GOOD OLD DAYS

If this moment someone could ask me what I want them to do for me, it would definitely to take me back to the old days. To the 90s. The time when I grew up, in a village setting. A village full of life, maize and banana plantation, sugarcane plantation, herds of cattle, hard-working people. Oh did I just miss mentioning the tea plantation?

Growing up was fun. City kids brag of a good life with PS games, coloured bikes and visits to recreational places and malls. They have no idea what growing up in the village is like. They only come home during December holidays. Before I go further, houses in the village at that time were plastered by cow dung. There is clay soil in kisii called ekebuse, one could mix it with cow dung then plaster the house with the mixture. The result was a clear smooth white wall. One day my cousins from Nairobi visited, the house had been plastered and due to bad weather it hadn't dried well. So the walls emitted the cow dung smell. To me it was just smelling like caramel because I had gotten used to this smell. One of my cousins held his nose and said to his mum, 'mum hii nyumba inanuka mapupu ya ng'ombe turudi kwetu' another cousin added, mum kwa nini hii nyumba inanuka hivi? All holding their noses.... Gavin and Moraa I am seeing you.

Take me back to those days when we would go fetch firewood from the bush. We would go calling out for other children so that we go play games such as cha baba na cha mama. I remember the kaboy that was my husband in that game. Saa hii hata sijui ako wapi.

I miss the days shortly after breakfast when Mama would allocate duties and everyone was supposed to finish the work before lunch. To one would cut Napier grass for four cows, to another, sweep the entire compound and clear all the weeds around the house, to another pruning vegetables in the garden and watching out for the hideout of porcupines in the shamba, to another making at least 12 scarecrows to sit at the millet plantation. Failure to do so, she would quote the famous Bible verse, whoever does not work should not eat. And you knew exactly what that translated to.

Take me back to the time when ujamaa was alive. How the bereaved family would feel at home. The way we would camp at the vigil waiting for the burial ceremony. Emptying one mug of tea after another. Washing utensils and serving visitors food. How everything else fell into place before mourners would get a renewed energy and scream like no one's business.

I long for those times when I first joined boarding school. As I came back home people treated me as if I was the only pupil who has ever stepped in a boarding school. How those boys would throw mapera and luguats at me while on the tree. I received them gladly. The only language I talked was Swahili only to frighten them and would throw some English words in between. I wonder if they also wondered how someone would forget her native language she spoke three months ago.

Please take me back when our babies were nappied and never got heat rash. When the little ones would poo and what followed was water in a Kimbo container running through their butt. And they never suffered from pneumonia.

Oh my goodness those rainy days that caught me wearing red. And thunder would roar so loudly followed by lightning then my sis would shout 'you'll be stroke by lightning' then I would cover myself with whatever I had.

How can I forget this one. I made it a habit to grow some great tissue around the toilet. There are leaves specifically for cleaning your butt. But sometimes due to high demand they get so finished so fast. We also used old newspapers and maize cobs. Wait! This one is interesting... My bro and I would slide our butts on the grass if none of these cleaning butt agents were not around. That was life then before Hanan and Toilex made their way to the market.

Bread was a big deal then. Not even family size would satisfy all the members of my family. We had great stomachs. So, kids, most of us would make a point of remaining part of your ugali in the evening and preserve it for tomorrow's breakfast. So there was a secret place for everyone in the cupboard where one would keep their morsels and wait for breakfast. One would sleep thinking the other one would pinch their ugali.

Take me back to my Mama. She was one lady that wouldn't give you her money just like that. Even sending you to the posho mill, she wouldn't give you cash, instead she'd give you eggs so that you'd go and do the barter trade on your own. Imagine on your head you are balancing a sack of maize, and on your hand you have five eggs, what if a straying dog or cow comes running after you? Si mayai itapasuka... And if it breaks she'll ask for proof, iko wapi tupike tukule? My mum though...

The most interesting was on  Friday evening, starting 6 pm, when everyone would start acting Holly, its Sabbath till the following day at 6 pm. Singing songs and narrating Bible stories. The trying part for my dad was the time when my mum requests him to pray... And he is from taking his bottle. He's sobber, he just took few sips...(sigh)

The planting season was awesome. With maize and beans in my hands, one would first make the holes then drop two maize seeds and four beans. How fun. As we made stories. Pure gossip on the village girls who didn't make it to even class seven and had already tasted the forbidden fruit. And worse still, why would one drop out of school while in form two, si angepata tu mimba akiwa class six basi...one would comment... I heard they used to be laid either in the sugarcane plantation or tea plantations. I never saw one myself.

August holidays were pure bliss. We would go to the camp meeting. SDAs are with me. We would prepare large amounts of githeri and porridge. I remember I was forced to carry the five litre jerry can for quite a long distance. Or on a lucky day some rice and beans. So after sermons we would break for lunch and Ole wako if you prepared uji na githeri! Utajipanga! Even your children would run away from the uji and githeri and go to where chapati and dengu is served. Jioni mkifika kwa nyumba mnakipata pata. Take me back to my childhood days.