Peer Pressure Extended

  Disclaimer:

 "In case you are reading this and the setting or characters in the post reflect an event you attended or the characters fits your description, behavior or utterances, please don't take it seriously as this is an exaggeration of the reality in the name of attempted art"

Tricked into going out some guy introducing his wedding agenda. 500 only in the pocket, sure that my wedding buddy will buy at least one drink. I tell my other buddy that I feel like am being driven into a slaughter house.

We get into a joint beer @180. I take my first one and tell my buddy that I have given his name as the one to be charged. We exchange giggles. Nothing is too serious. The table is painted brown and green. Brown represents business (getting high) while green represents tomorrow's comfort at whatever the cost. Today's comfort must ensure a comfortable tomorrow.

 I agree with environmentalists green is clean. I mean is there a difference between pollution and hangover? The later is to the mind what the earlier is to the air. By the tone of my talk you are sure am on the brown side.

You are wrong am not only brown but the hardest brown available in fact it should be black. My rector scale is reading 5.3/500. Compare this to a green of 4.0/300. Numbers don't lie.

 So. I slowly push my 5.3 as I turn out to be the story teller. Not that am a good orator but my calculation is that more stories > less sips > lower bill. This is to be balanced by a stronger stuff therefore maintaining equality or is it equity.

 It works, my stories slow me down so by the second order (mainly from the greens) am halfway my first brown. but there is a problem everyone either brown or green needs to replenish. Everyone but me orders.

But before all the orders and their temperatures are taken, a green declares "replenish the entire table"
 he! he! , my stories are getting me somewhere, "just got a beer" my mind register's. The night gets better, the audience gets more receptive. The weight of story telling is lifted as the audience joins the stage and the stage joins the audience.
 
We need another drink. Munyi doesn't . I had factored in this and therefore two of my strong ones are enough for the nite. But there is time. Time to be spent together.

 "Aaahh Munyi what do you mean, have another one."

 "No am ok."

 "No no give him another one."

 " But am ok!."

 "Hapana mpatie" someone orders.
 
These are questions/discussions am not used to so I accept. I good nite its turning to be in deed.

"Lets shoot pool" , a green proposes.

 'A nice idea' I think, but what I have learned in the past is "Avoid pool if u are not sure u will win, the bill is always on the looser" I therefore avoid it. With excuses of course.
 
Then the ultimate defining moment comes. The night's bill is tabled. Of course am sure am safe, no liability at all. I however give 500 to test the waters. On seeing that its accepted contrary to my expectation, I ask for change.

 He he

" yours is 540 " Am told.
 

Kiuni's last day in school

 After my pineapple project joined the likes of Nyayo projects in failing and after Mzee Viboko nationalized all other projects I was left with only two occupations.

1. To involuntary provide free compulsory labour to Mzee's farm and

2. Concentrate with my education.

By that time bwana Emilio, the former university don, was not residing in state house and therefore education was not free.

Not that I was the one paying the fees, but it's the frequent reminders that, money was being paid that I did not like. Mzee would always remind us of how many bottles of beer he would fore go to keeps us in school. The situation would be worse when he was not pleased by the contents of some form called the report card at the end of the term.

I accuse the bald old man of many failures but on education I give him an A. Education to date is like an obsession to him. I remember one night he came home drunk (some coffee pay day or something) woke us up to clap for him because he had settled all our school fees. He would have sung for us R.Kelly's The world greatest but his favourite genre was different - traditional war songs.

For the village boy I was going to school was not fun.

The school was about 3 km away from home and we were expected to be there by 7 am.

Tough indigenous grass that withstood foot traffic had encroached into the road reducing it to a mere footpath. Our bear feet had to endure the freezing morning dew every school day. For your information in Pitasana you would be stigmatised for wearing shoes. It wasn’t cool to be in shoes. Of course a ploy by those who lacked a pair to intimidate the lucky ones out of attar jealousy. Those who would go against this order would be isolated as if they had some drug resistant tuberculosis.

Whatever we called a bell would be struck at 15 minutes to 7.00 am and at 7.00 am. This was some old vehicle rim hanged on a tree next to the staff room and a heavy metal rod to strike it. Physical strength was one of the qualifications for bell ringers. If by the second stroke of this piece of metal you would not have been seated in classroom, your day would be doomed. The teacher on duty would be waiting for you at the gate with a cane at hand to inflict pain in your near freezing hands. To date I have never understood the strong urge by rural primary school teachers to course suffering to pupils.

A very good example was one Mr Getaweru the pupil's number one enemy. Being the discipline master and eying the headmaster's job, his week was a nightmare. Rumours were also doing the rounds that his wife was from Nyeri and he was therefore projecting his domestic woes to the pupils.

I met him at Mathingira my favorite bar in Mungethu last month and I realized that my attitude toward him has never changed. I was with my friend Kiuni and kanyotu.

Imagine he had the audacity to attribute our success to his ruthless canning while at pitasana. (Success in this case is only measured by the ability to buy bottled brown beer. nothing more).

The meeting never ended well. Kiuni could not stand him. They exchanged bitter words with Kiuni attributing his premature exit from of school to Gataweru.

Each of us remembers the incidence too well.

While at pitasana Kiuni and Gataweru were never the best of friends. Kiuni's head did not assimilate much from Gatawerus lessons and he did not give a damn. He would be the top of the class when the list of individual scores was ordered from the lowest to the highest. Kiuni was forced to cover every class syllabus in more than one year. He was the elder and the strongest in the class. The most enlightened on other areas such as politics, money and relationships. Gataweru on the other hand in his quest to receive the best performing teacher's award thought he would use the cane to force his material into Kiuni’s head.

Kiuni had realized his limitations in education and therefore concentrated on other would be careers. He would do part time shaving at the local kinyozi, train on bicycles repairs over the weekend and sell Ngumus (doughnuts) to fellow pupils at break time.

It was in class 7, while in the course of his Ngumu business that he met Gataweru’s wrath. Bringing to an end his education.

Kiuni had sneaked out of school to get his Ngumu supplies at Mungethu when he crossed Gataweru’s path. When challenged to stop he dropped his wares and fled hoping that Gataweru had not identified him. Gataweru went after him but could not match his speed. Unlike Rudisha though, kabla amshinde Gataweru Kiuni hakubidi kungarisha fiatu fyake. He was bare feet to start with.

Gataweru in his wisdom rushed back to school and ordered the watchman to deliverer to him any pupil who showed his face at the school's gate. He then picked his teaching aids a cane among them and came to class 7 for a science lesson.

When Kiuni saw Gataweru he panicked. Gataweru got suspicious and asked him.

"Ahh I see u are back?”

“I am not the one".  Foolish Kiuni replied 

  Gateweru pounced on him with all manner of blows and dragged him out towards to the Headmasters office. When Kiuni realized the kind of shit he was in, did what Gataweru would not have expected. He gave him a well deserved punch on the face, freed himself and fled. 

That was his last day in school.

Gataweru missed school for two days due to Kiuni's black eye.

Njagi Munyi

Pineapple projects continued

Were it not for the fact that this is a continuation of the previous post “The pineapple project” I would have named it the “Hague proceedings”

I beg to continue. 

So I was a little uncomfortable with my mother handling the case. The main reason being, the list contained the names of Kuguru and Wanje our neighbours.

 We used to go to school together though we weren’t the best of friends. Their father Mzee Mkonofupi was my dad’s number one enemy. The real cause of their enemity is not known to date. But rumours has it that it dates back to their dating days. 

The two would always look for the slightest opportunity to confront each other. It was so bad that none of them would hold any elective post in Kijiji village. Each would campaign against the other to the benefit of none. They would also never drink in the same bar at the nearby Mungethu shopping centre. 

My mum a member of the Kijiji’s church mothers union would want nothing to do with Mkonofupi. She would therefore declare the case nolle prosequi. 

After these considerations I handed the envelope to Mzee Viboko. Unlike what they do in the Netherlands the proceedings were to be different. There was to be only one prosecutor, one  judge , and one chamber. 

The old man like his peers in the village had a thingira on one corner of the compound. A small one roomed house where he used to entertain his drinking friend with local traditional beer. I guessed he would use this to prosecute, hear, confirm, judge and punish the suspects. 

My mother was not happy with my handing over the envelope and did not give up on the issue. she embarked on shuttle diplomacy to ensure that the case was thrown out by her husband.

 Failure to which she would mobilise everyone to withdraw their free labour from mzee's farm. She blamed my project as having brought disunity within the home. 

Luckily enough, in mzee's quest to settle old scores with his neighbour he would here none of that. The first suspects to be summoned were Mkonofupis sons.

It is after these summons that I realized what my project had brought to our family and Kijiji village as a whole.

Mzee kiboko and his neighbour would go drinking and discussing the matter with their friend in different bars in Mungethu. They would latter come home to call each other names from their farms none daring to cross the boundary.

My mother and her compatriot Mkonofupi’s wife would both hold prayer meetings in their respective homes to pray for peace with their neighbours and Kijiji village as a whole.

The matter was threatening to get out of hand. Some sort of post election violence was about to erupt. Only that this time there was no form 16A. 

It took the intervention of the area headman to calm the two sides.

You can tell by now that my project was no more. 

Njagi Munyi

The pineapple project

Mzee Viboko my father controlled 90% of what he called family business. It involved plantation farming of maize and beans in our 3 acre piece of land. My mother was supposed to ran the remaining piece by growing such stuff as millet, yams, sweet potatoes e.t.c .What they call a kitchen garden in Nairobi.

 Having seen my great potential my mother decided to allow me to manage a small portion of her portion. There was a condition though, I was only to work on this personal project after providing free labor to Mzee’s farm. Failure to do this would result to a Syokimau situation.

To avert demolitions or destruction I promised to comply with the directive.
Before I could embark into my farming project I did my maths to make sure the project was viable. I therefore considered the following.

1. Market.
I used to like pineapples so much and unlike many other fruits that were locally available these ones were scarce. Everybody else at home liked them and I assumed this was the case in many of our sounding households. To me this was ready market.

Another market was the class nature table. Let me introduce this first.
I attended primary school at Pitasana primary school. It wasn't a very good school but at least we would beat the nyakiminchas of our time.

In Pitasana we always maintained a table at the back of our classrooms where we displayed the gifts of Mother Nature. We used to call this bench the nature table. We would clearly labeled every item in English, Swahili and Kikwetu languages.

The idea was to perfect our linguistics but it ended up being more than that. I intend to leave the politics surrounding this table for another day. I will only focus on the fact that supplies to this table formed part of my target market.

2. Source of raw materials .
There was a jamaa who my sister Gatune insisted that we refer to as Uncle yet the blood relationship couldn’t be traced. This guy had secured a job in Thika – or rather his influential relative had done it for him. Something to do with a pineapple growing and processing firm but from the size of the pineapples he brought with him, I could tell it was neither Delmonte nor Kakuzi.

 Am also confident that he wasn’t involved in any processing let alone the office job he claimed as his face was always relaxed into the insolent smile that is the mask of the insecure and uneducated.
This guy used to pay as regular visits.

 At that time I thought he was just a philanthropic pinapple guy. Only to learn later that he was trying to convince Gatune that he had the genes of a good husband. Since Gatune’s engagement and subsequent marriage the guy has never stepped foot on our homestead.
 All the same whatever his interests were he brought with him a number of pineapples during his visits.

What remained after consuming the fruits was what I would plant in my farm.
3. Competitors
I knew I was getting into the same business with such big names as delmonte and Kakuzi but I hoped nitapita katikati yao. After all, our target market was different.

The plant took enough time to mature and the end product wasn’t very encouraging due to the dwarf species type and poor crop husbandry.

There was one thing that never occurred to me during the planning stage, security. Since I did not have a security budget I decided to take it up myself. It wasn’t easy though. Despite my regular patrols to the farm a few fruits would still go missing.

 In one occasion I suspected my Gatune  was carrying a number of my fruits and I decided to search her bag as she left the homestead. I wasn’t lucky though she pulled my nose and asked me to know people.

 To prevent further loses I decided to take 2 measures. Start an operation I dubbed Linda Matunda and form a commission of enquiry to investigate the past loses. Unlike Linda Nchi , Linda Matunda was to be secret. I would hide on top of a leafy Jacaranda tee and watch over the farm all day.

The operation was very successful. I compiled the list of every one I had saw setting foot on my farm. I put these names in a envelope, sealed it and started threatening everybody that I would hand it over the envelop to Mzee Viboko.
 By the kind of debate these threats elicited I could tell my list was not comprehensive enough.

My mum was of the opinion that I go slow over the matter. She very well knew that all my siblings were in the list and therefore she was opting for a "local" solution.

 She wanted to be left to deal will the case herself.
My brother Kazimingi was very sure he was in the list and he knew he was not in my mother’s good books. He therefore insisted that the suspects should be tried at the Hague , I mean by Mzee.
He also knew that Mzee Viboko was always busy in the farm i.e. when he is not away drinking and therefore he would have no time to deal with the matter.
To be continued....
Njagi Munyi

millionaire land

    

The journey to millionaire land is probably one of the longest. To make it worse the direction doesn't seem to be common sense. In my case am either not in fate's list of expected guests to the land or there is a problem with my approach. Worst still could it be something to my family tree.

From my grandfather to my father and finally myself we all have not found the direction to this land. Well, my father considers himself a very successful man but from what is left to inherit from him it’s clear he either lacks ambition or he simply doesn't want to admit his failures.

I refuse to draw my mother Katuku into this. She does not hail from Nyeri and therefore my father cannot blame physical injuries for his problems. In addition his opinion has always been deemed to be the truth regardless of the democratic space he claims to exist in his party, I mean his home.

I do not want to judge him harshly as I don't seem to be doing any better. My son Ngacha may also not have much to inherit if at all there will be anything.  I just hope I haven't passed these broke genes from my forefathers to him.

I want to stop this blame game but I still think my late grandfather (his soul lest in eternal peace) would have done better.The guy was working in Nairobi in pre independence times. He claimed to have been a milk vender under a mzungu's payroll.

This must have been the same time that Njenga Karume was selling charcoal somewhere in Kiambu. By all standards selling milk is more lucrative than selling charcoal. The unfortunate thing is that while Njenga was accumulating his million and the likes of john Kean and Nguba were accumulating land titles  my grandfather was accumulating sons ,daughters and off course their mothers.

No wonder we are so many you can confuse our family’s get together party with a prayer rally for the Hague 4.

I will call it legacy, forgive my forefathers and focus in this difficult journey to the land of millions. Am a bit worries because I just celebrated my 35th birthday and according to the bible I have a similar number of years to vacate this earth unless there is an AGM in heaven to award me some bonus years.

The biggest question is where have I been all those years and why isn't there enough to show for it.

The easiest answer once more is to hide under my family tree which I have already done. Secondly am tempted to blame the un proportional manner in which the national cake is shared. For your information none of my clansmen has ever been to city hole let alone parliament.

The best we have had is my uncle Mr. Matari who is a primary school teacher and every year he accompanies STD 8 pupils to parliament for the school's annual Nairobi tour. You should hear him describing the august house. You would think he is the one who drafts parliamentary standing orders.

It’s obvious that Mr. Matari does not bring back home a piece of the national cake and therefore we can only plead serikali itusaidie.

Unlike my folks I have not been waiting for the govt. I have been having 'mega' project since I was introduced to the shilling.

It’s rather discouraging that none of these projects have landed me to this land of milk and honey and why this is so remains the question. My first project could shed some light. Look out for that in “The fight over pineapples”                                                                  ----stevemunyi@gmail.com