Seasons Galore

Tis’ the season to be jolly and like most of us Kenyans I will be out eating, drinking and doing some of things I’ll later deny I could have done. In the spirit of Kenyan Christmas, quite a number of goats, not a few chicken, and a splattering of cows, fish, and various fowl will lose their lives to satisfy this jolliness that I and my fellow Kenyans will enjoy. This season brings fond memories of Christmases gone by. Some mine, and some certainly not mine. (I still pledge the fifth on those)

In the days gone by we used to trek all the way to our reserves to celebrate this season. Naturally we would carry all manner of things to show how good the city has been to us and hide the kind of lie we really lived in the city. This is the time when we buy exotic foods we never actually eat, wear rented tuxedos, and hire cars to impress the village folks as to what kind of life we lead in the city of lights and garbage.

One Christmas gone by, a friend of mine who had just landed a job decided he is going back to the village to amaze his village mates on his new found success and impress a certain pretty diva who then had had no eyes for him. With that in mind he borrows a friends car, rents a tuxedo and goes for a shopping spree at one of the local supermarkets in town. Remembering how the village diva had looked six years back he buys for her jewellery and a rather expensive dress for the occasion. He also decides to carry a few bottles of some walking stuff to give him courage.

Reaching the village shops, he enters one of the popular bars there and proceeds to spread his largesse. After a few brown bottles, and a few tots of the walker, he gets emboldened and tells all and sundry how he intends to propose to Wanjiru on that day and take her back to his big house in the city. He challenges anyone who would try to prevent him and is rather surprised none of the village lads seem to be interested in taking up his challenge. He proceeds to extol her beauty and imagined charms and calls the village lads cowards for not managing to get Wanjiru. Getting an entourage of now inebriated pals in tow he drives to her father’s house shouting at the top of his voice that he’s coming for Wanjiru.

Reaching the house he meets an elderly woman sitting on a stool. He then proceeds to give her a few lessos he happened to have and asks tells her he has come to see her daughter. The lady looks at him aghast and tells him he is a bit too drunk to see such a young child and anyway at this hour children are in bed sleeping. He tells the lady how he went to school with her daughter and has since spent all his time in Nairobi thinking of her and how he is going to marry her. He also explains how he has brought for her a dress and stuff for her to wear.

The woman looks at him carefully then exclaims “Karuiki! Is that you?”

“Yes” he replies proudly, “and I’ve come for Wanjiru your daughter. I want to take her in my car to Nairobi”

“I am Wanjiru”

“You!” he exclaims, “no way. Wanjiru is not even 25 yet!”

“But I am Wanjiru. How do you expect me to stay young after five children?”

She then proceeds to tell him of the various father’s of her kids who have run away to the city, and how she has to sell cheap liquor to survive since her brothers had chased her away from the shamba her father has left her. All this time Karuiki is getting sober and shrinking as he realises all his dreams have just turned into so much hot air. The village lads are laughing out loud now and telling themselves how those fools from the city cannot even tell a young lady from an old one. They are repeating his boasts and somehow this leads them into louder laughter. Karuiki goes back slinking to his borrowed car and starts it up. It hiccups twice and dies. Apparently he had forgotten to put in fuel.