Chapter 5

     The sun was high up in the sky yet Okayo had not woken up. He would be late for the ceremony. The drumbeats were so loud signaling the beginning of a life-mark occasion, one that would be both a reincarnation and emancipation from childhood prejudices. Okayo would now be a full man, ready to take part in onerous tribal and clan affairs. Because of the circumstances surrounding his life, his father had opted for him to undergo the ritual without delay. He was only fifteen yet he had the brain capacity of a full grown-up. 

    The previous evening had been filled with all manner of preparations. The candidates had to be carefully instructed on the prerequisites for the ritual, of which self-assurance was on the front foot. They also had to express readiness and maturity for the occasion. The ritual was strictly meant for boys and girls who had come of age and had remained chaste until then; coition was only allowed in marriage. The initiates would, thereafter, be taught separately how to perform their marital responsibilities and how to go about challenges, and the facts of life. Then they would be released to return to their homes and look for themselves life partners. This was always the most challenging time in the lives of the youth. Men began drawing up plans of abducting cynosural damsels at certain places such as water points, forests and markets, as such was one of the common and generally accepted ways of getting a spouse. 

    Osayo was pinned by disquietude. Okayo had not yet turned up from his grandparents' hut yet his brothers had long woken up and were carrying on with their chores and errands. He called out one of the boys who slept with him and demanded to be told of where he was. 

     "We left him sleeping in the hut. He told us that he was feeling somewhat fatigued and with an unusual pain at the back, but that he would be out as soon as he had gathered up a little strength," explained the boy.

    "Why didn't you tell me?" vociferated Osayo staring hard at the boy. "Go look for him in the hut now. Run!" The boy rushed out of his father's hut and headed straight to his grandparent's hut. When he arrived at the door, he knocked several times and called in vain. He called even louder and louder until he was vexed and decided to go in. He proceeded to the inner chamber where they slept. It was somewhat dark inside but he could at least see the bed. Oh no! He thought he saw it empty. He moved closer and opened the window for a better confirmation. It was true; Okayo was not in the bed. The bedding was patched up - an indication that he had left so hastily. 

    The boy ran back to his father and broke him the sad news. 

    "Holy cow!" boomed Osayo. "What's wrong with this stupid brat!" He was up on his feet. "Get your brothers and look for that sleepwalker at Lordship whatever. Call me his mother. Get moving!" The boy dashed out. Osayo would have trampled him to death. He had been standing out of his skin, mystified by his father's reactions; his disfigured face that looked like a bulldog chewing a bone had scared him, leaving him stranded. He had never seen such an astonishing unity of look and reaction before. 

    When Agola walked into her husband's hut, she found him pacing up and down touching onto this-and-that unintentionally. He turned and gave her a quick sharp glance, contempt crossing between his eyes. The glance was such a cruel one that she felt it would have been alleviating had the heavens curved down and swallowed her away. 

   "Woman! Where's your son?" growled Osayo. Quivering, Agola stared at the floor not knowing what to say. How did he expect her to know yet she did not sleep with the boy in the same hut? 

    "Am I speaking, woman? Where is your son?" reiterated Osayo, even louder. 

    "I... I am sorry, my lord - I don't know." 

    "Nyonyonyo! Goat! Go look for your son, woman. Go!" Osayo's voice sounded like thunder. Agola found herself out of the hut without knowing how. She was also dumbfounded at such a scary look on her husband's face. She walked hastily towards the old hut where her boy slept.

   The pervasive grief and fear of losing a son fell on her. Okayo was her second son. The eldest, Otieno, who had taken away her fears of remaining barren was twenty-eight seasons old and happily married. Otieno lived peacefully with his dear wife and two children in his home. The thirteen-season gap was a period of shame, and losing a son would make it unreplenishable. Little Akoth, six seasons old, came after Okayo and after her there was no other. 

    Agola got into the hut to see for herself the kind of misery that had befallen her. And she found exactly what she had expected. The barkcloth bedding was lying patched up as though the boy had done a moonlight flit. Improbable questions ran into her mind. Had he disappeared at his own will or had been grabbed away by some heartless specter? The lores about centuried giants arrested her thoughts and made her dull and weary. Why, o why, would a boy about his manhood ritual leave his cottage as early as before daybreak? What sort of malevolence had struck his mind? Or had he done the flit in his dream? 

    Unsure of whether her thoughts were hitting onto the right tract or not, Agola came out of the hut and walked to Ogola's home to make loud her enquiries. Her blood was running cold and tears had begun forming at the corners of her eyes. She knew her husband would not listen to her even for the slightest moment. 

    "Have you seen him?" she met Nyar-Yimbo who was standing on the doorsill of her hut with the unexpected question. 

    "Who? What are you talking about?" asked Nyar-Yimbo. 

    "My son." 

    "Your son? Okayo - do you mean?" 

    "Yes. Have you seen him?" Her voice cracked and she spoke too fast. Nyar-Yimbo could tell that she was in a serious emotional breakdown. 

    "Oh no! Please calm down. I can't get you right. Would you mind getting into the hut and explaining properly?" 

    "Yes. I barely have time to waste. But I'll be back shortly." And she made to leave but, as if she had remembered something very important, turned to her and asked, "Nyar-Yimbo, where's Okech your son?" 

    "Oh, he has not just woken up yet. You know... boys will be boys." 

    "Mmm... in that case... in that case, he might have... in that case, I'll be back," she tried to put in amid tears. 

     "Wait a minute. In that case! What do you mean?" 

    "Just check it out. I'll be right back. Our son disappeared this morning... this night... Oh! I don't know. All I know is that he vanished." And with that, she walked away. 

    Agola was a woman of gravitas despite of her vulnerability towards her husband's narcissistic and misogynistic behaviours. To some men, she even appeared to be a bit of crumpet. If there was anything called lustful natural beauty that every man would look up for in a woman, then she had more than it. Even in her forties, she still looked very sexually desirable. And this beauty not only manifested on her skin but also fairly extended to her blood so that she upheld herself with repose and dignity. She adorned herself to the pleasures of her husband and for the mentorship of her children. She tried her very best to sustain her marriage, but Nyasaye and the spirits had denied her the pleasantry of raising up many children. And they would just be so unfair to take from her the few they had given her.

    When she arrived back at home crying heartbreakingly, little Akoth ran to her and colled around her waist. 

    "Mama, mama, what's up? Mama, mama... Mama don't cry. Stop, stop crying, mama," she importuned her mother. She buried her head into Agola's stomach and cried so vexatiously that Agola had to stop crying for a moment and act. She thrust the child away from her and stared at her with brutality in her eyes. Scared by her mother's reaction, Akoth stopped crying immediately and drifted away. 

    Meanwhile, back in his hut, Osayo had stopped the intermittent frenzies. Seated on his komb-wuoro (a father's chair) that faced the gate directly from his hut, he remained calm and befuddled. His heart was bleeding terribly, and the guilt of losing a son possessed him. The spirits might have mistaken him for one of the renegades - he thought. He had never found himself in such a contrition before. Only a few days ago, he had gone into rhapsodies about his foreseen blessings for remaining truthful to his religion and culture. But things had now changed within shifts of microseconds. Or was it a bitter herbal tea with blessed effects? Perhaps. Who knew what lay in the plans of Nyasaye and the spirits?

    Agola gathered up enough courage and went into the hut. She knelt down and bowed her head, tears freely racing down her cheeks. Okayo looked at his wife menacingly, as though he would pounce on her in the next few seconds and beat her up to death.

    "He's nowhere to be found, my lord," she sadly put in before breaking into a bitter sob. She could not contain her emotions. She went prone onto the ground and her squawky voice filled the whole hut. Osayo stared at her with a wry sense of displeasure. How come she behaved such unbecomingly?

    "Cut it out!" barked Osayo. Agola stopped wailing immediately, hoisted up herself and sat down calmly as if she had been mollified from the grip of some diabolical spirits. She wiped away her tears using her palms and looked around the room flusteredly. 

    Osayo walked out of the hut with great vehemence like a bear with a sore head. That was the breaking point of his temper. He made his way down the river, one main cock-crow away. He was feeling both physically and spiritually roughed up, but he had to get to the shrine and make his consultations with the living dead. Later, he would organize a call-back ritual with the other elders who were still knit to the clan's traditions. As he treaded upon the dry twigs of the fruticose forest, he yodelled for himself a longtime folksong. 

                    Kamoko to ng'at makonya ere...

                    Kochaya to ng'at ma konya ere... 

                    Kaleo t'achal ng'at monindo...

                    Kanindo t'achal ng'at moleo...

                    When I'm stuck who helps me out...

                    When I'm hated who helps me out...

                    When I'm late I'm like the one who is absent...

                    When I'm absent I'm like the one who is late...

     A tickle in his voice would not let him proceed. He was getting more furious with himself and the fate that had betid his family. 

     He felt lonely in the middle of such a wide forest, no one to reason with and no beautiful solid figure to cast the eyes upon. He knew very well that when things turned up against him, he would still be alone. A new unconventional saying was picking up in the society, and it went: nyadhi keto ji kanyo achiel to chandruok to keyo gi akeya (merry unites people but distress sets them apart). And he could see the truth in it.

                                        ***

     It was about midday when he arrived at the shrine. He was still enraged, feeling bespattered over and over by the thick mud of injustice, injustice from the spirits and Nyasaye. What sort of misfortune was this that his family had fallen upon? Maybe his clan ancestors knew. Maybe they would explain it to him. 

    He knelt down and poured out his polemics before Nyasaye and the ancestors. He frained about a lot of issues that he felt were hanging unexplained. He questioned their authority over his house. He demanded to be told of what fault he had done. But Nyasaye and the ancestors were just quiet; they did not even utter a word to him. Perhaps they would communicate with him in a night vision like they had always done, or through a seer, he thought. But he did not make a stop to it - he continued making his supplications before Nyasaye of the shrine and the ancestors. 

    When evening approached, he left the shrine and made his way back home. He met men and women going back home from the just-concluded ritual. They had waited patiently for his arrival, but when they felt pressed hard for time, they began the ceremony. This was one of the relics of their culture that had remained stuck in a time warp when people embraced a lot of changes. They loved it exceedingly and would not give in to its eradication. Surely, who - but the retrogrades, would want to marry a fear-trapped person? Fear, with regards to marital issues, was considered a very bad quality - a vice, in fact. And so it pained Osayo to feel the immense weight of the truth that his son would be growing up into a fear-possessed rebel. 

    "Sorry, jaduong'," the people condoled him as they met and passed him, but he remained quiet, only talked his walk. He did not even turn his neck to look at them out of the chagrin that he now faced over his misfortune. The little calamity had rendered him calm and weary. 

    He was suddenly filled with the nostalgia of his youth. The initiation ceremony he underwent at his sixteenth season flowed back into his mind. He saw the old women in their arrays singing songs of victory in an attempt to bestow courage in them. The ritual was very simple. They queued up and waited for their turns to 'feel the strength of the traditional pair of plies'. He had promised himself to shew courage. And indeed, when his turn to feel the plies came, he widely opened his mouth and waited. The man on the action belt did the knock down with a lot of impunity. He pulled up the traditional pair of plies into his mouth and held the grip tightly, then - toop, toop, toop - went the teeth in twos. Blood oozed freely onto the ground signifying a mutual reunion with his progenitors. Then some ardent and energetic women pulled him aside and dropped a piece of hot millet ugali onto the gap to subside the bleeding. It was awful, but he kept a stiff upper lip. After all, perseverance was the test of manhood. Women made loud hullabaloos and ululations. He had become a real man. 

    Osayo arrived at home feeling pain in the nerves. His son had turned his day into doom. He walked straight into his hut and lay in his bed. He would not eat. He started shivering in bed. After some time, darkness covered him and he drifted into slumber.

He had a disturbing dream. He found himself in a flite with Okayo. The boy had just sneaked into his hut and stolen the strange object from the Blue-eyed that he had kept fearfully for a long time beneath his bed. He caught him red-handed leaving his hut with the object and was about to grab him when he slipped away and began to run.

"Stop! I'm not playing games with you, kid. Bring back that object into my hut. Now!" he shouted at him.

"No, Baba. This is now my tool and future," Okayo said, turning briefly to his father.

"I said bring it back into my hut, son. You are too young to decide what you want to do with your future, and whatever your plan is with that object, it will ruin you."

"No. I'm tired of listening to you father," replied Okayo, walking away. "I can hear my destiny calling for me. And I will use this object to wake up my clanspeople for a fresh dawn in their destinies too."

"Son, come back here. Have you lost your damn mind? What destiny are you talking about? Your destiny is all with you here in my palace."

Seeing that Okayo did not bat an eyelash at his beggings but instead continued to walk away from him, he picked up a thick rod and started going after him. But his feet were sore and heavy, and the distance between them continued to widen. He beheld as Okayo made the last step out of his homestead and completely disappeared into the horizon. Fear and anxiety gripped him. 

While he was still thinking of the right way to take in persuit of his son, the earth in front of him started curving in. He began to scream bloody murder at the realization that his last moments had finally come. In the middle of his defeaning screams, he heard a still voice saying, "Destiny is irrevocable." 

He woke up with a start and lit the kerosene lamp placed on a stool beside his bed. He then rolled out of the wooden bed and bent below it to check for the bell. When he found it, and confirmed that it was still safely beneath the bed and that he had just been dreaming, he blew off the lamp and returned to bed. But the night was horrible, for the thoughts of his missing son arrested his mind and kept him staring blankly onto the thick darkness till he grew weary and faded into slumber again. 

                                      ***

    Okayo and Oboo arrived at the mission centre in Milimani area in Kisumu in two days. They had been walking and spending their nights in caves all the way from Seme to the small battering town of Kisumu. The Blue-eyed had now named the place so because they thought the old name, Kisuma, which only meant 'a place of exchange or trade' sounded uncivil. Oboo had known the mission centre because his father took cattle there for sale and occasionally went with him. The Blue-eyed living at the mission center bought the cattle, not for human consumption, but for preservation and use in their laboratories, Oboo's father had told him so. He thought about it and chortled silently in his heart. He knew it was not far from a lie. It could just as well be a bit of snobbery on the part of the Blue-eyed. How could they have so many cattle as such just for use in their labs? It was a little wonder. Oboo knew places as far as Otonglo, Mamboleo, Kiboswa and Nyamasaria at the outskirts of the town. On such wayfares with his father, they would pass through Chiro Mbero and Chiro Oile, and even sometimes through Chiro Kibuye to purchase a few kitchen utilities such as sugar, salt, roots and milled flour which were rarely found in the rural countryside.

    They found a watchman at the gate. He was a frail-looking middle-aged African wearing a pair of short pants and t-shirt. He wore a thin leather buckle around his waist. Maybe the man looked tired after spending the whole night in the cold, the boys thought. The morning, though marked with a little sleet and chill, had nothing to do with the strength of a man. The man stared at them impertinently as if they were roaming dogs about to chuck on him. But there was something that seemed bizarre in those looks, something that would have even scared the largest giant. Not that they were firm and rigid, or full of dought - nope; they were feeble and full of solitude. Was the world so thin and unfair to him? 

    The boys were still held in apprehension by the man's indubitably manifestation when he moved even closer to them. 

    "Children, what do you want here?" he frained in an astoundingly deep voice. The unexpected mention of the word 'children' and the intensity of the voice that carried it along fell on the boys like a huge rock. They had not expected him to rock out the way he did. It was, however, quite accommodative that he spoke in the language of the land. 

    "Children! We aren't children," retorted Okayo, picking up a pair.

    "Hey boo! Don't feign obstinacy. I know you. I have dealt with boys like you before. Kwa hiyo, acheni ukorofi wavulana. Ninyi mngali wabichi. Ni kweli - hamjui chochote, hamjatambua changamoto za hii dunia (Therefore, stop obstinacy, boys. You are still raw. It's true - you know nothing, you haven't known the challenges of this world), he replied so uncomely in the same deep voice. Only Oboo caught the last bit he said in Swahili. His Swahili accent was good. 

    Well, we have been sent by our chief, lied Oboo. 

    Where do you come from?

    Seme.

    A-ah! Come on, Seme is like the whole world. Which area, which village? "

    Kobita in Dipirr.

    Mmm... Okay, okay, I see. People often think they're escaping from the lion by rushing into the lake only to land into the crocodile's mouth. He opened the metal gate for them. Get in.

    The boys walked into the compound, wondering what the man meant by his saying. The area was extensively large and the fence at the furthest end was out of vicinity. It was a tall concrete wall all around. The buildings were rectangular and multistoried. There were several activities within, running at the same time. Everyone was in a uniform apparel; a dark pair of short pants or skirt and a short-sleeved shirt. 

    Whilst they were still wondering what direction to take next, an aider came to their rescue. He was a tall brown man who seemed to be humane from the benevolent smile on his face. His light skin and stylish dark hair would have made them quickly conclude that he was a Blue-eyed, but his brown eyeballs, the red dot on his forehead and speech betrayed him. He spoke very good English but with a low accent, seeming to put a stress on every consonant sound. 

    "Hello, boys. How are you?" he greeted them and reached out his hand for handshakes. They shook his hand. It was warm and appealing to humanity. 

   "We fine, thank you. And you?" replied Oboo.

   "I'm fine too. Welcome to the mission. I am your receptionist Mr. Shan. How may I help you?" 

    "Mmm... we not want help from you, sir. We, we come here see mkubwa (boss). We want speak with him. We want learn." 

    "Okay, but I'm sorry you may not be allowed to see him the soonest you expect. We can, however, attend to your problem. What are your names?"

   "Me, they call me Oboo and him Okayo. Please, why can we not see mkubwa?" 

   "Don't worry. He is busy this week and, perhaps, next week too. So, I plead with you to keep to our limits if you need our help. Many people, especially teenagers like you, have run to this place to get help, and they have found it. You will get the best of it too. Now, come with me to the office of the secretary of academic affairs." All this time, Okayo remained calm and stared at Mr. Shan with gape. 

   They followed him into one of the huge storey buildings and climbed upstairs into an office. They met the rigid eyes of a plump light-skinned lady seated blissfully on an armchair. She was handicapped, had very short legs that could barely reach the ground.

   "Hello, madam," greeted Mr. Shan.

   "Hello, Shan. How may I help you?" she said softly with a bit of slur.

   "With me here are two boys," said Mr. Shan pointing at the duo, "who have ran away from their uncivilized and informal cultures to seek for formality here." The woman nodded.

   "Which one between the two can speak English, or are they just too informal?" she inquired.

   "Well," replied Mr. Shan turning around and pointing at Oboo, "this one can at least pluck out some meaning and respond moderately well. But the other  I dont think, hes been so quiet." The lady glanced at the them and then returned to Mr. Shan.  

    "Alright, Shan. Get me that green book over there," she said pointing at a book in one of the shelves in the room. "And please tell them to sit down." 

    "Thank you, madam," Oboo said in a rush as he sat down. Okayo sat down too. She gave them a strained look before opening up a colloquy with them. Mr. Shan gave her the book and she opened a blank page. 

    "Oh! What's your name, boy?" 

    "They call me Oboo." 

    "Who are they?" 

    "Mmm...," he thought scratching his head, "my people... our people." 

    "Can your friend over there hear me? I mean, does he speak English?" 

    "No, he cannot." 

    "What's his name?" 

    "Okayo, is Okayo." At the mention of his name, Okayo turned around sharply and looked at Oboo. It was as if he had been daydreaming and something, probably the mentioning of his name, shook him off the dream. 

    "Is he alright?" 

    "Yes, yes, is o'right." And turning to Okayo, he said, "Bed mos osiepa. Ne openja mana nyingi (stay calm, my friend. She only asked me your name)." 

    "That's bizarre! You know I don't like African names. The boys only give their kids single names as though they are frogs," she said and scribbled something on the upper right end of the blank page. 

    "You wrong, madam! But they give me another name in school. It was... sorry, my head have forget." The lady smirked arrogantly and, glancing at Oboo, shook her head in dismay. 

    "Alright, boy. The boys have a green culture," she remarked after some time. Oboo stared at the ground feeling embarrassed. The boys! What did she mean by that - the two of them or who? The lady realized what pain he had caused him and tried to rub it off. "Well, I mean those Africans are uncultured." And then she turned to Mr. Shan who had then been waiting for her next orders, and yelled, "Good heavens! You mean you have just been standing over there like a flag-post. Sod off, you wretch! You have duties on the lane outside there." Her eyes beamed with rancor. Mr. Shan could not withstand the bitter resentment; he left the room. He would not witness more of that spiteful show. "Good. He must know he is at work." She returned her looks onto the boys for a moment and then scribbled something in the green book. Then she raised her head and gazed around as if she suspected someone had been keeping their eyes peeled, and returned to the boys. 

   "Alright. I'm Beatrice, just that - and don't ever call me that madam thing again." Oboo looked away. He did not understand. Why would someone allow others to call them in some way and others in a different way? It really sounded awkward. Mr. Shan had called her 'madam' and she had responded well, and now it was only after he had left that the lady decided to turn black and cold on her name!

    "O'right," he replied nodding. 

    "And from now onwards, you will be called different names - the priest knows. How old are you?" 

    "I eighteen and he fifteen." 

    "Really? He looks older than you, perfectly old." She faked a smile, looking directly into Okayo's eyes. That sounded quite suggestive, Oboo thought. Since Okayo had not been hearing even a word all along, he smiled back, thinking it was such an ordinary gesture. 

    "Good. You will begin your classes tomorrow. Take this to Mr. Shan." She teared off the page she had been scribbling on and gave it to Oboo. "Well, you can now leave. And... I'm always here for all kinds of needs. Besides, you don't just have to keep your eyes on the ball. You are men, I'm a lady... you have my words: look after the pence, and the pounds will look after themselves. Think about it. You can go."

    "Is o'right. Thank you, madam... um... sorry, Beatrice." She kept quiet, only smiled. The boys left. 

    As they raced downstairs, Okayo had the heebie-jeebies - he really wanted to know about the talk and the outcome thereof. "How is it, brother?" he kept harrying Oboo. When they reached the ground floor, Oboo turned to him to quell his curiosity. "All is well, brother. But the woman is an iron hand in a velvet glove. She can do anything to taint or straighten our future. Yes, she looks calm and jovial in her outward appearance, but in reality, she is firm and resolute, and it seems her decisions are respected. She has said we will begin our studies tomorrow. And now she has directed us back to Mr. Shan to give us further directions. Please, I want you to take great care, bro; the edges of light are darkness, you know."

    "Does that mean... does she like our coming and presence here?" 

    "Yes. I think so." 

    "What's her decision about my father's refusal to accept formal education in our home?" 

    "They might arrest him." He had to give an answer and that was what fell off his lips. 

    "Alright, but I hope they won't imprison him. All I wanted is education, you know." 

    "That's true. I also hope so." 

They came out of the building and began looking for Mr. Shan. They could not see him. They decided to approach the watchman, hoping he would help them out.