Our people say dhako ndiga! directly put, a woman is a bicycle! Never understood what it means! Not a pleasant metaphor in the era of ultra-feminists! Not that I support such repugnant analogies but it is just got me thinking. Sometimes yesterday is so clear in our minds. Where I come from the self was never extolled. One was an immutable part of the larger community, you were because of the clan. Leave this nonsense of I , me and myself! You were part of the larger whole, the significant WE, WAN. Hence the saying wan wan wan, gin gin gin In our world it could only be us versus them! One was known by the genealogy. Iam the son of Rapemo , who is the son of Olenyo, son of Ogum Suoyi, son of Kipasi. You could go on to the fifth generation! And a man gave the home an identity. Homes were known by male headship, Kadhune, Kobondo Parapapa, Koyundi. But sometimes the man lived in the shadow of the woman and the home would go something like, Kasiprosa, Kanyaloka, Kamin Obembi. This would also happen is the husband has died or is missing in action! Many men often left their wives in search of jobs in far away towns. The women took care of the home. The man would visit occasionally! To see the children! So they say! Of course the visits had very little to do with the children! Most of these visits resulted in pregnancies! You would tell when a woman was going to have her next child! However some women never saw their husbands once they left for the towns! And the community was at hand to intervene! A woman had her in-laws, kayuoche. Oyuoro was very important. Yuoro law kwach they say! And so a woman was never lonely, even in the absence of the real husband! There was never infidelity! A woman had to be clever otherwise the husband would be the object of ridicule! In our community you were your brothers keeper. Now the children of such an arrangement would strikingly resemble the father! It wasnt uncommon to find photocopies of well known people in the village! This was only mentioned in hushed tones. We all knew what had happened. Therefore men who had overstayed in Kericho plucking tea through the sizzling cold, never had their wives complaining! Those were the days! When a bicycle was such a prized possession. A bicycle was life! Few homes boasted of one. And borrowing one needed one to master all the negotiation tricks. You had to charm the owner, twist the truth here and there, it was tediously painful undertaking! But it had to be done. The proud owner usually took you in cycles, knowing too well that he wasnt going to give out the damn contraption! If it was your unlucky day you walked, comforting yourself that, that was what your two feet was meant to do. So you walked like an antelope! When death visited, relatives in far flung lands had to know. A bicycle would come in handy. I remember when Waya Nyachungo , chakla kichungi died we jumped on top of Nyalas bicycle and headed to Karabondi. Those days places were near and the bicycle made the distances even shorter! Nyalas bicycle had actually been a dowry payment! They had traveled with Obongo to Tanzania, Watiru village where my great aunt had eloped. Those days the bicycles came from India, they come from China now. Those days we could not tell the difference. We had not even seen a Chinese! Bicycle was style, class and sophistication! You could escort a girl pushing along a bicycle, while the lady held on the carrier. Beautiful sight on a cool Saturday afternoon, after church! When oche arrived in the convoy of bicycles the homestead came to a standstill! Reverence and awe captured the hosts imagination! The girls in the village would giggle with excitement and expectation! Here was a hunting ground for husbands! A girl who was thought to wuodho would be encouraged to serve the visitors. Many a times new nuptial arrangements secretly followed!
Posted on: Sun, 11 Jan 2015 23:00:52 +0000