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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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If I should break my leg

Earlier on I had asked friends what their greatest fears were (are). I had noted mine as the fear to break my leg. I really fear being unable to locomote easily. I regard it as the worst thing that may happen in my lifetime. And whether this is symbolic to inner aspirations I know not. It would inconvenience all that I do.

I wouldn't die anyway if it happened though the fear of death is precedented by leg breakage. On that day that I shall lie down, my leg hung, bandaged, unable to ever adventure again, a change to my gait, needing support to access the lavatory, I will weep internally of the past good days.

The few adventures I have undertaken, the bike cycles, ball play, hikes, both necessary and unnecessary sojourns, been called flexible and easy to go along with because of the legs. Two, not one. People will be turning their eyes to see how unsteady I would be without crutches. I would inconvenience many for they would be forced to act with my slow pace. And the way people are always on the run! I would avoid the city and crowded places like hell.

Breaking should it do so, I pray to be on my way seeking adventure. It would be as I slipped on a slippery stone as I jumped. Not because the Bus was carelessly driven or the motorbike was unroadworthy.  I would break my leg in a way that I would want to nicely remember. It would be like a joke. I would feel a slight pain, not what happens when the knee splits open, the thigh tears away and the doctor chops it by the girdle. I would want to drink a potent life ender.

I should not have been to a task, more so for money gain or search for pleasure. It would be sorry for me and for others. They would come in to say their sorries, sorries I hate.  No one should know. I would kneel, cry, weep and limp away from my adventure as the break point grew worse. I would still walk home before it became worse. I would seek medical advice only to be told...'crutches, you would be on crutches forever.'

And I would not lift to heavens for a prayer to be 'healed' nor would I admire those at ease on two. I will lack outdoor events for my diary but will acquire more indoor ones for it. I would read my diary with a sob, of the places and events I went to. Of the days I was as fast and stable. For my leg would have made me sit down and treasure it all.

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