Where to begin? O I know! My father was the
funniest person I ever knew. He had the funniest stories. He kept us laughing
every time he came home, which was not often. You see, my dad was a train
mechanic (train engineer in US vocab). He was always on thabari/safari (work related travel). He was all over the place
along the East African railways. Sometimes he would be gone for a month. It was
even worse after my mother got a transfer to Nyeri and the distance was now
longer.
Nevertheless, he ensured that he
compensated for the long absence. When on leave, he would stay in shags (our
rural home in central Kenya) the whole time. During that time, food was yummier
(my dad was super particular about his food) so we ate special foods when he
was around. He enjoyed mum’s food and would always whisper that my mom was the
best cook in Central. Although he would brag often that he is the one who taught
my mom how to make soft chapati—a claim my mom refuted until many years after his
death, when I confronted her about it. And she sighed with nostalgia.
She told me:
A week after Richie (what mum
called dad—instead of Richard) married me, I decided to make chapati. When he
came home, I served him on his favorite plate. After the meal, he did not
praise me as usual. He was silent. And I asked: well? And he said hmmmm…..everything
was great. Pause. Except the chapati.
The chapati was as hard as mabatis (iron sheets). Nikizirusha, zitafika gikomba. If I fling
them, they will fly over Gikomba market.
My mom was upset. But my dad had
a solution. The following day he went and bought flour, margarine and other
ingredients. And he made the best chapati mum had ever tasted. And that was in
the 70s, when not many African men entered the kitchen. But my dad was no
ordinary African man.
He dressed in the best suits. His
English was impeccable. He had a collection of books enough to fill a library.
All signed Richard Burton Kiunga.
Richard Burton was a Welsh actor who was known for his smooth baritone voice.
Dad would often imitate him as he did his comedy around the house. And books,
he taught me to read. By third grade, I was reading Famous Five, Hardy boys and
Nancy Drew. By fifth grade, I was reading Jane Austen and Thomas
Hardy—something that wowed teachers at my village school. And he taught me how
to be creative. And to exaggerate, one of the not-so-great-things to teach a
child. And to have mischief…oh my! What mischief I had!
I remember when in fifth
grade….It was closing day. Parents would come for the ceremony to witness the
appreciation of the best students. But although I was the top student in my
class, I knew I was in big trouble. You see, there was this gang of boys and
girls from 8th and 7th grade…they were recruiting people
–students really—into mischief such as stealing mangoes, playing rough after
school and fighting. For self-defense (that was my excuse), I joined them. And
although I was not involved in the fights and the other shenanigans, I had the
protection of the ‘mafia’. So on this fateful day, as the principal called
names of gang members so that parents could punish them, I pretended to doze
since I had taken cold meds that morning. My name was not among them! Phew!
I rejoiced too soon, for one
student said my name out loud. Nkt! Squealer! The principal didn’t add my name
to the list, but my name was now forever tarnished. I expected dad to kill me. On the
way home he asked me: “Be truthful, were you supposed to be on the list? Are you a gangster?”
I paused and then timidly
nodded. “But I am a silent follower.”
Bwahahahahahahaha!! My little
girl is in a gang?!! He was bending in laughter. I relaxed a bit, but still
expecting a spanking. After he was done he said. “My girl, you need to quit
that gang. Gangs are bad. Does your mother know you are in a gang? Because you would have been dead by now. Hahahaha! My girl is a gang! Lord have Mercy!
I left the gang, which
had anyway been disbanded by the school authorities. But my dad was one who
appreciated mischief. My mom was constantly infuriated by his refusal to punish me as hard as she wished. But now
understand why: Grandma always said dad was very mischievous when he was a
boy. There is one exception though. When in 5th grade, I once lied
to him that there was someone at the gate. When he left to see who it was, I
sipped his beer. I was really just curious to know how it tasted. When he came back,
he told me to fetch his belt and I knew the day of reckoning was finally here. Before
he spanked me he asked me:
Did you sip my beer?
I nodded.
And you like it?
Nah! Tastes like urine (like I
had ever tasted urine)
Repeat after me: I will never again drink beer.
Amidst beatings
I will never again drink beer
After he finished with me I asked
him: Dad, how can you drink such an eewwsh thing? And he told me that he
started drinking out of peer pressure. And had someone told him that it was
wrong, that one can get addicted, he would not have started. So my American friends,
that is why I stayed away from Alagash and Corona.
My dad was also a great teacher.
He helped me with homework, except Math. He would always say: Go to your
mother. At the age of 9, we would read the newspaper together. His favorite
columnists were Wahome Mutahi (Whispers) and Yussuf Dawood (Surgeon’s Diary).
We would then do the crossword together. Yeah, I am now addicted to crosswords.
He told me they invigorated the brain.
I can go on and on. But I can
never finish. When dad passed on in November 1997, our world as a family, my
world was rocked. I could not imagine a life without his humor. Who would I
read newspapers with? Who would understand me and teach me how to balance my
mischief. I was devastated. Who would play with my little sister, she didn’t
get a chance to know him. But I was comforted to know that he had given his
life to Christ on his deathbed.
Dad, 18 years have gone by. And
we still miss you. Here’s what you have missed:
·
I finished high school, went to university and
even flew to the US. I wished you were there at the airport to see me off. I
have become even more beautiful and brilliant. Wink wink. I still love trains. And telling stories.
·
Carol has grown! Remember she was so small when
you left. She was among the top students in KCPE and her name was in the
papers! Then she went to Alliance High School—you would have been so proud. And
she went to University and is now doing her Master’s. And she got married!!
Your little girl got married!!! Don’t worry, we vetted him and he is great. He
is an engineer by the way.
·
Mom is doing great. (not because you are gone)
but we try to keep her happy. She is as beautiful. She is getting old though.
The other day I saw a wrinkle on her neck. But she is still lovely. She takes
care of the coffee. Though she claims that when you were on leave, you would
prune only one coffee tree per day whereas she can prune ten. I know! You can’t
vindicate yourself. But I think she is telling the truth. I was young but I was
observant.
·
You have a grand-daughter. Jamo has a baby girl.
She looks like Mercy.
·
Speaking of Mercy, she still laughs. Still the
quietest and the sweetest of us all. Though she has a streak of mischief and a
sense of humor. I wonder who she got it from. Ha!
·
Roba stills looks like you. Is like you: Too
intelligent.
Well, those are the updates. I
don’t think we will see you soon coz we have too much do before then. I bet you are happy over there and you are
making everyone laugh.
Till we meet again.
