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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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Call me what you want. Am STRENGTH.

None in Mbale is unaware of this bodaboda rider, a man whom I have come to admire save for his lapses in thoughts - going abusive. The only man standing from the many cyclists who once operated on Mbale-Gisambai road, long then before the road was tarmacked, he is the only STRENGTH chap remaining alongside the modern motorcycles that have taken hostage of the road.

Ask him of anything and he got answers. Quick answers. Chaotic answers. Impromptu laughter. Unstoppable when he starts. He is jovial, simple with a T-shirt, a tattered trouser, a pair of slippers and an old double beam black mamba- the Renaissance bicycle.

Only for 20 bob he carries a passenger from the lows of Mbale to the heights of Mazigulu and seldom do his customers pay more. He only carries the abnormal like him and had I not had a bike we would be ziiing on his bike to whenever that he tells me something. Just something. His time is not expensive. A maximum of 100 bob a day is all he expects. Something he says makes him happy.

A little disturbing is that he seems to have less pity for himself or rather he does not seem to think before speaking. He just goes...Kenya we left on banana leaves, this woman is Kosovo, STRENGTH the show of maturity in life, They were found in wilderness, those greedy men, who think a motorbike has no rim, it has. And they are greedy, very greedy, never content. Kenya is feaces, groin fur, people are stupid. You walk in the world normal? No, take beer...and he rants, breaking to abuse a passerby woman, getting on again.

And people know him, children fear him. Once he had carried a person and thoughts crammed his mind. It is said he had left the bike steering into a ditch as he galloped for safety, laughing, the passenger groaning. It was a fall. It is nothing to him, that fall.

How he breaks by the foot, having his T-shirt fly in the air, looking back by resting by the beam, asking for a customer, this man, in his simplicity lives a life that only the sun may tell for it knows everyone's ways. In disguise, people thinking him mad, the man is living whole lot of a cheerful life in what he calls a crazy World.

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