Creatures of the night

First, I want to make it known that I’m not a “COZMEN”, Maybe the English will adopt that noun but in our Swahili language, we call them Kozimeni. They are nocturnal busybodies who often station themselves outside windows of residential houses.

Three days ago, it was a Friday, I found myself chewing the most repulsive vegetable that I have ever preached against. Mugokaa, Mgoks, Goks are among the names gives to leaves of some tree that is commonly grown in Meru and areas around it. After counseling about four youths for about half an hour without success, they dared me to try it for five minutes. I knew nothing would interest me in chewing the product even if done for hours, but I did it to prove them wrong. After two hours, I was enjoying the free treat of Sodas, Chewing gum, sensational stories that glued me to the bench on the “Maskan” of these Mgoks chewers.

Chewing the substance inspires our brains and heart. I had technical organizational hurdles in a project I was working on, but three hours with Mgoks made it all easy. I even came out with a convincing, perfect financial proposal that would make sure the startup survives tremors for the next five years.

Around eleven o’clock, we could not continue sitting in one place. Our legs were restless, so we moved around the neighborhood then further. Traffic on village roads decreases during this time. There were five of us, so we had no worry of coming head to head with petty thieves or notorious gangs who make life uncomfortable to those who are out at this hour.

We passed through dark alleys that sent chills to my body. The substance we were chewing was like an energy dose. We got energy and fantastic enjoyment from it. We had traversed our Ujamaa Village to Brazil, Half London, Likoni, Bomani, Flats and Vyemani on our route back. I hoped to see night runners but never did, I guess they are just a myth.

At one house we were tempted to peep inside a room from an open window and we saw a man and his wife watching a game of Arsenal Vs Manchester United. We watched silently until the game was over. On another window, we saw a family that was waking up their two kids to go to the toilet. We knew it was to prevent them from peeing on the mattress. There were a few other open windows, but it was just commonplace activities.

These were people we didn’t know, I wondered what if I peeped into families that I knew. Well, dawn was approaching and our stash was almost up. Motorcycle taxis, known as Boda boda, are still to be found on Bus stops at this time. They charge double what they usually take during the day. Guys who do night shifts and Commercial sex workers from night clubs are usually the targets at this hour. My partners decided to return to their homes. I did too but was curious about businesses that went on inside people’s lives at night that I decided to ask my partners to do this again tomorrow night.

Saturday night proved to be much fun that Friday. I thought it wasn’t bad being addicted to fun. And we were not hurting anybody. Half an hour past midnight and we were already on our rounds. Sometimes each would take a position on a window chosen, and tell each other what we’ve seen half an hour later when we rejoined. I would place myself at an adjacent angle to the shadow of the house so that my body would not be silhouetted against the light from within the room. The good thing about us is that we were not thieves. We took nothing out from those windows. We were just giving our eyes a treat.

Through some windows, I saw couples in deep sleep. On some, not less than six, they were making love. I must say Missionary position will never go out of style, no matter how many x-rated movies people watch. In some, however, singles were touching with themselves. And not just boys, although they make up eighty percent of them, ladies were into it too.

My favorite was on a window about three houses away from Mwahima hospital. This couple seemed to have woken up in the middle of the night with full vigor. They were experienced too because they did not rush into it. The guy was taking her slow, preparing her for the major storm. She was agreeable and her groaning continued to thrill her man. I did not move even an inch from where I was standing outside the window. Mgoks was chewed gently and carefully lest the clatter of my teeth should wake up the romantics. My heart was beating faster; I could feel the blood pressure in my veins. I did not wipe out the sweat that was dripping across my face and sometimes disturbing my eyes. I was preparing myself to a high by being en-sync with their rhythm. Without notice, electricity was out in the entire neighborhood. I was disappointed for a split second, and then my intuition let me switch on my Cell phone torch to illuminate the room. I regret having done that. Because the love birds gave out a terrified scream that I could no longer afford to remain at my position.

My friends heard the cry and we met in no time and decided on a route that led to the Cabro-tile paved road. Two policemen sat in a dark kiosk near the road. They summoned us and started asking many questions. We pleaded with them for about half an hour, but they could not release us until we parted with two thousand shillings. I was horrified; I didn’t want to spend a night in a police cell, again. We returned back home, and after I was safely lying down on my bed, I began to take a toll on my new night lifestyle. At last, I resolved to stop it, and stop chewing the evil leaves that incite this new irresponsible habit.

Tonight, Sunday, I have no sleep in my eyes. I slept early after dinner but was woken up by a definite fear that was relayed to my dream. I went beside my window and looked outside. I was afraid that somebody might be taking a peek at me. I thought I saw a human figure while on my bed, but then I figured out that it was just a shadow of the pawpaw tree. No one was passing by outside. It must have been an hour or so of standing for I felt that the suspenseful silence for long. It was dead silent, save for an occasional mow of the cows on a nearby shed. The wind was blowing westwards gently and the half-moon shone just enough to give me a good view of the front of our house. Time passed but no one was passing. I suspected somebody was eagerly waiting for me to give up so that he could come to the window and watch me. I don’t want to be watched while sleeping. I only have on a costume when sleeping and I thought it was possible somebody might take a picture of my tush and spread it over the internet. Maybe I was silly, maybe it’s just the unreasonable fear that got in my head. But it surely gave me insomnia tonight.

Baby-Mama

Cocks were crowing amidst the approaching dawn. A silver shiny thread of light could be seen on the eastern horizon. While the neighbors were getting ready to wake up, we had been up all night. Eva, her two cousins, a neighbor and I couldn’t sleep. To be honest, I could use some sleep but it would seem insensitive to Eva. So we stayed up all night expecting any good news on the whereabouts of Freddy.

Freddy was her three years old son who did not return home last night. The last time we saw him was around four in the afternoon yesterday when we were watching TV. He said he was going out to play with his friends. It’s only after darkness encroached that his mum realized and went out to look for her. She came back after twenty minutes asking me to help in the search because he could not be found in the whole neighborhood.

Freddy had the general cuteness of little kids. He was brown, big eyes and playful. He demands money for sweets and “chips kuku” every time I arrive. I didn’t like his behavior of climbing up elder people when they are resting on the couch. He talks back arrogantly. I guess he knew his mum has a soft spot for him as an only child and would excuse any mischief he does.

I had a soft spot for his mum. I wouldn’t want to upset her so I pretended to like her son. Eva had him with an irresponsible Matatu tout who was not yet done with “enjoying life.” Despite childbirth, this Meru Mammacita still retained her exquisite physique and nice looks. Well, she uses makeup mostly to enhance her facial looks but the body was all hers. No artificial alterations, an African heavy machine.

Despite tiredness, we were ready to go for the search again. Last night we went to Inuka and Likoni police stations to report the missing child. We came back to Ujamaa village and searched the nearby areas until past midnight. We couldn’t sleep after, so we sat outside the house praying and hoping Freddy would show up miraculously. Eva, one of her cousins and I began going deeper into Shonda village to look for Freddy. We passed by where I lived, asked some neighbors and preceded. On the way, we asked for village elders and pleaded with mosques to announce on their loudspeakers about the missing child. We left our contacts with everyone we hoped could help. We reached Talentos and Shelly beaches but no one had seen Freddy. The second team; Eva’s cousin, the neighbor and a friend of hers who came this morning after hearing the bad news took to Shikaadabu route. They crossed the road and searched in Mwaweche to areas near Mtongwe. We kept contacting each other after intervals to see if there’s any good news.

Dusk was approaching and we had not gotten any hope of knowing where Freddy had lost to. I had only a queen cake and mineral water bought from a shop the whole day. I was hungry and tired of the search. I could see everyone else was. I wished I could escape Eva for about two hours where I’d go to my home to eat and rest. To be honest, I wasn’t so fond of the kid but I felt it’s my duty as a boyfriend to stand by Eva in this. What’s the worst that could happen if the boy didn’t show up? At least our bedroom time will have no interruptions from the little elf. He had this habit of knocking on his mum’s bedroom door just when we were winding up on foreplay. And if we pretended to be quiet asleep he would cry so loud that his mum would be thrown out of the mood.

Close to seven P.M. and we had not received a phone call from the village elders or Police stations giving us news about Freddy. We were not going to have a search tonight, it would be pointless. Many neighbors came and showed how sorry they were for Eva. Some were very talkative and stood in corners to talk about the misfortune. I wondered where they were during searches. Some guys were talking about uncovered pit holes that are increasing in Likoni Location which kids and drunkards could easily fall into. Some talked about members of cults who steal babies because they believe in human sacrifice. All gory stories and their voices could be heard even though they stood on far corners.

This made Eva lose hope. Two days and her son was nowhere to be found. Where was he? She kept asking, sometimes out loud. I had planned to give an excuse so that I could disappear for tonight but then I didn’t. I was tired, and it was less likely that she would forget her sadness and worry tonight for some romance. I was frustrated. I so much wanted to have our mild wrestling games with her tonight.

Exotic beauty gives men the “can’t get enough of her” feeling. Her brown shiny skin and sleepy brown eyes were a curse to any man committed to celibacy. She was tall and built but not fat. She had a flat stomach because she maintained herself. This Baby mama has a sexy stride with a confident look. She frolics in the nude when we are indoors. She is hotter than every ex I had. Tonight, she makes me wish there was a thing like “Calamity sex.” Eva Kaweria, the best I've ever had.

Eva’s boyfriend had her shoulder. As she was sobbing, I had her leaning on my chest, my left arm around her. I kept sniffing her hair while giving her comforting words. Maybe she felt my skin against hers, maybe she didn’t. But I still held her and kissed her forehead from time to time. I wanted to send a message without saying that it was okay. It will be okay, and I’m here for you. I held her tight and breathed to her ears but she kept crying in pain not knowing what to do. She didn’t know whether her son had been stolen or dead.

I decided I would be with her through this difficult time. If she needs to arrange an absentia funeral, rally for donations or whatever need be to make her believe her son is resting in peace so that we can live life and enjoy in peace. I will stick with her despite what the neighbors’ gossip in our absence. We lived among communities that largely condemned having a child out of wedlock. But they didn’t know that Baby mamas make perfect candidates for men who do not want responsibilities, especially financial ones. There is a community in these areas that would not marry a woman if there is no proof of babies. They would easily take girls who’ve sired babies outside wedlock because they know they can reproduce and bring babies for them. Others do the "Come we stay" and only get married after having babies. But there are others who see them as being irresponsible, promiscuous, sinners, and a pre-requisite for a “Complicated marriage” if ever they take them in. Eva had a good job and took good care of her son. She did not ask for any assistance from his biological father. Except for yesterday when she called to tell him that his son was lost, but he didn’t even bother to show up.

We slept at her couch. We were so tired and hungry. Even though she didn’t want to, she found herself waking up from it at seven in the morning. It must have been the power of my cuddle. We washed our faces and decided to head to Inuka police station then to Likoni police station. At the entrance of Likoni Police station, an older guy was holding Freddy by his hand taking him in. We stopped him and Eva held up her baby gratefully. She hugged and kissed him so many times. She was very happy to have found her baby. The guy said his name was Rajabu and he found Freddy two days ago stranded in Licodep area. There was a wedding band procession that ended at that hall. We figured out that Freddy followed the wedding band procession we heard outside two days ago while we were watching TV, Famously known as Simba Ropa here in Mombasa. And when the procession reached its destination, Freddy didn’t know his way back home and it was dark. Rajabu took him to Likoni Police station and reported. And he had been feeding Freddy and provided him with a place to sleep for two days. We wondered why the Police did not call us back, but Eva was just so glad to bring that up to the Police.

Scent of repulsion

The time is 5:30 pm and I’m at Likoni ferry creek on my way home. Maybe now I won’t encounter dramas as I had witnessed in the morning. The tide was high and calm. Less noise as in the morning, I guess people are hungry and are looking forward to getting home and rest.

I had been called for an interview in the morning by a company I applied to two weeks ago. I woke up early and by seven I was here. I passed by the security checkup, then the beggars lined up and some hawkers. This is where my worry began. I knew it won’t be the same after crossing as how it is now, smell-wise.

Every day that I plan to cross over the ferry to the island has to be preceded by a ritual bath. It takes around ten minutes to have it. I’m usually careful and give attention to every part covered in skin. There is a famous saying: Take a bath and start living, brush your teeth so that others can live. So I make the bath count. It is usually thorough on a day like this because I had an interview. I use imperial leather soap. Though the scent it applies to my body is not very strong, it’s good. I like it. Then I brush my teeth, not because of oral hygiene, but for the same reason I take these baths. It’s for people to be comfortable around me.

As far as body odor flies its importance, I avoid perfumes. I have this sinus problem that jumps up whenever I use strong perfume, strong pepper or very cold drinking water. You see why I have to take a good bath now, to preserve the natural goodness of my body smell as long as possible. It’s courtesy, It's good manners, it's being considerate. Good smell attracts and gives smiles to unhappy pedestrians.

The Likoni ferry crossing, however, is a spoiler to the essence of cleanliness we work for. People are congested. There is a mixture of clean people and those who don’t care. The heat generated by the crowd is enough to destroy the good smell you are preserving. But there is no other way, at least for me. Maybe if I had an air-conditioned car I wouldn’t worry about heat, sweating, and crowds. Once I had to enter the gents at Swahilipot hub and take a second bath in the morning. It becomes necessary sometimes. But today I march on with people, everyone pushing. Rubbing their dirt and transferring B.O. to each other. Everyone wants to cross and be early to work or wherever they are going.

 Some guy pretended to put a coin in a blind beggar’s cup but instead took out forty shillings out. Luckily he was seen and forced to return the money. Aboard the ferry, there was a Christian preacher who was open in demanding “sadaka” from people. Ferry rules do not allow preaching or hawking while aboard. But they always do it. I thought of broadcasting this preacher live on Facebook because he was funny, but was afraid he might demand charity from me too. So I just listened. After some minutes we heard noise and commotion from the lower deck. The guy who wanted to steal from a blind beggar was talking bad and unapologetic. So they decided to give him a lesson. Guys were beating the shit out of him. He received a beating until he was rescued by Kenya ferry security guards after reaching the other side. There is always drama at Likoni ferry. If nothing perplexes you in your neighborhood, here you will by seeing fish swimming naked.

That was in the morning. I had the interview then went to Swahilipot hub to continue with personal projects. Now, I’m on my way back. Gazing at the wonderful sea. Ships at berth loading and offloading. Ferry passengers are usually less noisy at this time. After disembarking I headed straight to the Tuktuk stage and got in one. Two more ladies got in and we were good to go.

A distinct smell started to claim the air around us. There was no luggage behind the tuktuk, for maybe we could assume rotten fruits or vegetables. After a few minutes, I recognized that it was B.O.  It must have been coming from one of the ladies. Exactly the one who was sitting next to me. Her redolence was stronger than rotten food or even stench coming out from a dirty toilet. I couldn’t say anything because she was a stranger. I wanted so much to cover my nose and face the other side but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to offend the smelly girl, although the smell she exudes was offensive enough. She was ebony in skin. Pitch black but with a luster that usually makes them branded black beauties. She wore fitting black jeans and a petite light blue blouse with colored flowers painted on. She had meat. Not a spring chicken, but definitely not among those who persecute themselves with diets. Her sexy hip rubbing against my left thigh. Her only flaw was body odor.

She looked my way and smiled. I had to smile back. Of all the criticism I will offer about her pungence, I can’t lie that she was not a hottie. I was attracted, despite the smell. I don’t know if it was out of madness or temporary insanity that I told her “I have a feeling I will regret not seeing you again after today. Suppose I don’t go home, and you don’t go home. And we stop somewhere nice just to talk for some time?”

Men are dogs, so many women would say. But if we are, they are bitches. At the prospect of being laid by a very attractive girl, a man would cancel an important appointment or even a meal to see it through. This was a girl who had given me a good reason not to even befriend, but since she was hot and easy, I saw this as a golden opportunity to excite my emotions by passion and fly high to cloud nine. Her body stench will be easily negligible once I’m in the throes of sweetness. Just downplay the stinking on my mind, but if it warrants, I could cover my nose using a paper bag. Heaven knows I wanted her by any means, regardless. There was this thirst, lust that believed she will soon quench. And I would smile happily after that. I anticipate the lovemaking to have challenging discomfort. Gulping for fresh air while keeping it steady. Flying my mind far away from the guest house bed while still affording kisses and caresses. I guess I’d have to close my eyes to at least enjoy a reasonable degree of intimacy. Foul smell Vs passion. I hope for the response to touch to override the odor and make me enjoy the loveliest natural ecstasy ever experienced by humans throughout time.

She was an agreeable girl. I didn’t even have to ask her name. The other lady sitting beside her seemed pissed off. But the Tuktuk driver was smiling. She nodded to my proposal and I touched her last right-hand finger just to send a message. I could envision the tiredness I felt leaving my body. Muscles releasing stress feeling fresh and youthful. I was not going to let a stupid malodor stand in the way of my fun.

My defense and reason is I know a good number of men would have done the same. I closed my eyes and said to myself “kufa gari, kufa dereva.” And motioned the tuktuk driver to stop at Third world stage where we would alight. I knew a discreet lodging behind Third world café that charged by the hour.

Such are commonplace decisions made by heads of men. We love our hearts caressed. We love the fun that comes with no strings attached. We like girls. We work hard for money, and we like to possess beautiful things. We want fame and we want a lot of other things. And although every man dreams of sex with celebrities, any half cute girl would do, really.

Paternity link

Location: KIKODEP, behind Ziwa La Ng’ombe Primary School in Bombolulu. I had gone to seek advice about Community based organizations and Management of Non-governmental organizations from my friend Livingston Nyando who has been in that field for over 10 years. After I was contented with the information he unselfishly shared with me, I though better consult him on a personal matter that had been disturbing me for months.

Ten years ago while on my early morning exercises at Mombasa beach, I met an attractive young woman sitting by a rock. The tide was low and it was chilly. She exuded something I didn’t understand but rendered my limbs strength-less. Women allure mostly when they smile, but this sad one definitely sparkled me. I played a hero and started with “The only thing that can bring a beauty at the beach at this hour in sadness is a breaking up marriage.” I wanted to use “broken heart” instead of a breaking up marriage but thought I should cease the chance to get her marital status. You never know. “Unfortunately my marriage ended last night.” She said while taking a look at me from head to toe. Although I was sweating, I believed to be in my advantage to look athletic.

Well, she was a damsel in distress and a straight man does not lose golden chances like these. I took her somewhere safe where she could vent and see that after all her misfortunes I was there for her, physically. Somewhere I could look straight to her eyes, pass on a message, and sneak a kiss while she was still wondering. She was agreeable, we made love under white fluorescent light and unmade bed. The first time I felt like a starving animal. She was good, and I think I was good too.

Two weeks after when I called her, she said she got back together with her husband and it would be better that I deleted her number from my phone. I didn’t, but I did not disturb her too. It had happened to me before so I cannot be a cry baby about it. I continued with my work, exercises and other activities until I got a job in the Middle East. I got married too, but didn’t work out. A lot of years have passed and I’m not even in the Middle East anymore.

A month and a half ago, I met her again at Naivas supermarket in Likoni. We said our greetings as friends and she introduced me to her son Maulidi. He was around ten years old and looked almost the same as as how I see my pictures when I was ten. Innocently, I asked the boy when his birthday was and he gladly answered 12^th June. Maybe his mind was on a birthday gift. As I raised my head, Sakina, her mum, was looking at me with disbelief. She motioned the boy to the counter and they disappeared.

Sleep eluded me that night, and the day after. And for two weeks I could not be contented with forty five minute sleep per night. I felt like my blood was calling. The boy’s birth date was about 9 months after I met his mother. Sometimes he came to my dreams and calls me daddy. It was painful to realize that my son was being raised up by another man. Whenever I thought about it, I felt my blood pressuring against my veins. It was calling, in resonance.

After several efforts and threats, Sakina agreed to meet me in private to discuss the matter. However, she continued denying my fatherhood. When I told her about the dates, she said the boy was born prematurely. As for the similitude, she said it was just luck. After disagreeing, she asked me what is it that I wanted? To break up her marriage, confuse her kids, or that I wanted her because she surely doesn’t? She told me she is having a good life and a marriage and two kids, and begged me not to wreck it for her.

All my friend Livingstone could advice about it was: - A kid born inside a marriage belongs to those married couple, no matter who the biological father is. The boy eats well, goes to school, and generally lives a good life. You should not interfere in that, because things will not only go wrong for the kids, but also to their marriage. Marriage is sacred; it should be helped to bloom, not to be broken down. And furthermore, the boy could not even be yours. You can’t claim him just because you think he looks like you. I am against it; the society is against you for laying with a married woman. And the law is also against you.

I was not contented with my friend’s advice. And I did not lay with a married woman. They had broken up even though not divorced. Maybe she thought they would not get back together.  She should have told me the truth. Instead she said her marriage was over, which technically absolves me from any intentional wrongdoing. I did not want to continue feeling the guilt, so I had to claim my right. I applied through a lawyer a request in the courts to compel Sakina and Her husband to the boy’s paternity test.

We were at the Mombasa law courts this morning at ten. Sakina’s husband shook my hand when I introduced myself, but she didn’t. We waited for our turn and we went in for the proceedings. After a lengthy argument, the judge declined my request. There would be no DNA test; the only thing that would prove to the world that he was my boy.

I was disappointed, but it seemed I was not alone. Sakina and her husband did not talk the whole time we were in the courts. And it seemed they were about to take different transport means to their home. I headed for the hubby to plead with him one last time. I thought even though the law was on his side, he would be understanding enough to heed the cries of a true father. I hoped my face this morning was convincing enough to make him know the boy and I are one. But instead I received a heavy unexpected punch on my face. In less than a minute, I was down and he was stepping angrily on my face, ribs and legs. I cried out so that the hawkers and street vendors around the court parking could help.

These are the things conscientious people do. I felt I was responsible and it was my duty to fight for my son. My flesh and blood. It was not about society or law, but my right. Marriages breaking up and confusion in families would just be collateral. But how could I go on normal living while I know my son is raised in another family and doesn’t know his true father?

Luckily, I did not die. The guy was arrested by policemen. But I could not rise or walk by myself. An ambulance was called and I was rushed to Coast General hospital (Makadara). I must have passed out for some hours while doctors were working on me in the emergency room. But I’m a little better now, with bandages. Doctors say they would have to watch me for at least four days, that’s why they admitted me. I’m now laying on a hospital bed in one of the wards on upper floors, with bandages and still having some pains.

PS: I look hideous, don’t come to visit me.

Sour

Omondi was a cute boy, but children are usually cute. He was about three years old. He used to come to our Plot to play with my nieces, nephews, and the neighbor’s kids. He was playful and naughty, but in a childish way. He did not harm the other kids at all. He seemed to like it so much being away from his own home where he stays with his mother. But being away from home usually landed him in trouble in the evening when he returns back.
Their house was four plots away from ours, about three hundred meters. His mum did not like him being in neighbors’ houses because she feared he begged for food. They were not poor, neither were they rich. She had a husband and a new six months old baby. But the husband was not Omondi’s dad. She had five other babies, but were all taken by their dad when he left. He could not trust her with them.
We all know the value of disciplining a child. Spare the rod and spoil the child. Children should be taught good manners from their young age. But as parents, we should not lose focus and understanding that they are still young and fragile. We have our limits with them while taking them to task.
Omondi preferred neighbors because his mother was too heavy handed in her punishments. But there are things that she did to him that bordered on cruelty. She was a lazy woman, did not like cooking and other chores. Omondi would have to wait for supper after having a half cup of tea in the morning. You wouldn’t blame him, a kid’s gotta eat. And when he complained about hunger, his mother would slap him hard on the face. At first we thought she was a strict disciplinarian, but we all came to the rescue one day when she was beating the young boy just as she was fighting a fellow adult. She had slapped and pushed the little boy for fifteen minutes. And despite his sorry cries, she didn’t want to give it a rest.
The boy had wounds all over his body, and he had difficulty turning his head. We insisted on taking him to the nearby Magongo health centre and the mother followed. He received treatment but was told it’s better to take him to Coast General Hospital (Makadara) where he will be X-rayed and his neck problem to be looked into further. The mother said she would take him the next day, but she didn’t.
Omondi continued to feel better and after a week his neck could turn well. But the mother did not stop her cruelty ways. He kicked Omondi with her foot and he was thrown to the toilet where he fell down and hit the ceramic bowl. This was just because Omondi complained of the cold water she was using to bath him. That was not enough; she followed him to the toilet, held him up and pushed his head against the wall. Neighbors that were in the same plot started making noise, pleading to her to leave the baby alone. But she continued beating him until three women went and held him to stop.
Afterwards, she insulted those women very nastily. She was foul mouthed. She asked everyone in the plot to mind his and her own business. Neighbors were confused. That kind of cruelty is usually portrayed by feminists to be from fathers. There are many governmental and nongovernmental organizations today championing the rights of women and children. They brand themselves victims. But we forget, or we turn a blind eye when it’s a woman doing something cruel to a fellow woman. This was Omondi’s biological mum; she was expected to love and care for him more than herself. But what we witness is contrary. And it did not start with her; neither will it stop with her. We have read and heard many cases where mothers throw their just born babies to dustbins. Others murder their own kids even after growing up. I guess it’s not a masculine or feminine thing, it just depends on the kind of heart a person has.
The next day, Omondi could not open his eyes. He had to hold the wall to be able to reach the toilet. We thought it would just be a one day thing, but after three days Omondi could not see still. His mother took him to a nearby private clinic and brought him back. We all suspected that her beatings had damaged the little boys veins to his eyes. Furthermore, he was breathing in difficulty. There seemed to be wheezing sound that suggested pain whenever he was breathing.
It has been two months since Omondi came to play with the kids in our house. We asked about him and were told that he spends the whole day sitting in his mother’s room. He Goes out occasionally to the toilet, or to sit outside his mum’s door. His mum had made him blind. We also heard that his mum is still mean to him concerning food. We missed him. We wish we could help but the mother was so foul mouthed that no one dared start anything with her.
After just a week, we received news of Omondi’s death. His death stirred up emotions of neighbors to ten houses radius. Most parents who loved Omondi and knew he was a friend of their kids went to console the bereaved mother. People were sad. No one expected the little boy to die soon. They thought he would grow up and move away from his mother to lead his own life. I heard one woman say she wished she had reported the cruel mother to the police and Omondi taken away. But it was too late.
I saw his mother in tears as she lay under the bed where she had covered Omondi with a lesso (Swahili cultural garment) leaving only his face out for neighbors to see. It’s true, he was not breathing. His eyes were closed. We wanted to say he was sleeping peacefully, but how could we? It was an injustice death. Someone was not fair to this lovely boy, and that someone is responsible for his death. At four in the afternoon a pick up car came and took the dead boy. Some neighbors boarded the pick up while some took other means of transport. Omondi was to be transported to Chaani, that’s where his fathers’ family was. And that was where he would be buried.
One woman in the pickup was fed up with Omondis’ mums’ sobbing and she laid out to her openly that she was the one who killed her baby boy. “You beat a 3 year boy as if you are in a boxing ring. You had neither mercy nor love for this boy. Yours are crocodile tears, you must have wished that he was out of your life from the way you were treating him. We feel for Omondi today more than you who is his own mother. I despise you. I’m only accompanying you here because of the boy. But you dint deserve him, neither do you deserve having any kids. Do me a favor and stop pretending you are sad with your hypocritical cry.”
There were other mothers who joined in to rebuke Omondi’s mum. They were really bitter with her. But on my part, I only thought how I would go on missing the good boy who used to play with my nephews and nieces. Rest in peace Omondi.

The Frying Pan

Fatime and I were waiting on the wooden bench. We were here twenty days ago when I brought her for an HiV blood test. She requested my shoulder to lean on through this whole testing activity since I was the one who encouraged her to get tested. She had been suffering chronic coughs; wounds all over her body that do not heal easy even with good medication, loss of energy and other strange symptoms. She was frail and had lost some glow on her facial beauty.

 She was my second cousin on my paternal side. Married, and had two boys and a girl. My reason for encouraging her to be tested was that five years ago, I saluted her husband on Whatsapp and he replied “hey darling, miss you. Where ru@?”, Before I set him straight. I knew something was not right about this brother in law. But I said nothing to my cousin sister.

Many lessons I had learnt, by experience and word of mouth about these situations. Once I told a friend that his wife is cheating on him. I thought it was my responsibility as a friend and I even gave him an address and likely times which he could find his wife at the Man’s quarters. My friend made a point of staking out the place for some days after lying to his wife that he was going to work. And one day he saw her. He confronted her as she was just about to enter the guy’s room. It didn’t end well. They had to divorce and life was not good for either. My friend found himself with an added responsibility of taking care of his two little kids which overwhelmed him considering he had to be at work for the most part of the day. Things were stressful and disorganized at his home. I somehow felt I was responsible for the situation he was in. I once also warned a friend that the man she is going out with is not a good man. In the end I was accused of secretly loving the girl and wanting her for myself.

The health centre corridor was busy. Women helped by relatives or nurses to the ward. Occasionally a manned stretcher would rush a woman to the theater or delivery room. We were still on the bench waiting for Fatime’s turn to see the doctor and receive her results. I pitied her. Her husband was not one to stop his bad habits even after I talked to him. I saw him a year after the incident on a dim lit restaurant with another woman. Some men are strange and just unfaithful. I have to be careful and say ‘some’ because I am a man too but nothing like them. They think winning over many girls somehow raises their status. But it’s an imaginary status. These men think less about commitment and his responsibility towards it. Some disrespectful to a point of flirting in the presence of their brothers in law. And guys will always warn you about interfering with other people’s marriages.

 But it’s not only men; there are many women who do the same. My cousin had a girlfriend he loved very much. She would avail herself whenever he requested and she also helped him financially since he was jobless. She was in college. Their love was evident is the number or phone calls and outings they had. Then one day while in a cyber café, I saw his girlfriend with another boy. His hand was on his waist as they were strolling towards Fort Jesus direction. I called and asked my cousin who was in the countryside for the weekend to call his girlfriend and ask her who the man was holding her waist was. I returned back to my seat to surf the net. Later when my cousin returned he explained how his ‘ex girlfriend’ had turned round and round asking him where he was hiding. She said the guy was just a friend who was in the same class with her in college. But that was the end of it. My cousin said of all the girls he broke up with, he felt this one deep because he believed it would last forever.

After half an hour, Fatime was called in. I had to wait patiently until her return. I prayed that all would go well and maybe she will be asked to take more tests to diagnose other problems. But what if the tests turn out positive? I asked myself. I breathed in heavily then out. I began wondering if I should tell her I could have warned her earlier enough. But I knew I would not abandon her if it comes to worst. The mysteries around AIDS have been explained enough that we are not afraid of those who are infected nowadays. In Televisions and magazines we are taught how to take care and live with them. There are also ARV drugs that help them to live a good life with their disease.

After ten minutes she was out. There was disappointment on her face. Tears were coming down from her eyes. I stood up to hold her and told her there is nothing to worry about. I could feel the tremors from her body. She gave me the report; she was diagnosed positive to HiV Aids. I thought of different ways to console her because she was still silently but painfully crying. I had to get her home and talk to her on how she can continue taking care of herself so that she can also look after her kids. And how to break this news to immediate family so that she would receive every necessary help to go through this.

The news of the disease took a toll on my heart and conscience just as the guilt of “I could have warned her earlier enough.”  But these matters are complicated. What should I have done? Or what is it that anyone is expected to do if they meet such a situation. And where is the boundary? For people you don’t know, it might not give you sleepless nights. But imagine it’s your brother or sister. Should we mark the boundaries on our siblings, or we should mark it on our cousins and uncles and aunts? What about our friends? Although warning people we care about is the honorable thing to do and it can save one from a disaster, but it can also bring a disaster when families are split. And We don’t want to be responsible or be blamed for calamities befalling people we care for.