So now, welcome
Gitobu, owner of thousands of acres of land, countless heads of cattle,
pampered by ten wives and in return a multitude of young ones who
he sufficiently knows by name and even character...one more thing, chairman at
the tavern, owner of the golden beer mug, faithful client who certainly leaves
last at ‘Kwa Munyui’ that leaves the villagers wondering if it is loyalty to
the owner or to the commodity served. Worth mentioning, rather noting is that
he is quite the miser, despite all that wealth. You know the thin line between
living a simple life and trying to live poverty as a way of offering up the
pleasures of life, he is beyond either.
He wears
Nchabung’a (traditional Akala sandals as said in Kimeru), shaves his hair twice
a year(Christmas and his first child’s birthday) , refuses to build a wooden
house, buys only two sets of clothes for the wives(one for special occasions
and Sundays, and the other for normal daily bustling) and fewer others for the
children to share. However, for the daily drink, he pours wads from his
pockets, fresh from the returns of his farming activity. The irony. Perhaps the
addiction. Then like all drunks on the first day of the year, the resolution
is, ‘I shall not let the liquid get past my lips...from tomorrow!’
Being a daily
client, companionship with fellow members grows to be mandatory. These so
called social drinkers like to sit with each other, indulge in excess measure
and very much boast of their latest developments, not forgetting the politics
and even whisper a little village gossip. His closest is called Kithinji.
Gitobu laughs sporadically, most of the time stern and some of the time
responding with a nod or a shrug. Once the beer greets the blood in two shakes and
proceeds to his mental nerves, he bangs the mug and declares, ‘I dislike
uneducated people, apart from myself!’ Mind you, barely any villagers sitting
in that tavern have pursued significant tiers of education. The air always
lurches into a disturbing silence when he says that. Some tend to walk out
while others look away in ignorance. Gitobu has spoken.
By and by, year
after year, things remain the same at the tavern. However, one rainy season,
Kithinji is taken ill. He has trouble with his throat and cannot speak. The
herbalist tries all she can, so does the medicine man, the wizard too. Further
treatment has to be sought in the city where he is diagnosed with a damaged
throat traced to alcohol. He gets a speech aid gadget and returns after two
weeks. Gitobu is extremely devastated. He is barely spotted at the tavern. He only stops by intermittently and leaves
just as soon. Life takes a turn and you can quite figure out why. Nevertheless,
his wives are happier and he plays more with his children. He is working on
constructing a bigger house, this time out of wood and a little concrete for
the floor. Better still, every evening, he lights a torch of fire and goes to
see Kithinji who hails from the other hill.
The tavern, well, it still serves the
regulars, but the service ends earlier.
Mother’s
red lipstick 
Less
cartoons
Less
milk
