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The struggle with many a rigid Logooli cultural practices

  The Logooli community is one of the deeply cultured societies – with near everything supposed to have been done as per custom – to allow another custom to follow. One example is that for a mature man (with a child or more) to be buried, there must be a house structure at home. Another is that a boy must be circumcised and nursed in father land. If maternal family decides to, the boy will have a hard time reconnecting with father people - a dent on his masculinity. There were two children who got burnt to death in a house in Nairobi. The single mother had left for night work. Elders were told that one of the children was Logooli. The other, the woman had sired with someone else. The Logooli family wanted to burry their little one and long discussed the do’s and don’ts. Of a man who died childless and the grave was placed as if he had died as a man with children. It should have been dug on the sides, the grave. A real thorn should have been thrust in his buttocks, his name go...
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I SAW YOUR SISTER

Bra, I saw your sister. Remember telling me that you do not know where she went to? She wasn’t in a good state, bra. She sprawled by the road, sitting like an old woman observing a setting sun. She was selling thin sugarcanes, not large to her bonny legs. We used to have cracks on heels when we were young, bra. She has them now, bra. I am learned that a man who keeps discoveries to himself is not different from a murderer. And so I saw something else that may make you frown. She could not sell me sugarcane as she should. I had to take the premature plant to where she sat. She was heavy, my brother. Should I take you there?
 
I saw another girl who must be my friend’s sister. I cannot recall when I saw her last. But my eyes have never failed me! I am not those who mistake you for Hoho when you are Haha. It is her buttocks, slightly huge that she moved in a clutch-brake rhythm when we fetched water them days. She shook them like no one’s business pal. Her hands by the knees, her awesome hind poky backward, she made our mysteries elapse. I observed her bottles man. She gulped one before the other in hurry. And who was with her? You won’t believe bro. The poor chap who sired with my sister. 

Receive my call friend and I hope you suffer not from many afflictions than your sister. I address you officially because we have not known each other for long or else I‘d have hurried to the matter. It is not school that your sister came to do here in Nairobi University. She does other things besides that, more important things. She satisfies men here. I would be bothered to know such a story if I were you. We cannot run away from Earth. She was in this room the other night and she did not feel shame to fall to the whims of in, out, in, out. I am disturbed. To whom can she not say No to? To none, my guy.

And I also saw another girl in my searching to whose brother I’d write a beautiful letter. She moved like a peacock; put a leg after another in an angel’s fashion.  I saw her ahead, walked past her and turned for a better view. Her nose, her forehead, her dimple, her gaze, her teeth when I pretended to greet her! To whom is concerned do I write this letter. Does she have a bother? A brother I’d love to meet and make friendship with? Looks deceive, I know. Before I ruin her life, can somebody identify with her?

It would be useless to write to me about my sister. I know where she is and how life plays a specimen of her. She thought she knew much but now see. A woman’s curse is her body. It is not she that destroys herself. Three children at twenty two is a stupid move. She can still be whoever she want to be, I know. She can become a musician, an activist, a motivational speaker or a hot bar tender. I don't care!!!


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