THE TALL GRASS -Dream of Freedom

On the way home

Apart from being that crazy he was one such principled man, always wanted to instill in us the values that he regarded impressive and mandatory and anyone of us who would go against his wishes would always get scratched either in the soul or on the body from his never ending instruments of this particular purpose. I never lived to realize the level of his emotions because every time I was around him he would always shower me with lots of love that every last born would wish to be spoiled with. It seemed to me that I was his favorite among my siblings as it was evident when after coming back to the woods for leave, he insisted on moving with me to Kiambu a town very far away geographically from home, mum and sibling however tender I was. I would say I was denied the chance to interact with my mother-figure but to be intoxicated with father-figure. It is not worth complaining since mum would pay us a visit four times every year and stay for at least two weeks. I admit that though she would spend such a period with us, it would always not take long before I forget her real face or physique. In short, recalling what or how she looked like was very hard to me though today I have her black and white passport-sized autograph which is a rare miss with me.
From the tales of my Dad, I came to learn she was the most caring and hardworking woman who would do everything to ensure her children were not starving, clean, safe and presentable at all times. Overall she was one lady who entirely believed in making a living and extracting food from the rich land that nature offered in plethora. A true believer in genuine acquisition and generation of income and generally livelihood, values I was told she gathered from her staunch Christian mother who only valued diligence and integrity in everything she undertook. Mum would spend most of her time in the farm attending to crops from morning hours to mid-morning and later in the day, pack her items of trade and head to the nearest market to whirl away her day selling various assorted domestic items to her customers who were always available to ensure her purpose for the evening were fulfilled. That market had a very suggestive name as it would mean if translated directly from luo accent to Swahili (Sida which would translate to Shida a Swahili word meaning problem). Sure enough, I have never bothered to inquire what drove the residents to name the market as aforementioned. I remember at one instance when we had gone home for a holiday and she had not visited us in the city, she gave me the chance to escort her to the market place. What the name insinuated was almost shouting at anyone going to that market for the first time and I guess it made the people cause problems too.
That evening, introduction was a major business; mum was evidently all so proud of me, made suggestive smiles with her dimples sinking into her cheeks. I hope you know how in African culture, those who are leaving in the countryside treat those who come from the city; they treat you more like a queen if you happen to be a female and like a king if male. Many would agree with me that such situations makes someone feel so much elevated and a bomb of pride might unexpectedly explode. By the way, would you expect someone brought up my style to lack pride? Being with mum that evening was the greatest opportunity I got to spend so much time with her, I would say it was fun. Running around the market picking everything that I thought was edible, what I felt was supposed to be bought for me, every fine toy that I came across would be grabbed, and mum had a very rough time holding me back. At the end of it all, her purse was full of things she never budgeted for while leaving the house for market. That was quite an evening for mum, oh poor Benter.