“Cock-a-doodle-do,” the cock crowed again. I cursed silently as I pulled up my old tattered bed-sheet tightly to cover my small frame. I hadn’t slept very well that night and I just was not ready yet to wake up. It was five o’clock in the morning. The cock always crowed at four thirty and exactly thirty minutes later.
Drizzles of rain were falling gently in the silent early morning, and washed down the single casement bedroom window that was hanging on the window frame with one hinge. The morning breeze whipped gently a torn makeshift khanga curtains. The morning was so peaceful. The early morning sunshine was slowly flooding our bedroom with orange light, making its way through the torn khanga. I craned my neck and looked outside the window to see if the rainbow was out. I sighed a disappointment when I couldn’t spot it.
Shifting into a more comfortable position, I glanced over and looked at my snoring younger brother and sister huddling together on the other side of the old mattress. They looked so peaceful; I smiled, while when awake they are little monsters. The old mattress was a present from an aunt who had moved to the city; it had formed lumps on top of lumps.
“It will have to be thrown out even before Mama can afford to buy a bed for it,” I said my thoughts out loud.
Suddenly I saw a little spider dropping from the naked trusses of the roof, aiming right at my head. The spider came closer. I jumped up before it touched my head, and clapped it with my hands. But the little spider escaped, and tried to run away on the floor in panic. Quickly I ran after it, I didn’t hesitate and squashed the spider with my feet.
“I might as well just wake up,” I sighed as I looked at the lumpy mattress longingly. Instead of going back to its warmth, I reached for a khanga at the foot of the mattress and wrapped it tightly around my waist as a sarong. Peeking outside the small window I wondered how I would sweep the yard with all the wet puddles.
“Manka, do you expect me to go fetch water for you now?” I heard Mama calling from a distance. She was already in the kitchen milking the cow. Mama had wanted Baba to make her a kitchen like the one at Makicha’s place, but he was gone now. So the dream of the modern kitchen went with him. Our kitchen and barn for the three cows and four goats were both under the same roof. Mama called it old-fashioned. She wanted a modern kitchen with the barn to be separated from the kitchen.
"But this is a modern kitchen!" Baba always used to exclaim to Mama in response to her cries about the smoke, the storage of bananas for brewing and firewood on a ceiling-shelf which was made from kindling. "In my mother's house, she would be sleeping there, the chickens would be there, and the cows would be there," he would say, dramatically gesturing around the dung and mud walls of Mama’s kitchen.
Baba had passed away two years back. The extended family and some people in the vllage said he used to drink too much so his kidneys failed. While a few others said behind her back that he was biwitched by Mama because she wanted the shamba all to herself.
Whenever her sisters came and told Mama about the rumours, she would bawl angrily, “what shamba? They call this lousy excuse of a piece of garden a shamba? I know its that Makicha’s mother starting all these rumours! I just know it!”
Our village of mostly mud huts and thatched roofs nestled in a fold of hills. Very few lucky ones had brick houses and corrugated iron roof sheets. Our tribe was mainly farmers. Many lived on what they farmed. We were lucky to have a shamba where we farmed bananas, coffee, maize, sweet potatoes as well as some fruits and vegetables.
Mama was such a no-nonsense woman that almost everybody, including the men in the village were scared of her. She was never this tough before though – not when Baba was alive and well – she had always been headstrong but never this tough. Ikunda said she had to be otherwise Baba’s side of the family would have kicked us out of the house and would have taken everyhing.
Mama’s massive shoulders always shook when she shrugged to say something. She could everything a man could do. People always used compare Mama’s physique to Baba’s and make fun. Mama had a commanding presence - tall, stout and her skin the shade of mninga; Mama’s imposing physical attributes was from her great grandfather who was a Maasai warrior. Baba on the other hand was shorter, very thin and his complexion was that of mpodo. He had an open, accessible and affectionate presence.
“I’m coming Mama,” I called back. I had barely finished my sentence when a winged cockroach appeared, creeping out of the old suitcase opposite of us. When it felt my presence, it ran back to its nightly abode in panic. I then made a mental note to clean the room thoroughly the coming Saturday. I knew Mama would not be happy if she saw all those dirty insects crawling about in our room.
"Manka, I know you are not still in bed at this time!" Mama knew I loved to sleep through the rain, but she knew that I would better not to disobey her or suffer the wrath of her anger. Though she fully knew that I was up and ready, this was her way of warning me that if she didn’t see me outside doing my daily chores in a minute, I would be in trouble.
A goat bleated, as if in agreement with Mama. Quickly I ran outside with my palm leaves broom in my hand. Realizing that I was standing in a puddle of water, I stood there confused, letting the raindrops soak through my short curly hair, confused not knowing what to do as the yard was too wet to sweep and the tree branches would be too wet to be chopped into firewood.
“Mama, it’s too wet to do anything,” I shouted, shielding my head from the rain with my broom.
“Do I have to tell you everything, Manka? Can’t you think for yourself? Go fetch water then for Chris sake! You can be so hopeless at times! Some wife you are going to make one day!” I could hear her spit onto the ground to show her disgust and disappointment, “I truly pity your husband to be!”
I didn’t have to be told twice, I quickly ran to the back yard and grabbed two buckets. I knew the rain had particularly made Mama bitter and angry that day, with the temper of an expecting elephant because she had planned to brew some mbege and the rain had wet the finger millet seeds that had been left outside to dry.
When Mama left finger millet seeds to dry outside, Salekio and Shindo always had to stay outside to chase away naughty birds that wanted to eat the seeds. They were only too happy to do that, as it would be an excuse of them to play outside the whole daylong. Whenever they spotted dark clouds that threatened to break into rain, they would inform Mama and we would quickly take the seeds inside. This day however was one of those few days when we carelessly left he seeds outside overnight, since the rains were not expected.
Salekio and Shindo knew better than to leave their post. Once when it was very hot, the neighbouring children came to get them to go swimming with them at the lake. They were having so much fun that they lost track of time and forgot about their chore. When they got back home, they found birds and goats feasting on what was left of Mama’s finger millet. I had never seen Mama that angry before in my life. She gave them such a hiding and for the whole month she took Salekio and Shindo to the fields with her - one thing that she had never done before and forbade, as the field was flooded with deadly snakes. .
“You think it’s easy? You think it’s fun! You think it’s all a game huh?” Mama had shouted at them. “You will come to the fields with me this planting season and after that you will tell me how much you have enjoyed it!”
There was no playing at the fields. Planting was rather slow since the bull Mama had borrowed to pull the pilao was old and tired. Salekio and Shindo followed behind Mama and the bull with their bags full of seeds under the scotching hot sun and in tears.
Every evening Salekio and Shindo came back home tired and in tears covered with mud from head to toe begging for forgiveness, but mama wouldn’t have any of it, until they had finished planting.
“What took you so long?” Makicha exploded me when I got to the stream. The sun was already up in an obvious blaze of glory.
“And hello to you too,” I said sarcastically ignoring Makicha’s temperament that was getting a bit too irritating.
Makicha was sitting on the big boulder by the stream talking to Mangi. Mangi was our local dressmaker. He had nicknamed himself Mangi, as he always bragged that his grandfather was a chief, hence he was of the royal blood. I blushed as he looked at me smiling and I shyly looked away, shuffling my foot on the grass fresh with morning dew. Makicha had once told me that he liked me.
“I have got some really nice fabrics from the city,” Mangi announced looking at me in particular. Quickly I turned away and returned my gaze to the grass.
“Cool,” cheered Makicha, “we’ll come have a look at them after school.”
“I don’t think I will be able to,” I mumbled, my eyes still on the ground, “I’ll probably have some chores to do.”
“It’s just on the way back home, Manka!” Makicha grumbled, holding up one of her big hands with an open palm indicating her confusedness and dismay.
“I’ll keep the fabrics then,” Mangi suggested, “until you are free to come. There is a red one that I got especially for you, Manka.”
“We have to go now, Makicha,” I really didn’t feel like any chitchat with Mangi, and with Mama’s mood today, I didn’t want to cause any trouble. Quickly I filled the two buckets to the brim, folded the extra khanga I was carrying into a circle, placed it on top of my head to form a cushion for the heavy bucket that I would carry on my head. Mangi offered to help me with my bucket but I didn’t want to be seen with him, so politely I declined.
“What’s wrong with you?” Makicha hissed between her teeth.
“Nothing,” I whispered shyly. “It’s just wrong.”
I would never forget when my older sister Ikunda came home three years ago from school, crying uncontrollably and then announced that they had the annual medical check-up at school and the nurses learnt that she was expecting. Mama and my aunts took turns thrashing the back of her legs before any questions were asked. Mama and her sisters and sister-in-laws then went back with Ikunda the very next day and made the culprit marry Ikunda. Baba was only too happy with the mahari of five cows and some litres of mbege.
Ikunda never got the wedding celebration she had always wanted - there was no roasted meat from a freshly slaughtered cow, no barrel after barrel of mbege, and singing and dancing under the open, starry sky, she didn’t even get to wear the white, lacy bridal dress and a veil - just a simple exchange between the two villages elders. The white bed sheet was never hung after the morning of the wedding night, as Ikunda wasn’t pure. Blood on the sheet, I was later told was a good sign. Lack of it was shameful. My favourite aunt, Mama Mdogo Philomena, said Ikunda had cried uncontrollably.
When Mama was away the neighbours, led by Makicha’s mother, openly gossiped that Mama should be grateful that Ikunda got a husband, that Mama’s headstrong attitude would scare all potential suitors for her daughters away. Mama returned back home very disappointed and angry with Ikunda for ruining her only chance to finish school. For weeks Mama went on about how dangerous men are and if she ever caught me talking to one I would wish I were never born.
“The guy just offered to help you!” Makicha stopped in dismay, throwing her arms up dramatically, after he had left.
“Careful Makicha,” I screamed after I saw her bucket sway when she stopped, “you might drop your bucket!” I was already late and I didn’t fancy another trip to the stream.
“It would be a blessing,” Makicha answered sourly, “at least we would bump into Mangi again.”
“Lets just go, Makicha,” I urged Makicha trying desperately to change the subject, “I haven’t made breakfast yet and we are getting late for school.
“Ooh, whatever!” Makicha smacked her thick lips in her usual theatrical fashion, “by the way, Mama Mdogo Katrina saw Ikunda. I heard her telling my mother that she is expecting again?”
“Yes she is,” I murmured. As much as I liked Makicha, Mama had warned me not to tell her much about our family because of her mother’s fast mouth – as Mama called it.
“My Mama Mdogo says she has gone all so skinny,” she said sucking in her cheeks for more effect.
“The other birth was problematic,” I tried to explain for the umpteenth time, “Mama says she hasn’t yet recovered.”
“Kaka Joseph wanted to marry her, you know,” gloated Makicha, ignoring my explanation.
“Yes, you have told me before, Makicha.”
“You guys think you are too good! Mangi is going to get you, whether you like it or not!”
I slowed down a bit then turned and glared at Makicha angrily not offering any answer or retort.
“And your mother felt my brother wasn’t good enough,” Makicha continued wallowing, “look at where Ikunda is now! Do you know that he has a shop in the city? He and his fiancée will be married in some fancy hotel in the city, you know. They are leaving the day after tomorrow to go back to the city.”
“Yes, I know Makicha,” I murmured, wishing she would change the subject.
“Mama says that could have been Ikunda if only you guys didn’t think you were too good.”
Ikunda had gotten pregnant at the age of sixteen, just when she was on her second year of her O’levels. She was the first in our family to get to O’levels and Mama had so much hope for her. Mama had gotten her brothers and sisters to assist financially so that Ikunda can finish school successful. She was even happier when Ikunda wrote saying that she has a very good teacher, Japheth, who would tutor her for free. Mama would always say in a disgusted tone that he did more than tutor her. Japheth, Ikunda’s husband was a transfer teacher at her school. Mama was so disappointed about he pregnancy because Ikunda had been doing so well.
“There is nothing for free in this world, Manka,” she always shook me when telling me this, as if with each shake the words would sink in more, “do you hear me? There is nothing for free!”
Ikunda was married off quickly when the pregnancy was learnt. I would never forget how Mama, her sisters and sister in laws marched to the other side of town – to see Japheth. Japheth, I heard pleaded on his knees for Mama not to inform the school board about his misconduct and promised to marry Ikunda.
During her second pregnancy, Ikunda learnt that Japheth actually had another wife back in his village! Apparently the first wife was also married off to him. She was engaged to his best friend, a few weeks before the wedding Japheth was caught with her. Immediately with no discussion the village elders married her off. Mama would always spit on the floor and stomp her feet angrily when speaking of Ikunda, blaming everything on the fact that Japheth is a kyasaka.
One of Baba’s sisters, Shangazi Lulu insisted that all this bad luck was happening because of witchcraft, “think about it wifi, Ikunda gets a good opportunity then suddenly she gets married and it gets ruined; she gets married to a nice learned man, he ends up having another wife. It’s a curse I tell you! Ikunda should go get cleansed!”
“Witchcraft would not dare cross the threshold of my house, wifi,” Mama had insisted firmly, “because the good Lord has always looked after this house Ikunda had brought everything upon herself.”
When more girls joined us, I was relieved of Makicha and her endless questions. I quietly listened to her going on about the places she had visited when she went to visit her brother in the city - her brother’s cellular phone, the neat hair styles the city girls don, the high heeled shoes they wear, the cars they drive. Dreamily as we walked back home in the coffee plantations, our rain soaked clothes clinging to our bodies, with out buckets full of water and soft raindrops gently whipping our faces, I pictured myself in the city, with a red floral dress and matching red high heels. I would look as beautiful as kaka Joseph’s fiancée. Maybe when I became a doctor in the city, I would be driving a red car too.
