Growing up at the foothills of the god mountain, my elder bro and i, toka nitoke, had no parent to write home about. Mum was away toiling for our upkeep, while Dad…am trying hard not to use some flowery language…was in the wind, making more of us.
I spent my very young years at the mercy of a contigent of uncles who were training to join Lucifer’s Elite Torture Regiment. Being the sons of a daughter, a sister exactly, who was unmarried at the time, we posed a very real threat to the inheritance that my uncles had coming. We were viewed as a forward invasion unit that had to be annihilated.
We went through hell at the hands of the uncles who were wrought to either kill us off or run us away. The feeble pleas from my aging Cucu and the Sickly Patriach Mabenda, did little to deter the onslught on the four year old and six year old boys. Particularly from my eldest uncle, who am named after and the last born uncle… These two pigs , for lack of any schooling, and prompted by equally unread wife of the eldest uncle, whose sons were also in the pot for inheritance, and further castigated by hell born retarded neighbours who were keen to preserve the infant killing tradition, the screwups worked in shifts to torment, molest and torture two helpless boys, whose only crime, was to be born of unmarried lady. The situation got so bad, that at age six, my bro and i ran away from home for three weeks. We lived in Ant eater holes and ate what we could. By bad luck, i got sick, and my bro put me on a tree branch, and dragged me home, near death.
Before i could fully recover, the two shitheads, got busy again, now sure more than ever, that were they beat us hard enough, we would ran away for good. Every time mum vissited, btw, we used to call her by her name coz thats what everyone called her, whenever she vissited, the two uncles, together with a third who later reformed, always managed to badmouth us to mum , so bad so, that mum would spend the better part of her overnight vissit in thrashing us sore. The uncles stood guard to race us and bring us back to her for more. For their effort, they got pesa ya sigara and soft loans.
When i was Eight, battle hardened, we ran away, trecked for twenty kilometers and became Chokoraa in a place called Ndaragwa. We stayed for almost two months before we were discovered and arrested by police, and shipped back home. It was dec 1980. January '81, we were taken to an approved school, late, Mabenda senior intervened and we went to Maralal DEB …three hundred keep kilometers from home. Nine year old. Tears , honeatly, am sheding tears. Nine year old, in a boarding school that would go without cooking for a month coz the school depended on charity. I became a part time chokoraa for the entire time…five years.
The year after, mum married, and another hell opened… Elder brothers who saw us as outsiders who were only good at stealing their god given inheritance. The fucks. Stupid Royal family shitheads. But we were good at fights and wars. My bro and i could hold off seven brothers who were much older and bigger.
All this, Dad, the…#%@$#&@!$?&, was in Nairobi, Wealthy as a king, rolling with former presidents and such, driving The bigest Mercs and volvos and climbing by the night. After i did my O level, i set out to look for him. I found him second year. The &$%@?!@&$$!&$&! never even said sorry. The &+&#$@&#;?+@!(. Just gave me money. Like i needed it… I didn’t… Helb was alive and well back then. My new found family also had the Royals who thought i was after their Riches. Assholes.
Later i discovered he was just alost soul, i left and went my own ways. As is norm, He grew old, and sick, and depleted his Estate trying to stem Organ faliures of biblical propotions. By these, my Eldest bro by Dad, who turned rogue by pampering, had turned to crime and had been gunned down by police in Nakuru after his mum bailed him out for the hundredths time, another still of the Royals jumped of a building in London, a sister who saw him jump overdozed after escorting his bros remains from london to Nakuru, …six of the royals had gone by bad judgement… He had none to turn to. I still remember …oh tears…one afternoon he called me to his expansive office and told me hed was due for surgery at Nairobi hosp on the morrow and had no money for deposit…i dindnt think twice… I just walked to my office a short distance away, and brought him more than he needed in Deposit. I still remember his reaction… He expected maybe, ten or twenty, not hundreds… I still remember his laments, his teary eyes, THE SON HE LEFT TO DIE, WAS THE ONLY ONE PRESENT WHEN HE NEEDED HELP.
about five years later, he left us, and i, now leader of the entire 100plus bro and sis, stood at the head of the casket…THE SON HE LEFT TO DIE.
I swear, i can never neglect my child…afadhari tukufe pamoja. May God help me…
Advice…children grow up, parents grow old. Pick your pick.
Disclaimer, am not a fool to Anika my own here, but let someone learn from this. Mtoto akija, mungu huleta sahani yake. Brary chieth dead beat dads. May you die in hell twice