those days and times.
Rumors flew high in that little estate of ours. From the kids to the watchies, from the watchies to the housies, from a housie seeking favor from her madam to her madam...halalala then it was fire works.
This is to all those in our compound huko Milimani who disowned me, made me play all by myself (with Juko of course though our parents had forbade us to play together) because I had allegedly been caught doing bad manners with Juko.
Today I will tell it as it was. Nobody ever wanted to hear my part of the story...today you will hear it as it was... from that standard one girl, with big eyes and big knees who dreamt big and was not afraid to pursue her dreams. From the standard one girl who was allegedly caught doing bad manners with Juko.
My parents always wanted me to be a doctor like Uncle Matulu so every time he came to visit right after his early night shifts, they would tell me to ask him how it was that one because a doctor. He would sometimes carry his stethoscope and let me listen to his heart beat. With the initial seed planted by my parents and those cool instruments involved, I decided I was going to be a doctor like uncle Matulu.
I did not tell anyone of my decision, for I wanted to surprise them. I only told Juko, my best of friends. That morning as we were playing cha-mama together, I told him (as we eat our "supper" of hibiscus leaves mixed with bougainvillea flowers, served in cowboy metal dishes, set on our dinning table, a rock) I told him of my newly acquired dream and my plans to become a doctor before the December holidays were over.
As we drunk our water, collected from the puddles made by yesterday's rain showers, he asked me how I would be able to do it, become a doctor that is. I told him of all that uncle Matulu had told me about becoming a doctor and how I had figured it out: the path that I would take.
On that day, we had the pleasure of having dessert with our meal so as we pretended to eat the slug Juko had salted that morning to a slimy paste, I told him that Unko (uncle) said that I needed to go to a doctors school and learn from a doctor teacher. I also needed to practice what I was taught on a live person. I then decided that uncle would be my teacher and Juko my specimen.
Every time unko came home, I had a fresh load of questions to ask him. He would usually laugh gently at my enthusiasm then would tell me all I needed to know.
Little did I know that my newly acquired dream would go sour on a chilling Tuesday morning. As always (with exceptions of Christmas and those days where bread, milk and sugar where rationed) breakfast was chai with mkate pakwad with mingi blue band almost like the way they paka it in that ka commercial of theirs. I was earlier than usual for it was a day of big plans. My first practical.
The tea was too hot, so I pleaded with Auntie Kathembe (jua the way we call housies auntie, this is that case) to pooesha it for me. She took out a plastic bowl and sukumad that chai in circles until she was convinced that it was cooler. For further cooling, she poured the chai into my cup, waterfall style until it formed a frothy layer which I loved to dissolve in my mouth.
As usual, it was dunking style. I don't know of anyone who has not dunked their loaf in their chai. If you havent this is one of those things you must indulge in in life. I must confess, I still do it at the age of 23. I remember that absolutely divine taste of melted blue band mixed with chai, and how I was always conscious about ever journey my hand made into the tea and that anticipated and very tasteful exodus back to my mouth. On that fateful Tuesday, it was all different. My mind was not on the dinning table that morning. Even Kathembe noticed that I did not try to steal my brethrens share of the fresh Elliot bread, isoscelesly cut, smear with mingi blue band offcourse! She went as far as placing her wet-dishwashing soapy hand on my forehead to check if I might be have developing homa but reluctantly concluded that all was well.
My mind was a raging river of ideas as a finished my bread and quickly drunk up the tea remaining in my cup. I had under estimated the temperature of the tea and got scolded on the tongue, but today, nothing was holding me back. I took the empty cup to the sink and Kathembe almost fainted when she saw the soggy bread at the base of my cup, a sight she had never seen for I always cleared every piece of bread, soggy or anti-soggy. I quickly dashed to meet Juko at the servants quarters before Kathembe took me hostage under the suspicion of symptoms of homa or even worse malaria. Juko was a bit concerned about getting caught in the servants quarter but I told him not to worry coz we were only playing doctor-doctor.
I quickly removed my thermometer, a stick I had picked on my way to the servant quarter by the Christmas trees. I told Juko to remove his pants and bend over coz I was going to take his temperature before I begun the operation. He was a bit reluctant but because he was my best of friends and wished me only success in my medicine endeavors, he obliged.
As soon as I had stuck the Christmas tree stick between his buttocks with much struggling, Njeri the compound spreader popped her tiny ragged matuta-infested head into the servants quarter. Upon surveying the present proceedings in my sanatorium, she let out another ukunga you would have though it was a dholuo funeral. At first, I did not bother shutting her up because I knew the truth, which was that we were only performing a practical, surely anyone could see that. Juko was in a state of sheer panic, as he tried to remove the stick between his buttocks, with mingi difficulties. At that point, the children of the compound who had gathered earlier on for a game of cha mama poured into the serva as Juko tried without much success to pull his pants over the stick.
All at once bila warning, these ignorant kids burst out into a chorus of haya haisha, Im going to stuck on you
. They did not even give us a chance to clear our names. Before I could utter a single word, Njeri was already in our kitchen telling Kathembe that I was caught doing bad manners. Now Kathembe is my girl to Dee and she would have covered my behind, but on that fateful Tuesday morning, the Alf Romeo had pulled its usual stunts of not running when my dad ignited it. On that fateful day, after pushing the Alf Romeo to and fro the estate an estimated marathon long distance, my dad decided to call Otis. Otis was the mechanic who had dealt with Alf Romeo throughout her existence,(which was not so long coz she was bought second hand three years ago). He quickly assumed position under the hood of the car in his navy blue overalls turned grey-black.
On that fateful Tuesday morning, as my very pissed father paced around Alf Romeo, cursing under his breath for he would surely be very late to work. On that fateful Tuesday as Otis tried his first aid to get Alf Romeo going and just when one though this could not get worse, it begun to drizzle with intent to rain goats and cows. At that exact time when all these disasters were converging Njeri took the opportunity (after Kathembe had dismissed her) to let my father know of my morning activities.
I remember being escorted home surrounded by the compound kids chanting and singing bad manner, bad manner, as Juko broke into bouts of uncontrollable tears. It brought memories of the Jesus movie we had watched on Easter, when a certain woman accused of bad manners was going to be stoned, but alas, they was a happy ending with that saga. Jesus saved her.
This was not the case with my story. I will leave it there
all I can say is that the wreath that came down on me, was Noah and the ark style when God flooded the universe literally
I could not tell which were my tears and which were rain drops as my dad beat me up free style in front of the whole esto without even a decent hearing.
wacha tu!
Now you know what cut. If you know Njeri, Kabebi, Boyi and the kidoz of Millimani esto tell them they were wrong, it was not bad manners but an attempted at my now shattered future career.
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