The pain of receiving technology in the Village.

My father possessed a phone a few years back long after people subscribed to what used to be a rich man’s toy. A letter (of inadequate money) used to arrive home weeks after dad gave to a person he thought would reach mom. He used to know people from other ridges and directed them to the home by a family name. One time, a messenger asked for a tax and mom complained. What followed was a case. It ended in grudges.

An owl hooting from a compound tree.

Akamba and Kenya Bus Courier Services were also unreliable. Once we hiked a long path to confirm what was not there. Heart break. Every 5^th mom hoped something had been sent because that is what Dad said when he left. It never followed that regulation.

A river that has been reddened by musengeri.

Then once, anxious of Christmas day, using a village rich man’s phone, I dialed the neighbour to Dad in Nairobi. The ten numbers were too long to master. I had not overcome network problems to hear my father before it cut short. I took a lame response to mom- ‘He said he will come 20^th December’- so that she may not be angered by the much she had to add on top for the call.

A death cry in the silent night.

It may not only be a village problem. It is a son of soil problem. Technology comes in with such stress. I do not know why. It was hard to own this computer. It is criminal-minded to think of owning a latest phone. I will access them long after people have exploited them. That is the fate of son of soil- clinging to the past.

Tomorrow we will harvest sorghum. Birds are wasting it.

The rate is now 4/- a minute. Gracious!