Shadows Unveiled

Field of Intrigues

The radiant eastern sun cast a warm glow, creating a bright aureole around the children standing at the back door on a Saturday morning. The taller boys loomed over the little ones, who squeezed themselves into the doorway, eager to bask in the sun's embrace. Dreams still lingered on their faces, and one of them held a cup of milk from breakfast as they observed the beautiful day unfolding. 

The field behind our house resembled a scene from a movie set. Occasionally, intoxicated men and women stumbled by, and now and then, a group of men would engage in a brawl, drawing onlookers who cheered without getting directly involved unless matters took a perilous turn. Sometimes, a man would quarrel with his wife, and they would reconcile as they strolled along.

Then, there was the witch doctor, a peculiar character who sported eagle claws, shook a horse's tail, and donned a cowboy hat paired with a cocktail suit, complete with a bowtie - his everyday attire. Another was Benjamin, the brother of a Voice of Kenya journalist, who was suffering from mental illness and could be seen pacing back and forth between his house and the main road until exhaustion led him back to bed. Auntie Wanjuki had a story to tell about him on how a neighbor concocted a mixture of ashes from a cat's uterus in his drinking water because he had rejected her advances. 

Following him was another madman named Rashidi, who had a penchant for whistling and was always ready to throw punches at anyone who crossed his path for no apparent reason. Strangely, he seemed to have a special interest in me, threatening and chasing me whenever we crossed paths. Madmen appeared to gravitate toward me, and I could not fathom why. It was a puzzling phenomenon. As the bible narrates, "My people perish for lack of knowledge." 

On this morning, the atmosphere was noisy, which was not uncommon. Suddenly, screams pierced the air. A tall woman, barely dressed in her petticoat, came running frantically. The man chasing her was bare-chested, wearing only underwear, and neither of them had shoes. They sprinted toward the group of children. 

Without warning, the terrified woman pushed the children outside and swiftly bolted the door behind them, leaving the kids in a state of awe. Her husband, the pursuer, pounded on the door, while the woman inside implored my mother not to open it, her fear palpable. 

Mama was understandably concerned about her children being outside with an enraged husband, but to our surprise, we heard laughter as he regaled them with jokes. Mama, with a sense of confidence, took a seat and granted her visitor an audience. 

This chase was an extension of domestic turmoil, marked by bedroom failures, infidelity, and the domineering traits of a man accustomed to asserting his authority where there was no realm to rule. That is how the woman described her husband's behavior. 

Eventually, an agreement was brokered through the window, and the man agreed not to harm his wife. Mama opened the door, offering counsel and caution to both parties about avoiding public embarrassment. They left hand in hand, exchanging worried glances, and we watched until they disappeared. 

Screaming wives was a sight we had grown accustomed to witnessing. In the course of marriage, there may be moments when a power dynamic shifts, leading to disruptions in the bedroom. Fortunately, for both myself and my family, a single night proved sufficient to prevent any such occurrences. My Papa was a lover not a fighter.