Sunday, September 16, 2012
The Village Idiot.
I ran away from my village, incase you want to know. Trying to look for better and greener pastures. When i realized that the breed that make politicians in my village of Gikonyo were slowly becoming idiots themselves, i knew mines was an endangered species. So when this white man called Grogon came to Gikonyo looking for people who wanted to go to the plains of Andu eru to study the ways of Ngai, i jumped at the opportunity even though I knew well enough that Muratina was my morning cup of tea. I had become so accustomed to the local brew that Gaterina, the woman who sold it, had reserved a seat in her house and inscribed my name on it and nobody else ever sat there. Of course I did not tell my friend the white man that me and those tears of leopards were inseparable, instead, i told him of the love of Jesus that had delivered me from the hands of Mukuria the witchdoctor, who had threatened to put a hen in my stomach one day for looking at the direction of his wife. I further told Grogon the white man of how much I had dreamed of going to those plains of Andu Eru and study the word that I would later bring back to the people of Gikonyo and pour it to them.
It must have convinced him, because the next month, accompanied by my wife, my son Jimmy and my trampy daughter Keziah, and the whole village in tow, we found ourselves on the way to the airport. I remember clearly how good i felt that day.
I have always been thrilled at the sight of an aero plane. I mean, this would be typical of a man whose main means of transport has always been a donkey and a green mamba bicycle. However, the feeling was near madness bliss when i found my way to the back of the plane and sat next to a very beautiful white woman. My wife had packed some Ngwacis and Turungi which she had put in a tree-top bottle. She had told me that the food they served in the plane would make me look like that thin black man that I saw on the only TV in our village that belongs to the chief. That man was so thin and it was reputed that his father was from the neighboring village and had gone to the plains of Andu Eru and befriended a white woman and had a son with him. I heard that the son had now become the President of Andu eru. I did not want to look thin like him and that is why i took my wife's Ngwaci's and Turungi.
Sitting beside this white beautiful woman, all i could do was smile with my best smile. She had legs that stretched to eternity, legs that were well lubricated and looked so soft. She did not have cracks on her feet like my wife and was wearing a short miniskirt that made me fidget uncomfortably in my seat. She smelled so good that I felt like I was in heaven. My whole body was shaking.
“Hawayu?’ I said trying to sound like Kamaru from my village who went to coast for one week and came back speaking with an accent. He told the whole village of how the accent from coast was similar to the one from the people of the plains of Andu eru. “Fine thank you. How you doing this evening?” She spoke so fast that I did not hear her last words. So I thought she was asking me my name. So I jumped into the task of telling her about myself, about how I come from a village that produces maize the size of a grown man’s hand from shoulder to the tip of the middle finger. I told her how my father, “The village Idiot senior” had been the first person in the whole village of Gikonyo to buy a mobile phone. I told her how I was going to miss the harvest due to my trip and how I expected to go and study the word and bring it to the village. She seemed to understand everything I was saying because before long enough my stories had lulled her into sleep. Of course I had omitted mentioning that I had a wife and two kids.
When we got off from the plane after about twenty hours on air, the white woman gave me a deep kiss and proceeded to write her number for me so I could call her when I got accustomed to the new land. It is at this time that Grogon, the white man who was accompanying me from my village came to me and whispered in my ears, “She is not a woman. She is a man dressed like a woman. They are called homosexuals here.”
And then my troubles began.
It must have convinced him, because the next month, accompanied by my wife, my son Jimmy and my trampy daughter Keziah, and the whole village in tow, we found ourselves on the way to the airport. I remember clearly how good i felt that day.
I have always been thrilled at the sight of an aero plane. I mean, this would be typical of a man whose main means of transport has always been a donkey and a green mamba bicycle. However, the feeling was near madness bliss when i found my way to the back of the plane and sat next to a very beautiful white woman. My wife had packed some Ngwacis and Turungi which she had put in a tree-top bottle. She had told me that the food they served in the plane would make me look like that thin black man that I saw on the only TV in our village that belongs to the chief. That man was so thin and it was reputed that his father was from the neighboring village and had gone to the plains of Andu Eru and befriended a white woman and had a son with him. I heard that the son had now become the President of Andu eru. I did not want to look thin like him and that is why i took my wife's Ngwaci's and Turungi.
Sitting beside this white beautiful woman, all i could do was smile with my best smile. She had legs that stretched to eternity, legs that were well lubricated and looked so soft. She did not have cracks on her feet like my wife and was wearing a short miniskirt that made me fidget uncomfortably in my seat. She smelled so good that I felt like I was in heaven. My whole body was shaking.
“Hawayu?’ I said trying to sound like Kamaru from my village who went to coast for one week and came back speaking with an accent. He told the whole village of how the accent from coast was similar to the one from the people of the plains of Andu eru. “Fine thank you. How you doing this evening?” She spoke so fast that I did not hear her last words. So I thought she was asking me my name. So I jumped into the task of telling her about myself, about how I come from a village that produces maize the size of a grown man’s hand from shoulder to the tip of the middle finger. I told her how my father, “The village Idiot senior” had been the first person in the whole village of Gikonyo to buy a mobile phone. I told her how I was going to miss the harvest due to my trip and how I expected to go and study the word and bring it to the village. She seemed to understand everything I was saying because before long enough my stories had lulled her into sleep. Of course I had omitted mentioning that I had a wife and two kids.
When we got off from the plane after about twenty hours on air, the white woman gave me a deep kiss and proceeded to write her number for me so I could call her when I got accustomed to the new land. It is at this time that Grogon, the white man who was accompanying me from my village came to me and whispered in my ears, “She is not a woman. She is a man dressed like a woman. They are called homosexuals here.”
And then my troubles began.
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