Sun is scorching hot, it’s exactly 1:59 p.m a Tuesday east African time at the heart of a tiny village in Kenya . The people have just finished covering the grave of a fallen villager .
The fallen soldier was a jack of all trades but passed away in mysterious manner harvesting what he never sowed and was connected to his maker .
He was a jovial person but once he trespassed into dynasty ranch to fell trees for firewood and charcoal all that was ever heard was a long wail of a farmer nearby who came across his body deep in thickets heavily bruised .
The burial attendees all of us attended out of curiosity since we had all used his charcoal or firewood . As for me I used to sell him pangas the England made if only I could convince him not to step into the forbidden soil but I couldn’t he was my elder 60+ years but now laid to rest as life continues .
It’s 2:06 done n dusted , a man passes by and tells me “wira ucio ni muthiru”.
I twist my head and see common faces from my village but the big question is who is next ?
A drunk lady is misbehaving greeting his long lost cousins . It’s the African style that family meets during send off dressed to kill and show everyone "I made it in the city ". Rest well champ .
I hate it when you narrate something and add your mothertoungue without translating. Everyone is not your tribe mate.
Good riddance. Hao wezi wa kuni, miti za post na makaa ni watu bloody fuckin’ sana. Destructive as fuck .. cutting down whatever, hawatambui kama ni an immature or indigenous tree. Wanasumbua mbirrionaires kwa ranches zao. Maliza ua .. hizo takataka za watu.
I support.