It would be a great time by now in the village in the 1990s. Every expected arrival would have happened by last night. Two of the many goats would have already been slaughtered and we could be on our way, my brother Gift and I, from Mashoko, comfortable seated in the ox-driven cart laden with bread, soft drinks and other groceries, sucking sweets and discussing the day that lay ahead in high spirits. Every single member of the Kunambura family in this village would have vacated their homes and camped at mbuya/grandmother’s place as was the custom. Mbuya herself would be busy preparing her maheu despite knowing very well that nobody would touch the container thereof. The homestead, located a few meters into Nyamunyu Mountain and overlooking the rest of the village, would be bustling with life. No less 23 grandchildren would be gathered along with their mothers, some fathers, invited quests and other relatives. Bamunnini Baba Givy would have perched his famous Trident radio set high on the mulberry tree, Leonard Dembo’s music blurring and him singing along as he downed his opaque beer. A few village boys would have arrived and finding enough space on the rocky home yard to display their nimble footedness, sending a thin ray of dust rising up. Fires are everywhere, our mothers, sisters, nieces and other female relatives would be preparing them meals. The big men would sit on chairs under the cool shades of trees, grandfather feeling and appearing very much in control as they conversed almost quietly. We the small boys are tasked with roasting the meat in the fire which we considered a great privilege given that we would occasionally pick a hot steaming piece and throw it straight into the mouth – delicious. The evening would be priceless. With the rest of the village falling silent, the trident radio would be dishing out great music. The place is now crowded with us and fellow villagers dancing to the music. I being less gifted in dancing skills, would be tasked with rewinding the cassettes and making sure the music does not stop. We would have fully recharged the p9 battery to capacity and the power was enough to take us upto three days and nights. Fast forward to 24 December 2014, things have changed for the worse. We left the village many years ago. Grandad is three years dead now, other uncles are also dead. Our sisters have married far away from the village. Some of my brothers are out of the country. Our grandmother is now with us in the new village. The home has been shut down! Instead of children perambulating there, it is now, probably, home to rodents, snakes and other creeping creatures. It is quiet. No music is coming from there. No cooking. No talking. No laughter. No bleating goats! Nothing – only it has been taken over by shrubs, wild creatures and, and everything! I cry!
Posted on: Wed, 24 Dec 2014 11:18:41 +0000