Shadows Unveiled

Childhood Games

The games kicked off after breakfast, and having lunch was a mandatory break, though the children only showed up when they were thirsty until Mama summoned them. Typically, all the kids vanished for lunch, and some skipped it entirely. They lingered, awaiting the resumption of the games. Occasionally, big brother Joey would invite a friend to join him for lunch, or they might stay for dinner and a movie. 

In many households, owning a television was a rarity. The golden rule was to stay within earshot of Mama's voice. She'd call out once, and all the children would dutifully pause their games. The village collectively raised the children, and discipline was enforced, irrespective of whose parent was involved. 

Among the various games, marbles were the least interesting for the girls, who had to maintain a certain level of decorum despite their attire. Squatting was not allowed, so they couldn't participate in the game. Instead, they stood by and watched the boys enjoy themselves. Hide-and-seek was my favorite game until Kasiva's brother once asked to see the color of my undergarment during our hiding, leading Big Brother to ban the game entirely. 

Tire-riding competitions were infrequent but occasionally occurred, and I was tasked with keeping score since my petite frame couldn't manage the heavy tires. The most thrilling game was called "mchus kafiri" or "shake." Everyone brought ashes from their homes to mark the ground. Evading opponents while neighbors John and Thuo snatched me up to avoid being tagged was the highlight of my days. John was exceptionally polite, and his proud brother Thuo had an imposing presence. In my memory, I see the deep melanin on John's face, framed by shaggy hair, and it warms my heart. 

In a section containing 17 houses, more than 25 children lived, with 23 of them regularly gathering for the games. We all spoke different dialects—Taita, Kikuyu, Mbeere, Kalenjin, Luo, Luhya, and Kamba. Additionally, we had neighbors from other countries like Tanzania, Uganda, South Africa, and Congo. To understand each other, we developed a language that depended on who initiated it. Words like "jwala" (plastic), "Mnyongoro" (worm), "thigiriri" (ant), and many others were a blend of tribal dialects with Kiswahili prevailing. Later, we called this language "sheng," signifying Swahili/English slang, even though we didn't use much English at the time.

Our identity wasn't tied to any specific tribe. Our parents would speak to us in their mother tongues and had to encourage us to learn their dialects. In our household, speaking Swahili or English was discouraged, but we preferred conversing in our newly created language. As we grew older, our games evolved into dating and college, resulting in empty nests, while our make-believe games transformed into reality.

Fishing Adventure

Saturday was the highlight of the week, eagerly anticipated by the boys who had spent the entire week planning their adventure. On this Saturday morning, the children had a clear mission in mind - they were going fishing. Big brother had gathered all the necessary fishing gear, including cans, threads, and a sturdy, long stick. Mama, however, had cautioned against fishing in the Nairobi River, deeming it unsafe. Regardless of the potential trouble, my brothers, accompanied by some neighborhood friends, were determined to go. 

Previously I had a harrowing experience by the Nairobi River, which made the idea of returning there far from amusing. Yet, I couldn't bear the thought of my younger brothers going without me and possibly encountering danger. So, albeit reluctantly, I trailed behind them at a distance, my mind still haunted by my past ordeal involving Auntie Wanjuki a few months back. 

Auntie had taken us on a walk to see the army helicopters parked in the Air Force barracks about a mile away from our home. Just before the barracks' fence, there was a modest section of the Nairobi River that people crossed without a bridge. The water appeared still and shallow, but a short distance downstream, the sound of a waterfall could be heard. 

She instructed me to stand on a rock in the middle of the river to help ferry my younger siblings across to her. However, when it was my turn to cross the remaining half, she abruptly walked away and signaled for me to jump. Stories circulated about this river, claiming it was home to all sorts of creatures, from crocodiles to man-eating fish and snakes. I quivered at the thought of plunging in the river and lost my footing. In a reflexive action, I covered my eyes and sensed my pristine slipper being swept away by the swift current. 

Focusing only on the serene water. I knew that appearances could be deceiving, and it was precisely in this calm spot that I was required to leap. I screamed for what felt like an eternity until she returned to fetch me. Losing the slipper seemed trivial; I was utterly terrified. She chuckled, attempting to console me, but the trauma was already deeply etched in my memory and would haunt me for a long time. 

The boys commenced their fishing adventure, appearing to catch tadpoles whilst standing on rocks. Meanwhile, I sat in a clearing, silently beseeching God to keep them safe. My solace came from watching Big Brother provide guidance to the younger boys, urging them not to enter the river. After spending hours weaving grass, hunger pangs warned and I tried persuading them to head back home, but the enthusiastic fishermen paid no heed to my pleas. Suddenly, one of the boys froze, his dark skin seemingly turning pale. Mama, who had been quietly observing, finally decided to intervene. Without uttering a word, she pointed towards home, signaling that it was time to leave. We walked back in solemn silence, resembling soldiers on a parade, with Mama closely following behind. 

She sent our friends away and allowed the boys to leave their catch outside the door before retrieving a sizable piece of broken ceiling. The price for disobeying Mama was about to be paid dearly. She administered a thorough thrashing, persisting until the ceiling was reduced to debris. I, too, was not spared. The ceiling remains propped up by the back door, still damp from last night's rain felt like massive blocks of stone. We wept without consolation, deprived of lunch as a reminder of the consequences of future transgressions. Mama then tasked us with cleaning up the debris. 

In silence, we diligently completed our assignment and waited outside the door for further instructions. To our surprise, the ringleader, Joey, did not shed a tear. For me, that marked a turning point. I had taken a beating for their sake and vowed never to find myself on the wrong side of Mama's rules again. 

Following our ordeal, we took a cold shower and settled down to watch "Road Runner" on television. Although we were immensely saddened to be under house arrest on a Saturday afternoon, disrupting the playtime of other children, ours was the largest family, and we often led the games. Consequently, I settled into reading novels, most of which I borrowed from the Maringo City Council Library. Initially, Dad's residence in Uhuru Phase Four was a modest two-bedroom townhouse. Over time, it underwent several upgrades to accommodate our expanding family, which now consisted of nine children. Our home frequently welcomed extended family members, including aunts and uncles, who would visit and stay with us for extended periods.

Among them, Auntie Wanjuki stood out as a prominent figure. She was the youngest and fairest of Mama's sisters, drawing the attention of many suitors. One suitor received a beating for pressuring her into marriage, and soon after, he disappeared without a trace. It was then that she discovered her pregnancy. Her baby boy proved to be quite a handful, often disrupting our sleep with his cries.

Auntie was always tired, with the baby clinging to her legs as she snatched moments of rest. I felt sorry for her, even though I didn't know how to care for a child. Watching her made me wonder if looking after babies was as tough as it seemed. Her other suitor, tall and fair like her, had me dreaming of meeting someone like him someday.

My beloved Uncle Charles had recently moved to his own place in Rongai and served as the chief umpire at Bomas of Kenya, blessed with a magnificent voice. He was muscular, the tallest among us, dark, and strikingly handsome. We cherished and adored him deeply. He visited us every other week, bearing biscuits and treats, always ready to fulfill any request we had. May his soul rest in eternal peace.