“DON’T COMPETE WITH ELEPHANTS IN FARTING, YOUR BUTTOCKS WILL BURST!” Oyath, the most notorious bhang smoker and consumer of rwata-rwata, the illicit brew warned.
Anjawo, the brew vendor twisted her shapeless mouth into an ugly smile. She turned left and gave looks of mutual concern to Rahawanya, the food disciple who had just dropped out of school to join notorious consumers of rwata-rwata who spent whole days boozing around the village and doing menial jobs.
Rahawanya was on a mission far beyond his means. Trying to compete with Oyath in bhang smoking was tantamount to signing a death sentence, worse for a boy of his age, seventeen.
He went to his knees with the dizzying effects of the drug, hands on the chest with severe coughs in abundance, let loose his roll of bhang to drop off to the ground. He placed his palms on the earthen floor with a surrender, to support his tired body.
“I told you these things, Anjawo,” Oyath commented, turning his bloodshot red eyes to Anjawo. “This boy was not even supposed to leave school in the first place, simply because he admires us doing our acrobatics after consuming rwata-rwata, he thinks it’s a pleasure but doesn’t know what drives a man worth his salt into reckless drinking.”
“Yawa, stress, and the burden of life on planet earth, can force you to kill your senses by sinking deep into drugs, but such an idiot is cheated that that’s our way of enjoying life,” Anjawo responded, looking sympathetically at Rahawanya.
His head ascended slowly like a heavy log of wood, followed by his body, he wiped his mouth, plonked himself on the seat behind him and sighed with relief. He twisted his face against the looks of his mentors, supported his chin with his right palm and dozed off with a loud snore shortly after.
“I too was cheated, by people like the late Okoko, the father to Momo, deaf, a few years before you got married and introduced to this village. His wife was the most notorious dealer in this brew in those days,” Oyath narrated. “He cajoled me into believing that rwata-rwata is a good drink and frequently offered me a mouthful or two in a glass on my way to and from school. I got addicted and found myself reporting to his home daily for a taste and ended up dropping out before joining secondary school. My parents’ efforts fell apart, they tried until they left me for the dead. But nowadays I do regret, and wish I was given a second chance, I’d strive for the highest achievements in school.”
“No wonder you don’t like Momo,” Anjawo commented.
“No, I can’t hate him for a sin he didn’t commit, I just hate him because he’s violent. When he starts fighting, he can’t leave his opponent until he sees blood dribbling,” Oyath defended.
“But he’s deaf. He can’t hear you crying in surrender. He only believes you’re defeated when he sees blood,” Anjawo explained.
“Of course, yes. I try my best never to rub shoulders with him. He’s extraordinarily strong,” Oyath said with a smile.
“Straight to the spring well,” Anjawo shouted at the sight of her twin daughters, Apiyo and Adongo. “Shed off your school attires and pick buckets, I want to see this mother pot full of water.”
They shook slightly at the entrance of their house but entered and stopped, mesmerized by the sight of their former classmate groaning on a seat at the corner of their house. They exchanged looks and clicked their tongues in a word deficiency situation, proceeded to their mother’s bedroom and emerged in their village attires, then vanished towards the spring well with buckets dangling from their arms.
“You see, even his classmates are shocked,” Anjawo commented.
“It really hurts. Somebody who only a few months ago was giddy with excitement, running up and down in school uniform now looks like a junk-yard material! I pity him,” Oyath commented.
“To be sincere, I too was duped into early marriage at the age of only sixteen,” Anjawo revealed. “The man in his early-thirties frequented our home to visit his crony, my elder brother who cracked a deal to boost their relationship by offering me to him.”
“Were you still in school?” Oyath asked.
“Yes, but those days at sixteen, I was still in Class Seven. Unlike today when a sixteen-year-old pupil is in secondary school,” Anjawo answered.
“How did you allow them, given that school life gives hope to a better future?” Oyath asked.
“Poverty, son of a woman,” Anjawo answered with pleading looks. “He used to entertain my brother by giving him lots of rwata-rwata drinks and pamper me with new clothes and a few coins for my personal use.”
“But why couldn’t you just exploit him but insist on education?” Oyath asked curiously.
“His charms were too powerful for me. The moment I tried to escape is the day I was caught in the trap,” Anjawo explained. “It was one bright Saturday afternoon when I expected him. I fled through the back entrance of our home but on reaching Karemo Shopping Centre, I heard somebody clapping and hissing at me. I wheeled around and felt tortured at the sight of his charming smile in the company of my brother. He volunteered to offer me a ride, together with my brother on his motorbike and lied that we were destined to a bar in Rang’ala for some entertainment only to find myself in a shocking destination of a big traditional Luo home occupied by his kinsmen. The kind of celebration that welcomed me, my brother dancing together with the natives was a proof that this was a well-orchestrated deal. I succumbed to their offer and came to my senses when I was a mother of three, two boys and a girl.”
“How did your parents react?” Oyath asked.
“None of them was bothered. I visited them for the first time when I was already six months pregnant with my first-born son, Okech. The only question they asked was; how is your hubby? Meaning they were aware of the plan even before I was involved in a peaceful abduction,” Anjawo explained with a chuckle.
“What does your brother say now that your hubby has ditched you to the mercy of rwata-rwata consumers after siring eleven children with you and is having a happy moment with another woman in the city?” Oyath asked.
“They’re birds of a feather, he also ditched my sister-in-law and is having a happy moment with another woman in the city. His wife also sells rwata-rwata to make ends meet,” Anjawo explained.
Oyath sighed with sympathy and turned to Rahawanya’s side.
“If he sleeps for long, he’ll start farting and peeing on that seat,” Oyath complained.
“Just leave him alone, he’s like one of my sons, I’ll take care of that,” Anjawo defended.
“How long does it take you to bring water from the spring well?” Anjawo growled at his twin daughters, balancing buckets of water on their heads from the spring well.
“No Mama, the queue was long,” Apiyo the politer of the two apologized but Adongo, known for her arrogant streak gave a wicked glance and whispered back; “What do you think? We disappeared with men?”
Anjawo left her clients in the main house and joined her twin daughters in the mud-walled grass thatched kitchen to give instructions on how to prepare supper.
Roria, the immediate younger brother to the twin girls sneaked in from nowhere and reached out to his mother’s jerrycan of rwata-rwata; “Drink more buddy, drink more.” He filled Oyath’s empty glass with the stolen brew and left.
Oyath scanned around to ensure nobody had seen the domestic thug in action and continued drinking. Whispering praises to himself; “This is a gentleman, the best boy in this family.”
“Where have you been?” Anjawo, seated on a chair in the kitchen shouted at his last-born eleven-year-old playful daughter, Atugo.
“We were still in school, Mama,” she pleaded.
“Take a bucket and rush to the spring well for your bathing water! I don’t have room for dirty people in my house!” Anjawo ordered.
“Please wait we go together,” Njalme, her elder brother and immediate younger brother to Roria emerged from the grass-thatched hut that served as the daughters’ sleeping place and requested.
Oyath gulped down the stolen brew and disappeared through the back entrance of the home, a veil of guilt plastered to his forehead.
“Come over please, more clients,” Rahawanya who woke up later alerted Anjawo and left for the kitchen.
She found Ng’ongo, a gigantic broker in cattle business, Kube, jerry can a man who acquired the nickname from his potbelly that resembled a water jerry can and Momo.
Momo raised his two fingers and drew a circle in the air with his index finger as a sign for Anjawo to go around giving each of the sitting clients the brew worth twenty shillings. She obeyed his order and returned to the kitchen where Rahawanya, known for his big appetite for food was engaging his former classmates in conversations with an aim of getting a share of their supper.
“Mmmm_Mamaaaah!” Atugo cringed at the sight of Wang’erach and moaned in fear. She stood up, placed her dish of fish on the chair and descended to seat on the floor, shoving slowly to hide behind her mum.
“Welcome please, kindly have a seat,” Anjawo picked Atugo’s meal, placed it on her laps and handed over the chair to Wang’erach.
“Why is Atugo cringing away from me in fear, my sister? Did you tell her something bad about me?” Wang’erach asked curiously.
“No, it’s a confusion between respect and fear, sister. I told her that you’re one of the most prominent women in this village and must be accorded the respect you deserve whenever you come here. But she has developed fear instead of respect, just understand, sister,” Anjawo explained.
Wang’erach remained silent, looking at Anjawo suspiciously.
“Welcome please, eat with us,” Adongo pleaded, giving a plate of fish to Wang’erach.
“Eat it with this ugali,” Apiyo added her a lump of ugali.
Rahawanya, having achieved his goal of the day concentrated on eating, neither commenting nor giving any sign of bad feelings with Wang’erach in consideration to his big appetite for food. Could be his next host would be Wang’erach.
Anjawo joyfully chatted with Wang’erach to instill confidence in her but she ate slowly with a dull look to prove to her host that she was disturbed by Atugo’s reaction when she entered the kitchen.
“How did you see the ohangla jig on Saturday? Was it good?” the jovial Anjawo asked deliberately to force a smile into Wang’erach’s face but the woman gave a dull look in exchange, picking small pieces of flesh from the plate and lifting to her mouth, her face portraying dozens of question marks.
“Thank you. I’ve done as you wished,” Wang’erach gave a false appreciation with a weary sigh, returning the plate back to Adongo.
“You’ve eaten very little, Aunt. Why couldn’t you clear the meal?” Apiyo asked, looking at the plate carried by Adongo.
“I’ve just done as you wished.” Her response depicted something crucial. A skein of issues amounting to frustrations in regard to how the family and the community at large viewed her, a witch suspect?
Rahawanya grabbed the plate from Adongo and devoured the left-overs.
Rumours doing rounds in the village had established her as the most dangerous transmitter of sihoho, or Mal de ojo in Latin America. She’d cast the evil eye by intense staring mostly when the victim was eating.
Anjawo’s family quickly gave Wang’erach meals to exercise their belief that hungry spirits normally sent their charms to victims when denied the right to eat together with others. To appease them, you must share with her, no matter how little.
Wang’erach had no alternative but to live with the vagaries of a belief that resulted in stigmatization and frustrations by her community. She had several times been forced to feed on milk victims of stomach ache resulting from what people strongly believed was her witchcraft. She left the kitchen in a huff and walked towards the gate, mumbling inaudible remarks to herself.
The constant twitching of Wang’erach’s eyes and their red colour caused the belief that she had evil eyes.
“Who told you to run away from Wang’erach whenever you see her?” Anjawo confronted Atugo. “Wang’erach is aware that everybody in the village knows she is a witch and the moment you demonstrate fear, she’ll suspect me to have revealed to you the secret! Girl!”
Anjawo’s children joined their mother to reprimand the minor against such a reaction, pointing fingers and giving her warnings.
“Did you see the way your sisters gave her food?” Anjawo asked.
“Yes Mama.”
“You just give her food with a broad smile and the moment she tastes the food, you’re safe, OK?”
“Yes Mama.”
“What should we do to reconcile ourselves with her?” Anjawo asked her children.
“Tomorrow is a Saturday, maybe we can go together with Atugo to her home, supply her with water until we fill her mother pot and play with her kids for the whole day,” Apiyo suggested.
“Good idea,” Anjawo appreciated. “Is that okay with all of you?”
“Yes,” the girls answered in unison.
“I’ll go herding,” Roria reacted.
“I’ll spend the day digging out tree-stumps to burn charcoal,” Njalme said after Roria.
“I didn’t talk to you, boys!” Anjawo rebuffed. “Why must you follow your sisters whenever they go? Behave like men!”
“Choke! Who has been attending to our clients in the main house?” Anjawo shouted and rushed to her main house. “Sorry guys, I was busy taking supper with my family.”
“Don’t mind, we didn’t want to call you in her presence lest she bewitched us,” Ng’ongo said with a chuckle.
“But it’s not a big deal, you just give her ten shillings worth of the brew and you’re safe,” Anjawo advised.
“Of course, yes,” Kube answered.
“Okay let fifty shillings go around,” Ng’ongo ordered.
Anjawo served her clients fifty shillings worth of the brew each and sat on a seat facing Kube.
“Ng’eh_ng’eh_Ng’eh.” Ng’ongo turned around on hearing Momo’s voice to listen to his message. He touched the place of his heart to show appreciation.
“Did you see Japitipiti today?” Anjawo asked Kube.
“Why?” Kube asked.
“The rains have started pouring and I want to hire his services to plough my farm near the stream,” Anjawo said.
Kube turned left and right and started laughing together with Ng’ongo.
“Why are you laughing at me?” Anjawo asked.
“It’s because you’re behind news,” Kube answered.
“Which news?”
“Japitipiti was involved in a road accident and is now recuperating at Siaya Referral Hospital,” Kube answered.
“How did it happen?” Anjawo asked in shock.
“He hired a boda-boda rider to take him to Siaya, unfortunately, they bumped on the potholes at Mudurme Bridge that threw them off the road, causing injuries,” Kube reported.
“Oh, sorry. How serious were the injuries?” Anjawo asked.
“Not very serious. I hope he’ll be discharged tomorrow,” Kube promised.
“The road is barely five years after construction,” Anjawo commented.
“The contractor did shoddy work,” Kube commented.
“It’s either the contractor or state-sponsored bed bugs that feed on tax payers’ blood,” Anjawo concluded.
“Kssss,”_Ng’ongo shushed her at finger-point. “Talk slowly, and let it not go beyond this wall. Marauding technicians of death are nowadays planted everywhere, even on the roof of this house, they’ll send you to your ancestors as soon as they realize you’re stepping on their bread basket. Let’s divert to other stories.”
“How will Japitipiti spend a whole night in hospital bed without doing his twilight job?” Kube asked.
“He knows how to gag his evil spirits when circumstances don’t allow,” Anjawo said.
“But when he’ll be back, we’ll not sleep in this village, the night runner will work on us the whole night,” Kube complained.
“But he’s not as dangerous as the ‘she’ that all of us know about. We don’t call her by name, but the word ‘she’ is enough to tell you who I mean,” Anjawo said.
“Same to Japitipiti, call him by the name in his absence, but when he’s around, better use the word ‘he’ to refer to him, otherwise he’ll visit your home when everybody is asleep,” Ng’ongo advised.
“Good advice,” Anjawo appreciated.
Anjawo craned her neck at the sight of a man walking from the gate in the moonlight towards her main house.
“It’s Mien, the man with endless bye-bye,” Ng’ongo said after looking keenly through the window. “He doesn’t buy rwata-rwata for anybody, but stands up and pretends to tell you bye-bye, for you to request him to sit down for more. Just wait and see.”
“Welcome, Mien,” Anjawo gave a warm reception.
“Good evening brothers,” Mien greeted and proceeded to a seat next to Ng’ongo.
“Ten in my glass,” he ordered.
Mien dawdled over the ten shillings worth of the brew with hope of receiving more offer from the seated clients who had already taken precautions. The old man in his early sixties knew well how to hook his audience when they were tired of him. By telling them narratives and teaching them about culture; traditional health solutions, taboos and how to keep fit in a world of wizards.
Mien emptied his glass and as anticipated, stood to leave: “Okay good night brothers, I know you’d like me to continue sitting but I want to leave.”
“Ahaha_Okay Mien, let’s meet tomorrow,” Ng’ongo laughed mischievously and waved at him.
Mien walked towards the back entrance of the home and in a few minutes time entered the home through the fence behind Anjawo’s kitchen.
“What is it? What is it Mien?” the twin sisters asked him, one after the other.
“I’ve been scared by some piti-piti footsteps near the fig tree behind your home. Could you kindly allow me to wait for those guys in the house we walk together?” Mien complained with a trembling voice amidst giggles from eavesdropping clients in the house.
“Welcome back, Mien,” Anjawo said with a smile, the rest laughing heartily.
“Who is this Mien? Because currently, he’s in hospital,” Ng’ongo, fighting the choking effects of his laughter asked.
“There are several others deployed by him,” Mien explained, feigning frustrations. “Kindly stop laughing at this sad moment.”
“Okay, have a seat and tell Anjawo to add you twenty,” Ng’ongo offered, still laughing endlessly.
“And add him another twenty on my bill,” Kube offered.
“Thank you, brothers. At least, taking this will charge my brain to face him with his evil powers,” Mien appreciated with a sigh of relief.
Njalme spotted his mum escorting her clients to see them off a short distance away from her home. He slewed around and confirmed that his sisters were engrossed in their own stories in the kitchen. With Roria already busy doing his homework in Okech’s simba, personal hut built on the left-hand side from the gate in accordance with the custom, Njalme had a good reason to smile all the way to his mother’s tin of petty cash that contained the proceeds from the sales of the day. He emptied the tin, weaved his way behind the kitchen and disappeared into the space.
“You girls in the kitchen! Come here!” Anjawo ordered.
The girls raced to the house to hear what the heck it was. “Tell me who has taken the money from this tin!” Anjawo shouted, puffing. “Talk to me or else, I’ll kill somebody this minute!”
The fearful Atugo took to her heels, followed by her elder sisters. Anjawo removed a slipper from her right foot and chased them, lashing them left and right.
“Wait! Wait Mama, wait I explain to you!” Apiyo pleaded. “Look, we were in the kitchen and one of our brothers must have sneaked in and stolen the money.”
The stubborn Adongo stood at a safer distance behind the fence clicking her tongue repeatedly and mumbling curses to herself.
“Which brothers are you talking about? Girl?” Roria popped out of his brother’s simba and barked.
“You too deserve some beating, come here!” the enraged Anjawo growled.
“Stop it Mama!” Nyasiaya, a wife to her hubby’s niece whose home was a few metres from her home, attracted by the noise intervened. “I’ve just seen Njalme running past my home at an alarming speed.”
“Which direction did he take? Kindly help!” Anjawo pleaded loudly.
“He crossed my fence and disappeared into the farm,” Nyasiaya explained.
“Chase him thief! Chase him thief! Yore yore yore yore!” Anjawo shouted at the top of her voice. “Roria! Mobilize other boys across the village and hunt him down!”
Roria left the home at the top of his speed accompanied by Omoyo, Nyasiaya’s first-born son, Roria’s age mate. Omoyo led in the race on the main road towards Kobare Recreational Centre where he was suspected to be enjoying his achievements but Roria slackened his pace as they approached the centre.
Humbling questions jumbled his mind as he ran behind Omoyo:
“What if he did the same to me when I stole rwata-rwata to entice Oyath today? What if I arrest him and he catch me doing the same from Mama’s flourishing tin tomorrow or in future? Let me tread carefully. We’re birds of a feather.”
Roria joined a group of boys on their way to the centre to watch football and walked with them at a slow pace, leaving Omoyo to go it alone.
“Which thief were you chasing together with Omoyo?” one boy asked.
“It’s Njalme,” Roria answered.
“What did he steal?” the boy asked as the other boys roared in laughter.
“Mama claims he stole some coins from her tin, I don’t know,” Roria answered with a careless wave of hand.
“Can we help you to catch him? We know where he’s,” another boy volunteered.
“Ah!_Just give me updates on the latest games, I am tired of issues,” Roria rebuffed.
“Roria! Roria!” Omoyo creeping behind the boys called in a guarded tone.
Roria turned around with a skeptical expression.
“He’s inside the video hall watching a football match,” Omoyo revealed.
“It’s okay I’ll look into that,” Roria responded meekly.
“Look into that? How? Let’s go and explain to the door keeper of the hall, he’ll hand him over to us,” Omoyo ordered.
“Okay, let’s go!” Roria agreed and pointed forward for Omoyo to lead the way.
Roria developed cold feet, dragging like a foot and mouth disease infected cow at a distance while Omoyo soldiered on with determination.
“Bring your entry fee, boy!” the door keeper ordered.
“No, I am looking for a boy called Njalme. He’s inside the hall,” Omoyo answered.
“What has he done?”
“He stole his mother’s money and came here to watch the football match, I’ve left the mother crying bitterly back home,” Omoyo explained.
“That’s a police case. Report the matter and let the police come for him, boy.” The door keeper gave Omoyo an elbow jab and turned left to continue collecting money from fans. Omoyo looked around, hoping to talk to Roria, but saw dust.
***
Anjawo and Nyasiaya sat together in her main house in somber mood, mouths pursed, faces scowled, word deficient, heartbroken, souls tired, disturbance from strangers unacceptable unless you went to tell about the whereabouts of Njalme. One week in exile? Too much for a child of his age.
Who knows? Could be he was on a mission to commit suicide? Had joined the street children? Not in the village. They didn’t exist. Only in big towns and cities like Kisumu and Nairobi.
But Njalme was around and about according to updates from reporters around. Just playing cut and mouse games with her pursuer, Anjawo.
On the Saturday when the day broke after the Friday night theft incident, Rahawanya spotted him resting at Kobare Recreational Centre, sipping soda from a bottle. He offered the food disciple a scone and warned him not to report him. On Sunday the same week, he joined a church choir at Kowet Catholic Church and gave twenty shillings as a donation to help in improving the choir, church members reported. On Monday this week, Wang’erach spotted him propped against a tree trunk near the stream, sharing packed chips with a Class Five school girl. On Tuesday the same week, Omoyo found him exchanging blows in a fist-fight with his classmate in the evening at a grazing field across the stream. On Wednesday, Momo saw him haggling over the cost of a pair of shoes at Uhuru Market. On Thursday, Adongo bent at the spring well, scooping water and filling her bucket, a stone from an unknown assailant landed on her waist. She jumped up, screaming for help, but saw Njalme at his highest speed disappearing into the shrubs. A crowd attracted by her scream rushed to the scene to help, but he had evaporated into vapour and vanished into the air. On Friday, Anjawo saw him peeping through the fence of her home, he took to his heels. By the time Omoyo arrived to help in chasing him, he must have reached Uganda. On Saturday, today in the morning when Anjawo was busy ploughing her farm together with Japitipiti, Njalme called Apiyo from behind the fence, warned her sternly against tarnishing his reputation and disappeared to the dogs.
The riskiest part of the ordeal was his life at night in exile. He had been seen sleeping in mysterious places a number of times. One night, he was spotted by night guards snoring between two logs of wood behind a butchery at Kobare, ferocious dogs barking at him the whole night.
“Kindly advise me daughter. Can we report the matter to the Chief?” Anjawo asked Nyasiaya.
“No, the Chief will ask you about the source of the money he stole,” Nyasiaya warned. “If you reveal that they were proceeds from the sale of rwata-rwata, the Chief will take action against you. Remember the brew is illegal. You’re birds of a feather. Inasmuch as stealing is a crime, selling the illicit brew is a crime too.”
“Good advice. His dad disappeared into the city and is now having a happy moment with my co-wife, he doesn’t care about his children,” Anjawo whined. She shed a trickle of tears and looked back at Nyasiaya.
“Why can’t you just call him and hear his comment?” Nyasiaya asked.
“Okay let me try. I want to set my phone in loud volume to enable you to hear his comment,” Anjawo said.
“It’s okay.”
“Hello Baba Okech, how are you?” Anjawo dialed her hubby’s phone number and greeted when he received.
“I am fine Mama Okech. How are things back home?” her hubby asked over the phone.
“Things are not okay. Njalme stole my money a week ago and disappeared. He nowadays plays hide and seek games with me around the village and doesn’t want to come back home. Kindly advise on what I should do!” Anjawo requested.
“Today is a weekend. I want to take my second family for some luxurious episodes at Lunar park, I don’t want to hear stories about those thieves,” Anjawo’s hubby known by his second name; Ajwang’ retorted with a careless remark.
Anjawo dashed into her bedroom and burst into a loud cry, leaving Nyasiaya in the sitting room to judge Ajwang’ in regard to his response.
Anjawo poured out her stock of tears for the day and returned to the sitting room. Nyasiaya maintained a permanent gaze at her with repeated clicks of tongue in a word deficiency situation.
“You’ve heard for yourself, daughter,” Anjawo moaned. “I am the beast of burden in this home. I struggled a lot to bring up the older siblings of these children. Now they’re in town but still job seeking. I do pray that they get jobs and give me support. My hubby just behaves the way you’ve heard him over the phone. For daughters who are in their matrimonial homes, I’ll depend on support from their hubbies and cows that’ll be paid as dowry.”
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