How hard it is for a professor to confess thus: “I don’t know”

 “Your hairless head is interestingly funny. Prof, why did you not seek advice before –?”

“Shhhhh! Siddie, that is what amounts to hate speech.” Turning to drunkards, Professor challenged, “Why are you gazing at me as if I have peddled some inflammatory remarks or as if I have landed from the moon?”

“Siddie is right,” Joshua interjected. “She has complimented you Prof. in fact you should be rejoicing Professor. Siddie has just spared you from an untold agony of a-would-be-possible humiliating truth.” Joshua stopped momentarily to fill in Marianna’s half empty glass that was begging for more. Professor was bitter.

“What do you mean Joshua?”

“Your head looks like one big –”

“Pumpkin,” Kariakoo shouted to everyone’s surprise. Marianna resisted the urge to laugh but she gave up. Her cheeks inflated systematically and a hilarious laughter was born – Oh! How appealing those white teeth were.

“Let us talk about AOBs fellow drunkards of the county.” Marianna proposed – half serious, half sarcastic. It is the appearance of her face and the tone of her voice that betrayed her.

“Siddie, I owe you an excessive supply of Cana concoction for ‘spoiling’ my evening.” Professor then turned to Marianna, “You too. I love the mannerism in which you laugh at disability.”

Kariakoo attempted to complain but he simply embarrassed himself.  Misled by liquor’s influence, he just managed to bark the word ‘discrimination’ – it is still debatable whether he knew what he meant. It was appropriate to change the topic.

“How was your day Professor?” I threw the question to him.

“You know what Mr. Chairman –?”

“No! I don’t know.” I replied though unnecessarily.

“Me too,” Siddie added. “Tell us Prof.”

“I had concluded the CRE lesson,” twelve drunkard eyes looked at Professor as he continued the narrative. “As a matter of factual habit than necessity at the end of each lesson, I posed the same question to the pupils ‘Any question class?’”

“I hope they did not querry about your troubled marital problems,” Kariakoo interrupted, “or you day-dream that kids are naively too soft-minded to notice?”

Professor would have called the keeper of cows some names, but he didn’t. Many are the times he had hurled insults to him such as  ‘black helmet’, ‘loose canine’, ‘medulla oblongata’, ‘son of a b****’ among others. Kariakoo remained unmoved. Professor opted to ignore him.

“Was Jesus Christ punished for failing in Mathematics by the teacher?” asked poor Alexander – the tiniest of my pupils in that class.

“What did you tell him? I mean, how did you entertain such crap from such a rascal, Professor?” Marianna wondered.

“I would have skinned him alive. As we speak now, he would be chorusing kari kii? tondu nikii ? Shaitani chose to spend life with people on earth?” Kariakoo said cutting the air with his index finger threateningly. Good heavens! Professor avoided that raging finger like a plague; his left eye would have been victimized.

“I would have plucked his canines brutally without anaesthetizing his diastema,” Salim said after waking up from a brief sleep. He added, “Every would-be-a-future-fool in that class would have learnt better how to respect an elder.”

“That’s why you didn’t become teachers you fools,” Marianna admonished them –Salim and Kariakoo. She turned to Professor, “Please go on.”

“God must be regretting the loss of His precious time creating some people whom we all know.” Smiling mildly, Professor added, “We shall not expose their identity in this forum. It is not quite necessary.”

“Ok. Prof, what did you tell Alex?” I prodded him.

“Half of my heart insisted on telling the truth plainly: ‘Christ did not attend any school. This means, he neither did algebra nor wrote compositions. He spent his early life making chairs and cupboards at Joseph’s woodwork workshop.’” Marianna would have interrupted but she hesitated. Professor went on, “the other half kept telling me to respond to that question in a very general approach. After comparing pros and cons, I told the pupils to consider it as homework and then left.”

“That means you are a very useless teacher. Why is the government taxing me heavily to pay you, yet you are sleeping on your job? Why couldn’t you answer him?” Joshua challenged Professor.

“I do not blame you,” Professor said pointing at Joshua, “for your underdeveloped intelligent Quotient popularly called IQ! No! One day, God of Israel [it is always Israel] will send wisdom from heaven in form of rain; at least you can start preparing to look forward in hope to benefit.” Turning to the rest of us he said “Alex’s case is a tricky one –”

“Then tell us the trick!” Salim demanded.

“In the name of Socrates, my great grandfather, the pioneer and cornerstone of great thinkers, the great patriot of Athens, I demand to be given a rest. No more talk tonight. When some of you will grow up, remind me to trick you then.” Professor turned to the lady waiter who was seated next to the singing ‘juke box’. “You see, there is a clear dichotomy between music and noise. Do you have any track by Dolly Matron for example ‘Does my finger hurt your ring’ because what you are currently considering as music, to be honest with you, is nothing but pure noise?”

“Who is matron, or did you mean parton?”

“It is none of your business Joshua to know whether it is patron or mutton. You either listen to the music or die, plastic!” Professor moved closer to Siddie in a manner suggesting more than what met our eyes. He held her by the waist tightly. She did not resist. A tranquil voice characterized by articulate confident crescendos and diminuendos replaced the chaotic voice. Looking at Siddie directly in her eyes, Professor sang together with Don Williams:

                          “…you‘re my bread when I’m hungry

                             You’re my shelter from troubled winds

                             You’re my anchor in life’s ocean

                             But most of all you are my best friend….”

They lied, but the truth be told; I am responsible for the death of young Jane.

 “Ko – ko --  ko -- ko”, the sound was familiar. It was her high heeled shoes calling for attention. If such shoes were to visit Thirsty Throats Pub on regular basis in drones, the facility would have numerous pot holes. It would be next to impossible to enjoy the allure of ‘Cana concoction’ in a place resembling a dilapidated tarmac road. Kariakoo was the first to make the observation.

She was crying – or recovering from a cry. Her tormented eyes were strikingly red. The radiance of brightness on her face was missing. It wasn’t there. It had gone. The neon lights failed to favor her ever shiny face. Life had chosen her as the most soft spot to frustrate on that day. One will never understand why this world frustrates very good people and rewards mediocre people.

“How are you two?”

“We are fine Marianna.” I responded in plurality. Had I known well, I would not have responded on Kariakoo’s behalf – but do we not commit this sin all the time, naively though?

“I Kariakoo, the keeper of cows, he who has never attempted or pretended to milk pigs am square, ndirauga ndi sawa sawa.” As he emptied the third glass of Cana Concoction he added “I am the same yesterday, today and tomorrow – he, who is a believer of natural science. Any question Marianna?” were it not for the nagging pain in her traumatized heart; Marianna would have submerged herself in spasms of laughter. She had always done it except for that day, that moment. Life has a way of making pleasurable activities seem boring or worthless.

“Cheer up baby girl. To be happy is not a luxury. It is a necessity. Cheer up Mariaaaaaana….” As he stood up and moved closer to her, he added “Come on babie, life is very tiny to exist in it agonizing over spoilt milk.” As he stretched his hands to embrace her, I ‘cuddled’ my glass and ignored the duo. I hated to see a man big enough like Kariakoo being humiliated in the form of a rejected hug – Marianna used to hug (she does it even these days) every member of the Thirsty Throats Self Help Group excluding Kariakoo. Personal grooming was (and still is even now) the most undoing part on him – according to Marianna. “Will you ever care a little more Karias to tidy up your beards?” As if that is not enough, Marianna would add an umpteenth time “You don’t have to come here with this dirty overall. Don’t you have a decent outer pant?” All this has been falling on Kariakoo’s semi-deaf ears. Kariakoo is among the increasingly number of adults who care less. Many are the times you are likely to spot him wearing the legendary green multi-purpose overall ‘kanju’ – as he call it  -- both in the company of cows and people.

Looking up soon, I refused to believe what my eyes saw. Kariakoo was tightly holding Marianna close to him – very close indeed. “I swear – in the name of my head --  to spoil your night with the provoker of voluntary madness dear,” I heard Kariakoo swear. I knew he meant a constant supply of the Cana concoction to the default secretary of Thirsty Throats Self Help Group. As he passed a glass full of concoction, I heard him prod in a tone full of concern “Daktari, if you don’t mind, I would like to know why you came in crying.” Marianna was the town nurse. People simply called her ‘Daktari’. In the drunkards’ social circle, she was the secretary.

She looked at me, I looked at her. For the first time in my chairmanship, I sensed failure on my part. As the de facto Senior Gossiper, I had the power to control situations. Instead, I had just chosen the passive role – silent observer. 

“As the keeper of cows has observed, you are not the cheerful Marianna that I know. Maybe as we wait for the other official drunkards of the county, we can intoxicate ourselves as we hear your story.” After gesturing to the waiter for more concoction, to confirm my authority, I added “you know Daktari; a problem shared is a problem half solved.”

“Thanks so much drunkards of the county for your concern. You are great friends. You make life worth living. To start with, I wish to clear the air by stating categorically that I was not crying.” We both looked at her with undivided attention in order to capture every detail of her litany. She continued.

“Everything was running as usual: babies crying to be breastfed; children crying at the mere sight of syringes; grannies receiving hypertension tablets there; a man handing over urine samples to the lab assistant on the other side – the normal orderly flow of events was short lived.” She paused to take a sip. Kariakoo emptied the seventh glass. No one wanted to interrupt Marianna’s testimony. She continued. “At 3:13 pm, the sun momentarily stood unmoved. Jane’s body lay right in front of me. Life had gone out of her. I pitied the fact that Jane’s eulogy, 4 years old, would be very brief – if ever it would be written. I felt largely responsible, though the hospital attributed the death to other things in its explanation.” She took out her pure white handkerchief to wipe tears that blurred her sight. After taking two more sips, she went on. “For the first time, I regretted the decision that I made seven years ago of joining St Johns Medical College.”

“So why do you blame yourself?” I asked her. She looked at me in a manner suggesting that I knew not what I was asking.

As she gathered the necessary energy to continue narrating the unfortunate incidence, Salim, the clever fool, stormed into the pub without neither warning nor protocol.

“You drunkards, what are you doing at this hour of the night when the town is on fire?” Salim barked at us.

“What is so biiiig about fire anyway,” Kariakoo’s contorted face was a threatening sight as he said this. His forehead had wrinkles; his lips twisted: his cheekbone conspicuous and the size of his eyes diminished. Kariakoo continued as if he were admonishing fresh human excreta and its owner, though directly looking at Salim, he added, “will it make my cows to become camels?” 

“Karias, I will shave those beards without water and demand that you come to me accompanied by your parent, to beg for forgiveness – kneeling of course.” Salim threatened. “Usimwone mi mnyonge ukanichezea chere,” he added.

Kariakoo was upset. He splashed the face of Salim with the content of the glass. To make it public that he was not very nice, he thus cursed, “You…you have a very bloated sense of self importance…. you foolish fool.” 

As the chairman, there was no other logical thing to do except ordering an immediate compulsory leave. Together we left the pub more physically divided but ‘alcoholically’ united.

Welcome to the caucus of the lovers of ‘drinks’ and ‘disagreements’

Each one of us has at least one. It manifests itself in different forms: fears, biases, prejudices, shattered dreams, failed life, unsung heroism, untold agony, mild rebellion, shameful painful secrets and the list is endless. It is so invaluable, according to the world of mass media, for it to make a headline or constitute part of 7:00 pm news bulletin.  It has no greatness. It is negligible. It is small. But nevertheless, it is there. You know it. Those close to you know it – perhaps. It is your story. It is the story about your life. It is my story. It is our story. The truth about this story is that it is there but it remains unwritten. You know it. I know it. We know it. Those close to you perhaps know it too.

On a very daring, darling and dangerous platform, Mr. Chairman sets out to chronicle them in their crude, bizarre simplicity – creatively, though.

The tribulations, the litanies and the fantasies of “Thirsty Throats Self Help Group” headed by Mr. Chairman, inevitably becomes a point of reference.  Members of Thirsty Throats Self Help Group comprise the ‘who is who’ and the ‘who is not’ in the society – both men and women. Their lives seem to be dictated by an unwritten commandment: “Thou must never abstain from the ‘Cana concoction’ popularly referred to as alcohol.”

For sole purpose of psycho-social support of men and women who religiously drank (even now they are drinking) ‘Cana concoction’ – both legal and illicit, the Thirsty Throats Self Help Group – drunkards for drunkards – was founded.

Make a date with Mr. Chairman (the de facto group’s Senior Gossiper) every Friday for day to day world view of life as told and experienced  by the described amalgamation of drunkards. 

(NB: This is a creative arena though events in this site are inspired by real life. Names of people in this site are creations of the writer. A correspondence to real persons is just but a coincidence.)