Life on the Edge: The pains and triumphs of an African herdsboy (continued in no particular order) My dad and I had never known each other. I never got to know him as much as I wished. No for long. I left home at the tender age of five, trudging along my aging maternal grandmother as we headed north to nowhere. Well it wasnt nowhere really. We were headed to the former White Highlands, the spacious, lush and tempting agricultural farms of Uasin Gishu which were being deserted by the white settlers in the early 1970s. So we left for Mogobich, juxtaposed between Cheptireet and Plateau Railway Station, in 1972. I dont know the month. I was five, and had never stepped in anybodys school. Not that I cared about school. No. Neither could I protest my parents agreement to my grandmas request, nay demand, that she takes me with her because she had no kids any more. Her three surviving kids were all past teenage. My uncle Benjamin Some Surtan arap Tera of the Sawe ageset was the eldest. My mother, married to a Sawe, was the second. My younger uncle, still single, a Kipkoimet was a genius. Sometimes I think he was autistic. A very brilliant mathematician. Jackson Kipkioos arap Tuueei was to be my brother and teacher while my grandmother became my father and mentor. Jackson is exactly 20 years my senior. That is the imbalance in my upbringing. That is half the story. We reached Mogobich to find nothing but a huge tract of land. By comparison to the small parcels in the jigger infested, rocky cliffs of Kamasai where my grandmother was deserting, it looked too big for the eye to estimate. In that piece of land was no structure. There was no house, no kraal, no cow and no sleeping place. Not that we had a decent place back in Nandi. But this emptiness was too visible. By my estimation we arrived late in the afternoon. We had travelled on foot and slept in some homes along the way. Among those whose homes we spent the night were people who had emigrated earlier to farms like OlLessos and Tulweet. Some of my grandmothers extended family lived at Mogoon near Cheplelachbei. Kap arap Kulio. Kulios mother, Tapwogo was a step-daughter to my grandma. Her son arap Kulio lived at Mogoon, sandwiched between Paulo arap Kunguren and Kap Cheromo. My grandfather, Surtan arap Koisamoo was a Maotioot of Kap Chepkendi. He spoke to Koitaleel at Iboi in Nandi Hills. He had married six wives. My grandmother, Opot Tera, was the youngest. Arap Kulios grandmother was the fifth. That is how we connected. Family is family among the Nandi of Kenya and East Africa. Ma ki pcheunee Kipseger(ieet) aeeng (you cannot split the pancreas into two, a divided pancreas functions no more) which means one must never divide family. It is sacred. We spent one night there. Then we left the following morning for Tulweet. This is between Kesees (Moi University) and OlLessos. There we slept at Kiptenguut arap Boors home. He was from Cheptabach. His young brother Pastor Joseph Kiprop arap Kuto was circumcised with my father. They were Bakule. That too, is a sacred relationship. Sharing pain supersedes sharing joy. It is an undying bond. Bakule is stronger than a sibling. Someone who can take a bullet for you. From Kiptenguut of Tulweet Farm, we learnt of some people in Mogobich. They had emigrated from Kibabeet, Lelwaak, Siimbi, Keben and Mogobich near Sirwa. Surtan had lived at Sirwa and the Kapchepkendi respected him. They would treat his wife, my grandmother, with honour. Maotioot is a respected institution. They wielded a lot of power because they were the only ones who met and consulted with the Orkoiyoot. Maootik were the equivalent of todays Cabinet. Perhaps even representatives, equivalent to members of parliament. Orkoiyoot was the leader and foreseer. The knowledgeable elder and glue who held the Nandi community together. He was a secretive character who never appeared in public. Only selected and trusted representatives met him with messages and brought replies to the people. Those were the Maootik (singular Maotioot). My grandfather represented the organisation called Kapchepkendi of sieb kataam eng Taito (those who live to the left of the Taito hill, a unit that lived around Kapngetuny (present-day Nandi Hills). They extended all the way to Sirwa to the North East. He was a powerful man. To this day, there is a stump of what remains of his court at Taito, keetitab arap Koisamoo, or the tree shed of Koisamoo. The following morning we set out to Mogobich. On the third day we arrived at Mogobich. To the emptiness. Upon arrival, and a quick round through the expansive piece of land, we moved on to Mzee Kipkoti arap Choongei who had emigrated from Kibabeet Lengubeei. Mzee Kipkoti was an interesting man. A Maina by ageset, he was married to two wives. The eldest was Opot Kiptoot. She had not given Kipkooti any kid. She was married to Salina chebo Antony Kap Meswoo. The second wife, Opot Agui had children. Two daughters lived with her. Pilister was almost my age. She had another who was older. James Kokoiin arap Lagat, her elder son, I was to know later, lived back in Nandi at Kibabeet Lengubeei. Kipkooti was a generous man. He was also witty. I was to learn a lot from him. He used to smoke something. He only did it while perched in the firewood bed above the fireplace. It made bubble sounds as he smoked and muttered what I could not understand. He ushered us to a nearby structure. This is where you can live until you build your own house, he waved us in. It was a maize store! The biting night cold and the gushes of wind that penetrated through the pieces of wood covering the walls of our new home were to be our companions for the next endless nights. Another challenge. Food. We had no food! [to be continued]
Posted on: Thu, 29 May 2014 15:06:15 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015