Missing Out

All years with an "8" at the end have been so good to me. You should not forget that in such a year, I uttered my first word and made my first step. It should also be remembered that in such a year, I watched my first world cup, the greatest world cup ever. I still remember vividly how one man by the name Roberto Baggio and a teammate by the name Christian Vieri attacked like ants. They were, however, meted with attacks in the same vigour from Ivan Zamorano and Marcelo Salas-I remember as if it were yesterday. who would dare forget those Roberto Carlos' "banana" free kicks?

Some misfortunes though: Onyiso, our best goalkeeper then, kukula nyobo at the hands of Sunday Oliseh and co., and my "Samba Boys" losing out to a team made of seven Bukusus and a few white men and the Bomb Blast in Nairobi.

I cannot leave Lukhome Primary School out of this. A ten-year-old boy bred in the dirty ghettos of Nairobi is travelling back home to his people. He joins a class of fellow jokers and story-tellers similar to the ones he meets in Holy Trinity High School Saboti between 2004 and 2007. These boys, George Otieno and Dominic, whom we called "Tomi", particularly made the class the place to be and school not worth missing. They would engage in stories of all kinds, mostly about their girl-chasing escapades and how they tricked people at Lukhome Market. Another classmate called Bahati was already an old hand at hunting while in class four. He would tell us about "kimisukuni", "chikhisi" and "chinduyu" and how they engaged them in races in Leting's farm. I can't particularly forget the incident when a huge snake attacked them while they were busy running after a stubborn hare. The snake pursued them for close to 100 metres and was almost attacking. It raised its head high and stood on its tail. Its head bulged with venom. Everyone was terrified and almost petrified. This was when yours truly, Bahati himself, skillfully threw one of the "kimisukunis" at the snake and hit it just at the head, scattering lots of venom all over the place. The snake was injured so badly that it could barely move an inch. That was Bahati for you.

I will also briefly talk about hunting for roasted maize in lower classes. This happened every year from September to late October, this is the maize season in Trans-Nzoia. We would always jump through the windows during break time and search in their bags for roasted or boiled maize while the owners were out there playing. The games were always very involving that they would always be oblivious of these thieves. Cries would only be heard once the games were over and the damage already done. During one such season, a game of throwing maize cobs started while we were out for games. One boy threw a cob at his friend and the assailed thew another one back at his assailant. Eventually, the game spilt over to the rest of the students and there was a rain of cobs in the school compound. When the teacher on duty tried to intervene, the rain stopped being haphazard and moved in one direction, towards the staffroom. That was Lukhome Primary for you...

I will talk about Otwane running with a box of biscuits pursued by the whole school another day.

These events were the beginning of my initiation into real African life. It prepared me for real African challenges ahead. We had our own adventures in the city as well but they had very little to do with being a serious African boy and later a man. We had our "duff mpararo" back in the city (those born in affluent suburbs of the city may not know this and should stay away). We would swim in dirty stagnant rainwater from morning till afternoon till evening. Kamitha, which we called "Omitho" was the main venue of our trade. This is where Hope Centre and the affluent estates in its vicinity currently stand. We would go home dirty from head to toe. That was when "slippers" were the chief whips (those as old as myself know what I'm sayin).

I should not end this TB (Throwback, not tuberculosis) without mentioning Sahara Video and DJ Mike Man. We would always wake up very early in the mornings, especially during weekends and holidays, and sit outside Sahara Video. It was usually opened at exactly 9am, and we knew this very well. The moment the doors opened, we would scramble to get inside. The first one to enter would be the sweeper of the day. Those of you who do not know anything about growing up in the ghetto may not know what a whole day of watching free movies means, but it was quite a thing, especially in those days. The struggle mainly got its impetus in the fact that Dj Mike Man was always live. I tell you that guy could smoke. Between eight and ten cigars would be spent by the time he finished commentating a single movie. This guy was talented, and that's why when these kids of today talk about DJ, I just laugh. That's how I became what I am today-a child of two worlds.

Sorry, I was talking about years with an "8" at the end. In such a year, I got my secondary school results and was happy that I would be joining the university.

This is now 2018. I hope it is going to have as many good things as the years that have preceded it.

Another apology. This was meant to be a simple TBT post. Sorry again. It's a day before Thursday.