BLOOD AND TEARS
A mish mash of rubbish, my Diary, so where is Wanjohi Ributhi of "I will strike you until you are admitted in ward 4. As a youngster I didn't know what ward 4 was all about. It's only later in life when I realised the worker was talking about an emergency ward ! But my cousin and friend later killed a man. He was working in a butchery. The poor fellow took "ngimutu" - soup with lots of coagulated blood and refused to pay or had no money. My cousin rushed into the butchery, came back with a butcher's knife and stabbed the poor fellow to death. It was too fast for the fellow to realise the danger he was in.Nice day's before the destruction of trees. At least in april you could feel the beauty of the long rains the floods notwithstanding. It was fun laced with outright danger crossing streams and rivers. Farmers read the weather and knew when to plant. My Mom was expert number 1. In my own small way I learnt how to read the rain if I had to go to school. It was simple. After that breakfast of sweet potatoes, roasted if you like, all dressed up and ready to go to school. Then suddenly it's raining cats and dogs. The decision was simple. Wait for ten minutes. If the rain stops, go to school. Rush to school more like it. If the rain does not stop, rush to school. Funny enough if you rushed into the rain, after ten minutes the rain would be gone. However if you waited for the rain to stop, you would miss school that day for it wouldn't stop ! So we were not scared of rain. For even if you walked in rain and arrived in school water flowing wet, somehow it never affected you. Hence small boys would dance in glee and chant, " Mbura ura, tutorie maria ma njuguini".
Thoughts. Flashes through my mind. Memories bitter sweet, but memories all the same. Sweet memories. I stare in wonderment, on what was, or what would have been. Supposing I had asked the nymph from the ocean to marry me. Would she have agreed ? If she had, would we have had children ? Would they have been sons or daughters ? According to tradition fathers or mothers ? Brothers or sisters ? What would they have become ? Mama wake up, early morning, to find her son, dead on the gallery. When she asked, nobody answered, he was my only son she said....He could have been a dreadler, he could have been a wailer, he could have been a jailer, he could have a sailor, aha aha aha ahaaaaaaaaaaa !
BLOGGERS HAPPY NEW YEAR !
A mish mash of rubbish, my Diary, so where is Wanjohi Ributhi of "I will strike you until you are admitted in ward 4. As a youngster I didn't know what ward 4 was all about. It's only later in life when I realised the worker was talking about an emergency ward ! But my cousin and friend later killed a man. He was working in a butchery. The poor fellow took "ngimutu" - soup with lots of coagulated blood and refused to pay or had no money. My cousin rushed into the butchery, came back with a butcher's knife and stabbed the poor fellow to death. It was too fast for the fellow to realise the danger he was in.Nice day's before the destruction of trees. At least in april you could feel the beauty of the long rains the floods notwithstanding. It was fun laced with outright danger crossing streams and rivers. Farmers read the weather and knew when to plant. My Mom was expert number 1. In my own small way I learnt how to read the rain if I had to go to school. It was simple. After that breakfast of sweet potatoes, roasted if you like, all dressed up and ready to go to school. Then suddenly it's raining cats and dogs. The decision was simple. Wait for ten minutes. If the rain stops, go to school. Rush to school more like it. If the rain does not stop, rush to school. Funny enough if you rushed into the rain, after ten minutes the rain would be gone. However if you waited for the rain to stop, you would miss school that day for it wouldn't stop ! So we were not scared of rain. For even if you walked in rain and arrived in school water flowing wet, somehow it never affected you. Hence small boys would dance in glee and chant, " Mbura ura, tutorie maria ma njuguini".
Thoughts. Flashes through my mind. Memories bitter sweet, but memories all the same. Sweet memories. I stare in wonderment, on what was, or what would have been. Supposing I had asked the nymph from the ocean to marry me. Would she have agreed ? If she had, would we have had children ? Would they have been sons or daughters ? According to tradition fathers or mothers ? Brothers or sisters ? What would they have become ? Mama wake up, early morning, to find her son, dead on the gallery. When she asked, nobody answered, he was my only son she said....He could have been a dreadler, he could have been a wailer, he could have been a jailer, he could have a sailor, aha aha aha ahaaaaaaaaaaa !
BLOGGERS HAPPY NEW YEAR !
posted by roughalmasis at
4:59 PM
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