“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.
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