The midday sun did
little to dampen my excitement. Though not owning watches we could easily tell
the time simply by erecting a small straight twig on the ground and looking at
which direction the shadow went. I’ll admit though we had, on few occasions,
found ourselves trooping the flock home with only to be met with angry
reprimands from my grandma.
“oyu mwavinguia indo nowo mutungite?!!!” (“how can you return the livestock after such a short time of grazing?”), she would scream, “au akooka…!!!” (when your dad comes…”).
That sentence would be left trailing ominously and our young inventive minds would only be left to speculate on what creative retribution my dad would concoct with his famous belt. Such threats were adequate for us to take a U-turn and take the annoying livestock back to the pastures.
I hated herding with a passion. My hatred for this occupation was magnified by one creature whose culinary delights I have come to love in my adult life. The goat. You seen, the sluggish cattle, with their dour countenance, were predictable just as was the stupid sheep whose collective brain was in the hands of an even more stupid matriarch sheep.
But the goat- a free thinker, gluttonous, unpredictable, fast, cunning and randy- was such a pain. You only needed to get your mind preoccupied for a few minutes on the pubescent girl that you had met at the catechism last Sunday, and by the time your faraway look left your face, and your mind back to herding, would you realize that all the goats had invaded your loudmouthed neighbor’s shamba and were enjoying a buffet of choice plants-flourishing maize and beans, peas, pumpkin and generally plundering every available plant. We would race to try to salvage the damage but the terrain in Kilungu was unforgiving: It was hilly, separated by ridges and the homesteads were generally built at a vantage point, such that you could see all that was happening below as well as the hill opposite. The loudmouthed neighbor only needed to sit under a tree outside her hut masticating on some cassavas and maintaining a hawk-eyed surveillance to notice the latest transgression.
She would then loudly and liberally unleash choice insults that our young ears would ordinarily not be meant for and wrap up with a vow to kuoka in the morning. Generally kuoka is appearing at your neighbor’s homestead unusually early (against decorum) and the term carries a negative connotation, since the visitor will most likely have a bone to pick. It was on many such a mornings that we found ourselves sipping hot trunki (black tea) as we chewed on last night’s muthokoi, with fingers crossed and our hearts in our mouths. For any moment the offended neighbor would appear, seeking reparations and generally rebuking us for wanting her not to eat isyo. She never failed to appear.
My excitement on this day was of a different nature. I had, on spotting some girl during our catechism classes at the local church, felt my first rush of hormones (or was it blood?). She had passed by me while holding her younger sibling’s hand and my young mind had noted that she stood out rather conspicuously. Smooth faced, very white set of teeth with a modest gap between them, and a nice round bottom.
I had taken a mental note of all these and it was therefore not difficult for my female cousin Mwelu to deduce who she was by my description.
One may wonder why I could not have approached the nymph by myself. Two reasons: I was extremely shy and second, it was against the norms of our village to approach a girl so openly. You needed emissaries to do the job of checking if there are any blood relations between you and her, as well as establish if she was already being courted by a close relation. On these two my cousin answered in the negative.
It was thus hurriedly decided that my cousin would convey to her the lust I felt for her and arrange a rendezvous. I do not know how Mwelu conveyed that particular message but I got feedback that she was purportedly interested in me too. I was on cloud nine. This was easier than I had thought! Seeing how successful Mwelu had been with this assignment, I delegated the rest of the tasks to her. She was to sneak the girl into my hut later in the evening.
As we herded the animals back to the homestead, my emotions kept shifting between lustful excitement and trepidation. You see, the plan was that my cousin would bring the girl over to my hut, hang around briefly and then feign an excuse to leave. From that point on I would take charge. One little problem: I had never been with a girl in a room! Not in my adolescent life, at least. What would I tell her? It is at this point I wished I had taken lessons from my uncle Musyoka who seemed to know what to tell girls and would often be seen driving them into cackles effortlessly. A man can try, I figured. I replayed in my head all the nice things that I thought a man should tell a girl and my confidence level improved drastically.
After incarcerating the livestock and taking lunch under the kithulu tree as was the custom, I sauntered towards my hut so as to catch my afternoon nap. It was a nap filled with images of the girl, and with me charming her with my wit and humor as she hang on to my every word. I would then show her my picture album and explain to her where all those exotic looking places were and who those interesting people were. It was at this point that our eyes should meet (at least going by the few romance novels I had read) and the rest would flow. No need for structured conversation from this point.
I awoke from my musings towards evening to a cool refreshing breeze, took a quick bath and adorned my most treasured outfit in anticipation. The occasional pangs of fear would grip me but I had now taken them in stride.
Fast forward to 8pm. I have been sitting in my hut, illuminated by the powerful kerosene lantern, with freshly polished glass, trying to read through a very old edition of Readers Digest. A knock. I rush to open. No its not who I’m expecting, it’s my other cousin coming to borrow the lantern for a short while because the brooding chicken has not come home. Hurry up!, I command her sternly. Another knock. Yes, it’s my two visitors, found me putting away a rather generous mound of muthokoi. Let me get you spoons. No protests so I busy myself fetching spoons from the kitchen. My cousin and my prey are engaged in a duologue that I find hard to understand. The girl is nervous, she has not looked at me in the face since she got in.
We finish the food and I nosily gulp some rainwater from a calabash. As if on cue, my cousin starts to excuse herself, with feeble incoherent protests from both of us. Mwelu leaves. The prey is beginning to look very nervous, rubbing her hands together. No eye contact yet. I try to remember the well choreographed sequence of my plans but her nervousness had caught on me too. I clear my throat.
“so you are XXX’s sister?”
“yes”
Some uncomfortable silence.
“what class are you now?”
“form one”
“me too”
Silence. This time for a full minute. I need to take charge here.
“which school are you”
“Vyula girls secondary school”
More uncomfortable silence.
“si we go in to that room?”, I dare
“i'm ok here”, she shoots back
More silence. Five minutes. I’m sweating. Nudging myself to be more bold.
“lets just go to that room”, as I hold her hand
“no, i’m ok here”
More silence. I’m now confused. I remain silent for 5 minutes, not knowing what to say.
“Please escort me, I want to go home”, she finally requests.
Lord! This was more difficult than I anticipated.
“so you do not want?”
“want what?”, she retorts
“you know what I mean!”
“Another day”, she replies.
It was the most torturous half hour of my adolescent life. But to save face this is the conversation I had with my cousin:
“did you….”, my cousin asked
“of course!”
“I could see the girl was into you”, She said triumphantly.
I nodded, taking stock of the events of that half hour. What a night!
“oyu mwavinguia indo nowo mutungite?!!!” (“how can you return the livestock after such a short time of grazing?”), she would scream, “au akooka…!!!” (when your dad comes…”).
That sentence would be left trailing ominously and our young inventive minds would only be left to speculate on what creative retribution my dad would concoct with his famous belt. Such threats were adequate for us to take a U-turn and take the annoying livestock back to the pastures.
I hated herding with a passion. My hatred for this occupation was magnified by one creature whose culinary delights I have come to love in my adult life. The goat. You seen, the sluggish cattle, with their dour countenance, were predictable just as was the stupid sheep whose collective brain was in the hands of an even more stupid matriarch sheep.
But the goat- a free thinker, gluttonous, unpredictable, fast, cunning and randy- was such a pain. You only needed to get your mind preoccupied for a few minutes on the pubescent girl that you had met at the catechism last Sunday, and by the time your faraway look left your face, and your mind back to herding, would you realize that all the goats had invaded your loudmouthed neighbor’s shamba and were enjoying a buffet of choice plants-flourishing maize and beans, peas, pumpkin and generally plundering every available plant. We would race to try to salvage the damage but the terrain in Kilungu was unforgiving: It was hilly, separated by ridges and the homesteads were generally built at a vantage point, such that you could see all that was happening below as well as the hill opposite. The loudmouthed neighbor only needed to sit under a tree outside her hut masticating on some cassavas and maintaining a hawk-eyed surveillance to notice the latest transgression.
She would then loudly and liberally unleash choice insults that our young ears would ordinarily not be meant for and wrap up with a vow to kuoka in the morning. Generally kuoka is appearing at your neighbor’s homestead unusually early (against decorum) and the term carries a negative connotation, since the visitor will most likely have a bone to pick. It was on many such a mornings that we found ourselves sipping hot trunki (black tea) as we chewed on last night’s muthokoi, with fingers crossed and our hearts in our mouths. For any moment the offended neighbor would appear, seeking reparations and generally rebuking us for wanting her not to eat isyo. She never failed to appear.
My excitement on this day was of a different nature. I had, on spotting some girl during our catechism classes at the local church, felt my first rush of hormones (or was it blood?). She had passed by me while holding her younger sibling’s hand and my young mind had noted that she stood out rather conspicuously. Smooth faced, very white set of teeth with a modest gap between them, and a nice round bottom.
I had taken a mental note of all these and it was therefore not difficult for my female cousin Mwelu to deduce who she was by my description.
One may wonder why I could not have approached the nymph by myself. Two reasons: I was extremely shy and second, it was against the norms of our village to approach a girl so openly. You needed emissaries to do the job of checking if there are any blood relations between you and her, as well as establish if she was already being courted by a close relation. On these two my cousin answered in the negative.
It was thus hurriedly decided that my cousin would convey to her the lust I felt for her and arrange a rendezvous. I do not know how Mwelu conveyed that particular message but I got feedback that she was purportedly interested in me too. I was on cloud nine. This was easier than I had thought! Seeing how successful Mwelu had been with this assignment, I delegated the rest of the tasks to her. She was to sneak the girl into my hut later in the evening.
As we herded the animals back to the homestead, my emotions kept shifting between lustful excitement and trepidation. You see, the plan was that my cousin would bring the girl over to my hut, hang around briefly and then feign an excuse to leave. From that point on I would take charge. One little problem: I had never been with a girl in a room! Not in my adolescent life, at least. What would I tell her? It is at this point I wished I had taken lessons from my uncle Musyoka who seemed to know what to tell girls and would often be seen driving them into cackles effortlessly. A man can try, I figured. I replayed in my head all the nice things that I thought a man should tell a girl and my confidence level improved drastically.
After incarcerating the livestock and taking lunch under the kithulu tree as was the custom, I sauntered towards my hut so as to catch my afternoon nap. It was a nap filled with images of the girl, and with me charming her with my wit and humor as she hang on to my every word. I would then show her my picture album and explain to her where all those exotic looking places were and who those interesting people were. It was at this point that our eyes should meet (at least going by the few romance novels I had read) and the rest would flow. No need for structured conversation from this point.
I awoke from my musings towards evening to a cool refreshing breeze, took a quick bath and adorned my most treasured outfit in anticipation. The occasional pangs of fear would grip me but I had now taken them in stride.
Fast forward to 8pm. I have been sitting in my hut, illuminated by the powerful kerosene lantern, with freshly polished glass, trying to read through a very old edition of Readers Digest. A knock. I rush to open. No its not who I’m expecting, it’s my other cousin coming to borrow the lantern for a short while because the brooding chicken has not come home. Hurry up!, I command her sternly. Another knock. Yes, it’s my two visitors, found me putting away a rather generous mound of muthokoi. Let me get you spoons. No protests so I busy myself fetching spoons from the kitchen. My cousin and my prey are engaged in a duologue that I find hard to understand. The girl is nervous, she has not looked at me in the face since she got in.
We finish the food and I nosily gulp some rainwater from a calabash. As if on cue, my cousin starts to excuse herself, with feeble incoherent protests from both of us. Mwelu leaves. The prey is beginning to look very nervous, rubbing her hands together. No eye contact yet. I try to remember the well choreographed sequence of my plans but her nervousness had caught on me too. I clear my throat.
“so you are XXX’s sister?”
“yes”
Some uncomfortable silence.
“what class are you now?”
“form one”
“me too”
Silence. This time for a full minute. I need to take charge here.
“which school are you”
“Vyula girls secondary school”
More uncomfortable silence.
“si we go in to that room?”, I dare
“i'm ok here”, she shoots back
More silence. Five minutes. I’m sweating. Nudging myself to be more bold.
“lets just go to that room”, as I hold her hand
“no, i’m ok here”
More silence. I’m now confused. I remain silent for 5 minutes, not knowing what to say.
“Please escort me, I want to go home”, she finally requests.
Lord! This was more difficult than I anticipated.
“so you do not want?”
“want what?”, she retorts
“you know what I mean!”
“Another day”, she replies.
It was the most torturous half hour of my adolescent life. But to save face this is the conversation I had with my cousin:
“did you….”, my cousin asked
“of course!”
“I could see the girl was into you”, She said triumphantly.
I nodded, taking stock of the events of that half hour. What a night!
