‘pump milk into their cows
There is always this no man’s land where the village herdsmen convene to ‘pump milk into their cows,’ and you will ever run into different people. First, there’s always this little kid in torn pants considered to be the dregs of the society but way cooler than the North pole. She almost always is the only kid around, and so you will demand to know why she is not in school like the rest of the population, and she will shyly respond, “Mwalimu alisema niende nilete Pesa ya mtihani.” Shamefully, your common sense will always ask you not to proceed to the next question. This woman in a leso partly drenched in water comes along to join you. You can tell that she is just from doing laundry and her stay there will be shorter than your time in the school library. When it comes to private matters, she likes her opinion hotter than highschool porridge. Her mouth is itchier than a caveman’s dandruff and she has been summoned to the gallows severally by the village elder to be reminded that no one would complain one bit if she put her running mouth to good use by representing the country in an international rap competition. It was even once recommended that her face be handed over to the Kenya Wildlife Service to be used on billboards as the images of the newest species of snakes in our forests. Her husband, on the other hand, is a renown drinker at the market center and has, at several times, made miraculous attempts of cleaning his sinful past at the local church to no avail. The pastor has had enough of his theatrics, and his next visit will leave the pastor skeptical. It will not be the first time he sees the light on his Road to Damascus. He once threw a local ceremony into a frenzy when the village elder was rebuking drunkards in the community. And he was quick to remind the village elder from his seat that he doesn’t drink yet he is still languishing in poverty. That was the closest to comebacks we have come since Barcelona eliminated PSG on that Valentine night. Back to the wife, she always wants to know the years remaining in your 8-4-4 and, of course, when you are graduating. Considering what you wrote for the lecturer at the end of sem exams, such questions always suck. So you always keep the replies as short as possible. Herding is not her thing, and so she will ask you to be in charge before giving you that glance like,’ we umetoka shule juzi, Fanya Kazi” And then there is this old man who wants to know the lifestyle of the Maasai’s as if you always interact with them in the village. Lord knows we only see those people when we go to town. You will always tell them the little things you read about, and he will then brag how his 2-month stay back in 1975 there went. He almost certainly is always not lying, and to validate his answer, he will mention a few places he can recall. Then there is teenager always carrying a panga around whose time has caught up within primary school but has never dropped out of school. He was once your childhood friend but now feels out of place when you are around. And before you know it, it is lunchtime