Growing to an age where you can pick a chapati, even before mom finishes them up, is a very big achievement. When as a kid, it wasn't possible to authoritatively pick a piece of chapo when mom was just on the fifth one. You would receive an electric slap followed by high pitched yelling; ".. sijamaliza kupika na ushaanza kuchukua… toka nje enda kaa na wenzako .."
But as a grown up, mom can't say anything. In fact she pauses for a moment to excuse you pick then continues with her business as if nothing happened. Isn't that magic!!! In some cases you're in fact the one who sponsored the baking flour by sending your nephew , Maria's son , or refilled the cooking gas. As an adult, you realize that mom doesn't care the time you come in or the time you go out. It is not her business if you take a shower or not anymore. In fact this is the age you can sit her down and offer your opinions on investments and things she should stop doing without fearing that a slap shall come flying your way. This privilege is always felt by everyone. But to lastborns, it comes late. That's why my mom Sarai has always thought my lastborn sister, Susan, is still a little girl.
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We're just from a holiday where aunties expect us to tag along someone. By someone I don't mean James tagging along Steve, hapana bwana, hyo haiwezi. That shall warranty the local church being invited for prayers and cleansing of their son who has adopted unmentionable ways. Neither do I mean tagging someone along is a twenty four year old Stacy tagging along a forty three year old Mubaba with an old testament name, driving a Datsun 1200 pickup. The family's expectation is you either tag along a potential acceptable life partner or better enough just come alone. If your family is not this way when you are in your mid-twenties then I am very sorry, you need a hug.
So my younger Sister Susan, out of nowhere, has decided to invite a guy to a sherehe hosted by Khocha Thomas. We all were left wordless and surprised because; tagging along a 'friend' to a family function, at the age of Susan, was an offense punishable by being denounced as a child of that family. Mom would clearly state that you had started doing ' bad manners' or had decided to get married while in her house. The last time when that had ever dared to happen was in the year 1997 when Wekesa, our church deacon's son sent me to call Maria over the fence. " shika hii pound uniitie Maria, Mwambie ni Wekesa ako hapa Kwa fence..." A pound was twenty bob shillings in the late 90s, when the value of one British Pound was equal to twenty Kenyan Shillings, before inflation and corruption happened. That was the day I earned my first wage of twenty Shillings, just by calling my sister Maria to come and see Japheth Wekesa. I made money.
I have been writing about the day Japheth Wekesa paid me a twenty shilling coin just to call my sister but I've been unable to publish because of denial of consent. Maria has refused to allow me publish the story because she has read the draft and claims there are details that may implicate her, now that she is a wife and a mother of four. As I wait for a go ahead from Maria let me take this chance to tell you about Susan.
Susan has always looked so innocent for a last born, the only things she has grown up doing is complain about too much dirty dishes after meals, asking for unnecessary money from older siblings and playing aunty duties to the kids of older siblings to an extent the nieces and nephews are growing to believe she's a cousin of theirs if not an agemate. No one in the family believes Susan has grown to an age of bringing a boyfriend to the family events. In fact my elder brother still kicks her out of adult family meetings thinking she isn't grown enough to listen to adult discussions. At twenty one, mom still sees Susan as a kid. In fact when everyone was going out on the night of 31st, they kept assigning their stubborn kids to Susan as if she had no plans for herself.
As we were gathered in the tiny house of Khocha Thomas just waiting for chapatis and chicken to be delivered on the table, a car hooted at the gate and everyone went silent. "….Kuna mtu kwa gate?" Mom asked while looking at Khocha's wife, her mulamwa. Susan stood up and left towards the gate in a hurry and the silence became even more serious. I looked and my brother, my brother looked at me, we both turned towards mom and then quickly back to our phones. That's the moment all of us knew Susan had a 'visitor'. Kwisha yeye.
A tall chocolate skinned guy in his mid-twenties stood at the door a few minutes later. I knew he was tensed up meeting his girlfriend's family because there was this specific smell of sweat that filled the room. The smell of sweat we always experience when kanjos stop us abruptly in town and who feel something warm running down your armpits. Khocha later described it as; 'harufu ya jasho jembamba' while trying to diss Susan on how tensed her guy looked. Susan stood beside him looking innocent you'd think she had never called me "kitambi bila pesa". I even told myself at that particular moment that I was forgiving all her sins because I knew Saraih was going to slaughter her that day. At least let her slaughter a forgiven soul.
"Hey, this is Jeff, he is my boyfriend from campus." Susan said with all the courage our ancestors had left behind after coming from world war II in the year Nineteenth Twenty Something. "Jeff meet my extended Family, this is Khocha Thomas, my mom's younger brother, this is Agnes, his wife and this is my mom Saraih. si huyu unamjua? " Pointing at me. "Ni ule bro was Kitengela mimi hukushow". The whole room went silent, I can imagine what was going through the mind of that young chap. Standing before energetic and heavily built elder brothers of your girlfriend, brothers who think their sister is still a baby.
The room remained in that moment of death silence for about 5 minutes until Khocha Thomas said loudly with a broad smile; "Karibu Kijana wetu. Hapa ndio nyumbani"
After a prayer for the meal from princess Susan herself, Mom instantly started serving the visitor food while throwing icebreaker questions of ; "Kijana wangu kwenu ni wapi? Umesema mnasoma na huyu Susy? Unakulanga Namasaka? Nikuongezee chapati? " I couldn't add up what had instantly happened to our mom. At twenty one years,our elder sister Maria could not dare to bring a male friend home. The only day her crush, Japheth Wekesa, talked to her over the fence is the day Maria was clobbered for planning to get married while still in school. The clobbering was so serious that I even feared girls. Here is the same mom entertaining a daughter’s 'boyfriend'. I sat silently eating while asking myself a million questions.; “Is it because Susan is the last born, so she can do whatever she wants? Has mom grown so old to an extent she can't get mad anymore? Is it the fact that we're at Khocha's place so mom can't react? Or is it because Jeff if driving and the only thing Wekesa used to drive was driving Maria crazy?” My ancestors won’t believe. They will not believe.
Being a last born is indeed awesome and Susan is enjoying. I know soon we shall all be summoned to plan her wedding as she sits comfortably chatting with Jeff about the latest movies. In fact after the event at Khocha’s place, mom kept asking us how Susan and Jeff are doing. This is the highest discrimination I've seen from Mayi Saraih; she needs to be sued in the human rights court.
While we all were enjoying our chicken and wondering how mom was reacting to Susan having a boyfriend at twenty one, Senge Firethi, dads younger sister decided to do her thing. She had been doing laundry and airing her wet clothes on the visitor's car. Now the visitor is leaving and we either wait until her clothes dry or give her an alternative hanging line. The scenario of wet clothes on the visitor’s car gave us more time to digest and believe the fact that Susan had just done what we all were never allowed to do at her age. Aaargh.. kwani yeye ni nani.
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