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| Children imitating a cyclist. |
There is a picture I am trying
hard to have but I can’t find. Please if you have it or can come into contact
with such a site please capture it for me. It has the spirit of this article.
Seemingly google has not encountered such a picture in its vastness of bicycle
gallery. The picture is of a young short boy pedaling a bicycle from its side.
The giant bicycles of two beams. Not of engines or gears. I am sorry that I cannot
be clear more than this.
Swahili have a proverb that what the
heart loves is the body’s medicine. Children become hungry for a bicycle when
any wheel is in their sight. Which kind of children? Children of my village.
Before the knowing of cycling, there were other relatively advanced ‘cycling’
forms. The pail lid was the wheel and a well crafted wire the steer. Or a tire
rubber curving that held a rope that could be swirled against sides upwards for
speed. Not leaving the paper jets and kegomogomo.
Kegomogomo was of carving. A double spiked long fit that rests on either
shoulder with a nailed crossing controller that pushes a curved two-in-one
wooden wheel. This was a stage just after kalongolongo whereby toy cars of clay
and wires were being replaced to something more realistic and helpful.
The running we did as we held the
wire on the lid cannot be fathomed at this age. Bragging. ‘Bring sugar, salt
and Royco’ were the words of mothers to their hurrying children. It was the
duty of my mother to call me back immediately before getting far. When her
sound could not survive past the friction on the pail, sister could follow
quickly hailing my name. I could come back already panting and wondering why
she never said all things at once. Good she knew that the mirage on the road and
the crafty avoidance of sharp stones on the murram road on bear legs would make
me remember one item and buy another instead of the named. She would add items
and write them. All that was needed was to hand the paper to the shopkeeper-
money wrapped in. In response, the seller would hand me goods- nothing was in
large quantity-and I would held them on the right hand as the left takes
charge. I was zooming back home.
Bicycles were not for children.
Not even today have they been lucky to be bought bicycles. That is too much
pleasure and risk on their side. Can’t you understand that they have cattle to
feed, farms to look after, water to fetch, sack ball to play and homework to
do? Why should a parent bother to be extravagant? It goes that way. But when a
child sees his uncle, father or brother enjoying the services of the iron, he
salivates and wishes to grow up quickly just to cycle too!
When dad could come home and
request it to be washed off mud, I relished it. Standing upright with the hind
wheel held up, I found fun in pedaling it quickly and see how wires could get
lost in the speed. Then a water splash on the wheel would remove the mud hiding in
the mudguard by the velocity. A guitar tune when a dry stick was
gently pressed on the rotating wires was good for a young mind. This would come
before he booms… ‘Throw away that stick. Or have you poured water on the freyor?’
Vocabularies were learnt here. Or was it something like that? Sure he was, that the chain was not visible. The
metallic box was still in its position since it was bought. It was my father’s Range Rover! And mine to be.
No one would ask you to learn and
be assisted to know pedaling. The first of the things was to fight to
know. When peers would stand to discuss how they manage to pedal up small hills in
grade 6 at Kiptuiya Primary School whose floors are uncemented, one had to engage.
The first time I was asked if I knew how to cycle I lied to be knowing. Then
guilt took me to the yearning of such critical skills at such an age. It was
Robert that I almost led to an ascending Eldoret Express bus in my first days
on our way to Kapsabet down in Maguyaguyi. We survived.
The conscience to understand that
you can balance on two thin wheels one perpendicular ahead or behind the other
was beyond thought. Then the guts of going on its top. Mounting. Knowing how
to sit was not an issue. In fact sitting was not the aim. The legs were too
short for that. It came sometimes later when I knew how to raise and lower the
seat for it had not been permanently fixed. The beam could hurt Darwinian evolution
tail. The bumpy road was not busy of people or vehicles but livestock to the
forest and back. Holding the brakes was an issue. The fingers were small for
them. A fall was inevitable at the far sight of another bicycle or car.
Friends played an important role.
They psyched up a new learner and pretended to be holding the back part when
they had long left you to go alone. The ability to cycle forward was harder than
the possibility of the pedals rotating backwards. In a second the bicycle would
be standing before it voluntarily took you down square in the ribs as it broke
a side mirror and contorting the handles. A quick-stand to survive any shame
and sorries of a passerby was the best recovery position. It was known that
without a mark of pain one would not be certified to this insurance-less motor. Girls preferred to keep off.
Whoever told you to pick up the
bicycle without permission will not be around when vengeance will be released.
Dad would not whip one directly of its mistake. He would find an excuse; say a
fight with sister and all the past will be atoned. He had said that he used to
steal his dad’s bicycle and bring back when punctures were evident. It was but
a repeat. In love, as I pushed the bicycle on Kapkangani hill he would tell me
to work hard in class for a brighter future- than his. He may have known that
something better than a bicycle for transport could be achieved.
Later the bait to send an adolescent to the market was to tell him to use the bicycle.
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| Muzungu cycling |
The bicycle largely opened up
villages to the outside world. Is it not Nabongo the chief of Wanga who marveled
at the bicycle at its site? The white man had brought him a gift and an exchange
item. He only needed to let them have a stool in his backyard. We could invent it
if the white man did not do it. Africa has its own civilization graph. Every
shop owner and business people used bikes to necessitate services. At present,
farmers, clergy and chiefs are still clinging to this 20th century
life-style to keep up with time. Flexibility and simplicity is the norm.
Sad or happy am I that
motorcycles have been invented to replace the energy-demanding slow bicycles.
Boda Boda business was of bicycles at first. The cyclist could take you along
the road and down the valley. Up the hill you could not be told to alight and
walk alongside him up the hill. An honest person would not reduce the bargained
amount as a result of this. It is during the strangers walk that you introduced
yourselves and discussed one or two current issues. A radio fixed on the handle
could play sweet vernacular music when the batteries were new. From Shamakhokho
to Senende Boys was just but 20/-.
Knowing how to repair punctures
and nailing the chain back when it could tear are simple free lessons from the
famous men who repair bicycle tires and other problems. A bend was tragic. I had these skills till
Xposha organization issued me a green (model forgotten) mountain bicycle during
my internship there for field trips. It was not simple to repair a puncture like the other ordinary tires. It
is by the use of it that I roamed Maragoli land like a bitch. A bitch is that
stray dog and not what the name has come to mean. The changing of gears to suit
the terrain, speed and road surface were encouraging. I could let the head steer itself as I pressed the earphones hard inside. And the song was…’friends
forever’! If somebody gave me the old model of bicycle, I’d honestly refuse.
Innovations have made the bicycle
decoration acts rather undeserved. People have adorned their bicycles with
the best stickers, colours, lasting parts and flags. Fans like Jaro Soja has
his Gor Mahia bicycle as green and white as it can be. The present Helix Company
innovation is intriguing. A bicycle that can be folded! Wonderful. The fryer at
night of its wheels is a site to marvel at remembering how quickly the villages
are opening up. Maybe the world of bicycling is opening up for the better. Aren’t
doctors advising people to exercise? As for me a bicycle is for fun; an
instrument to assist in knowing and reaching as many coiling, interior and
furthest places freely and convenient. Just how the internet is doing. Call me for a bike hike. The problem is
I require a helmet and pads to keep off major accident effects.
And so today early in the morning
as I walked to office for some silent work I saw a man hurrying on the wheel.
Thoughts came. He may be going as far as Industrial Area to work. He would
reach at the work place and chain it to keep away from thieves. He was cutting
down transport cost if he used matatu. But still there could be no enough
savings because the world is a hard nut. Yet he was joyful that on the single
machine he had peace…at least to think about the goodness of life before a
rough matatu sends him off the road.
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