The Original Kenyan Christmas.

The Original Kenyan Christmas.

It was raining cats and dogs. The last time I checked in my nursery rhyme book C-for cat Meows and D- for dog barks Woo Woo. Why it was raining cats and dogs we might have to ask the fake “English” weather man in the black and white neighbors Television set. In the pitch of darkness I woke up. I had ironed my clothes the previous night but left the charcoal still burning. I had slept late thinking of the bus ride ahead. I thought I saw it pass by. In those days it was fun waiting for the bus. We will go to the bus stop early in the morning around 5am. My mom would have woken us early but not without splashing cold water on our eyes for us to be really awake. Waking up was not that easy especially during the school December holiday.  At the bus stop I loved the anxiety and sheer magical faces heading upcountry. Where I come from it is expected that one would make a maiden yearly pilgrimage to see the extended family. The upcountry buses were a maze, they came in different colours, catchy names and numerous honking sounds. The drivers would start honking a mile away before the busses came to a scratching stop full of funfair. The bus conductors would be hanging at the doors in style and when the bus charged to the next bus stop the conductor will run and jump  in to the moving bus, that was so cool to watch.  In those days we believed in the city but no one would call the concrete jungle home. The land lord was constantly hated. Played cat and mouse game with tenants, while I played hide and seek game with my peers. I was a free soul. I trusted in my parents to provide and shelter me from the cats and dogs rain of life. They did well to their ability. Now I have inherited all their worries. I wish I never grew up.

I sprung from bed just in time to knock the hot charcoal iron box with my protruding jigger infested toe. Both houses were on fire. The jigger house toe hurt sweetly bad, my grandmother soon will weaver her itchy needle under my toe. My only Christmas shirt was on fire too. My mom burned down with range as she motherly charged towards me. Gave me a quick firm spanking on my naked butt saying “I have always told you to look where you are going”. Even today I have never seen where I am going I only know I keep on going. She sent me running with a nice pinching on my chubby chicks. She tossed the burning shirt through the window to the storming rain, and I was sure I heard the thunder roar for I had seen the lightning flash. 

Suddenly there was an incessant knock at the door. It was not friendly knock.  My dad opened the door. He was halfway shaved with one thick side burn still intact with snow like soap foam. I loved see my dad shave, he was meticulous and methodical. After he would tell me “I need my shoes shined-son”. I religiously sparklingly shined his shoes for the longest I cared every weekend.  In the afternoon he would take me to the horse race at Ngong Racecourses. My dad loved horses but he never owed a burn. He could bet the best horse to win. In this particularly bright Sunday he struck his luck and won a cow. He left me with an indelible mark always reminding me “For you to win you must objectively risk to play smart and hope to remain in the game”. We cashed the cow and headed home to celebrate.

The Land Lord under a heaving voice said “You haven’t paid my rent now you want to burn my house down”  “You almost hit me with a burning shirt and I almost broke my hip dodging it”. My dad laughed so heartily that the soap foam on his side burn melted away and started dripping on the soap dish.  My dad replied, “Where are you going this early Mr. Karongo? “ “I found you ….” Mr.  Karongo continued “I have been coming here the whole week every morning and Mama Watoto-tells me “He left early. Now I found you…” My dad smiled and quipped, Mr. Karongo you don’t have to wake the entire neighborhood or break your hip neither do you have to dodge burning shirts, I will see you today at Hakanyua”. That was my dad firm and collected. Hakanyua was the village pub the meeting point. It was a popular pub where teachers, city farmers and the village chiefs congregated to rescue their evenings after work.  At Hakanyua the same evening I came to learn later that Mr. Karongo was paid the outstanding rent arrears and served four bottles of beer. Mr Karongo returned hand with two beers, and gave my dad a ride home in his old Peugeot 404 that defied time as they talked politics. In those days that were the way issues were friendly solved. Today they will garnish your salary. Send you creditors to collect the money and before they declare you bankrupt skin you alive by literary throwing you to the rain.   

I dashed out to try salvaging my damaged shirt. The rain had done justice but the red hot charcoals left three large holes on my new shirt. I still nostalgically keep the charcoal iron box as a souvenir to pass down the generation. It is actually older than me by miles.  I changed to another rugged T-shirt and donned a warm sweater. We ate breakfast and everybody headed out to the bus stop. My father bid us good buy saying “I will join you in a weeks time, got to go to work, say hi to everyone.”  My Alarm went off. I pipped through the window. It was so cold. The earth was covered in winter snow and my body ached from previous night 16 hours double shift. It was time to go to work.  Surely it was just a dream. A real dream, in a foreign land.  I wish I never alighted from the original Christmas bus. 

By ~Njoroge wa Ngige~ 121615- 0900.