Be my friend

In high school we planted finger millet for the agricultural project.

After a few days of generously watering my plot, seedlings sprouted in hundreds instead of the required tens. Thinning, the only solution, to achieve the required spacing was not amusing since one would spend most of the time bent in the scorching sun trying as much as they could to better their grades. The funny part is that, young millet seedlings resemble grass and this makes it very hard for one to differentiate them. You might end up uprooting all your millet only to leave behind grass. Another hardship in thinning is their roots. They provide such good anchorage that one cannot uproot them without breaking their stalks. Finger millet seedlings are so resilient that if you break one at the stalk, tens of its brothers sprout to mock your aching back and itchy fingers.

In simple terms, millet is always there for fellow millet. So are friends.

Grandfather and his friends inspired me to write this for they are as resilient as finger millet. The other day he found me seated under a tree with my high school desk mate reminding each other of the old memories and current accomplishments. He regarded us for several seconds and asked,

”Huyu ndio nani na anafanya nini hapa?”

“Kuka, huyu ni rafiki yangu anaitwa obi na tumetulia tu hapa.” I answered him with a smile.

Grandpa looked at us keenly for a few more seconds before bursting out into laughter.

“Instead of going out in search of more friends, you are seated under my tree counting leaves. You have a problem, son of my son. Do you know where I have come from? I…”

Of course I already knew where he had come from because there was a radius of busaa scent emanating from his being. Every afternoon, he would join his friends to enjoy a pot, or two, of the brew while discussing matters of our community’s importance. After a good time with his mates, he would come home and tell us an array of stories on almost every aspect of life. (Even his meteorological skill of preventing rain from falling on him).

Today was no exception. He told us the importance of all his friends, how they used to herd together and help each other in times of grief and joy. He did not forget to tell us how he and thousands of his friends united to push down the walls of Kisumu’s Moi Stadium, in 1988, to have a glimpse of the legendary Franco Luambo Luanzo Makiadi. The only thing he forgot to tell Obi was that his friends cheered as he sweated to become the best dancer to Franco’s guitar.

Later on, Obi asked me whether it was true that grandpa was the best dancer at Franco’s concert. To be sincere, I do not know. Al I know is that, his friends are always there for him just like millet is there for fellow millet. Obi and I are still searching for new friends.

Will you be mine?

(written by Analo Michael).