Mourning Agony

As soon as you get that call notifying you of your loved one's demise, you promptly start beating mathematics in your head. According to your relatives back home, there are going to be very many visitors.

Relatives will come from all Maragoli nations. From Matunda, Nandi, Naivasha flower farms, Transmara, Lugari and even Tanzania. Even those who went seeking for black magic in Kitui and went mad because the ash got rained on, will somehow find their way to the funeral.

You were hoping to borrow some advance from your boss Vijay Rajheendra but unfortunately he's away attending KCB Safari Rally. The welfare Secretary, Mwende, only sends donations after the burial. You have nothing to contribute towards the committee. Meanwhile, the calls keep coming, people back home are asking you how 'things' are going on in Nairobi.

You were hoping to hijack your brother's ride but it turns out that he'll be driving his workmates. Three females who are more excited at the road trip and give zero effs whether your whole clan will perish or not are also for the adventure. Your bro tells you to wait for him at Total Kangemi.

The cold from Njabini hills and the entire Abardares is working on you properly. What's taking your brother so long? You wonder. You've counted four Eldoret expresses, five Mbukinyas and three Nya Ugenyas. Just as you are about to go and pee, a blue Harrier screeches to a halt at your feet.

There are two ladies at the back and one in front. The latter has a queenly demeanor. Seems like she has the most shares in your brother. The remaining space for one has a mzinga of Chivas regal, 2litres of coke, plantain bites and two power banks. One lass is on phone screaming,

'we are going to a colleague's rela's funeral.... Am told lunje funerals are soo dramatic yaani'

Your bro whispers something into the queens ear. She fishes out a K and gives it to you as she rolls the window up. Voom off goes the vehicle. You have to go back to country bus and catch the last Msamaria mwema as you think of saving a fifty.

When you arrive home. There's so much to do! You start by slaughtering chicken for the pastor who is to pray over the programme. Then another chicken for the elders. Then another and another. By the time you do the last one for your in-laws from Kanyamkago, you are as bloodied as a gladiator. Meanwhile, your aunties are all over your brother telling him how he used to be a sweet baby.

Second task, you conduct interviews for the guy who will slaughter the cow. Most of the interviewees are your former Sunday school mates but they are now wearing 'wallahis' posing as Muslims. They are armed with sharp lances one would think P.E.V is here with us again. Some are fathers to girls with askance eyes by the kitchen.

Then comes the digging of the grave. As usual, the job seekers are many. You settle for two guys . One guy is wearing an old Chelsea jersey branded Makelele. The other one has a very faded Tupac all eyez on me T-shirt with a torn double breast grey coat on. Hired!

There's still so much to do. You need to repair the door lock where unga is stored. There's wiring of outdoor electricity cables. The night is fast approaching and you are the DJ. The requests have started coming in fast and furious.

Your nephews want you to play lil Uzi Vert. The village boys want Glen Washington and your aunties want Rose Muhando and Anastasia Mukabwa. You cleverly work yourself out of the situation and minutes later, Glen Washington is playing. The village boys always win!

You take a little rest by the bonfire. Two boys are gambling on their phones. One curses;

' nkt Napoli ni mang'ombe saana'

The other one seems like he's on a winning streak;

' Astra girgiu na Hapoel Beer Sheva ni sure! over 2.5 iko ndaaaani ndaaaani'

You black out and wake up in the wee hours of the morning. The crowd has since thinned. Fast forward to the burial service, there will be no beautiful eulogies of your loved one.

The first speaker rants against the jubilee government. The second speaker, 'liguru' warns that there's a psycho walking around with a syringe full of H.I.V infected blood. No one talks about the dead.

Then comes the toughest part. The day after the burial. The grave sticks out as if paying tribute to the angel of death. The grass has been trodden on properly. Clods of ugali are strewn all over and crows are having a field day. Your laughter is mechanical. You realise you've been in denial all the while.

You go hide in some dark corner and for the first time, you cry. (This article ended here)

But.....

And then it hits mind that its actually time to go back to the big city, his wallet empty, everyone around him still seems to be in a somber mood.. His elder brother (the blessed kid) knowing his intent to borrow some cash, assumes a fake call lamenting to an oblivious recipient how broke he is after spending all his earnings towards the burial.
He is now clueless, one week after the burial he has masticated all the cow heads (all grown trees either sold or used for firewood) that were kept for stock, he is soon and closely rebranding to his former village boy status but he is keen to run away from this impending tag..

He now thinks of calling his best friend Tsisaga though knowing very well at the back of his mind that Tsisaga is always crying broke.. "Uko na credo nicall mtu " he asks his younger nephew.. "ata ndo imeisha" ..

Out of desperation the Son of Mulembe elopes with the only remaining cock of his younger brother for sale.. He is back on his way to the big city.... He'd have sold his phone had it not gotten legs when he blacked out.

It was the death of his mother. Now, an orphan, the way back to the city is strange. The dreams he gets as bus chokes forward signify disaster.

Article contributed by Species Sil.