Painful Change

Photo: Courtesy

Nuksi  is a Swahili word I've been taking for grunted( yeah, the pig's) until a few minutes ago. Having left home due to Uncle Brat's effect( http://simongichimu.blogspot.co.ke/2016/11/uncle-brat.html?m=1), I bumped unto Auntie Mwitio's den. I should have thought better. Work is the only definition she knows for success. Diligence is a solid practice in her compound. Anyway, I have no problem working, in fact since I entered her compound, two manual labourers have been rendered redundant. And that's the dawn of my tribulations, the only thing left in the name of a worker is looking for all ways to have me die soon.

My little experience in milking can be attributed to be a Natural Cause of Disaster. Since I relieved the rest the noble duty, the quantity (and quality)has improved from ten litres to thirteen per milking session. Nine litres each day! It's either there was a crazy conduit, a cartel network for smuggling, the cow was under fed or both. This has made us a good family, a poor human resource relationship. The Matiang'i or is it the Ayiro feeling is popular among the masses but a shortcut to assassination. Fruit production has also rose,but milk is the main,heart, direct nerve that has made the farm hostility and happiness shoot.

Today's schedule saw me in the field. My reputation to curb loopholes is spreading like bushfire. I have been receiving funny calls from the neighbours' daughters, a bunch of form four leavers whose intention is to confirm how well I can lose a sweat on them.( Ouch off the topic again!). I was monitoring the potato bags, selecting, directing and acting as a catalyst, speeding up the rate of energy production. The looks I got,sneers and sly laughs made me uneasy.

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So I was to milk,I did. What was done to cow, what they fed, what it inhaled and what it imbibed; I'm yet to know. All I I can confirm is that the conspiracy goal was passed to my instant fame animal.

It all began the way the cow breathed as I escorted it to the parlour. So loud and inconsistent. It relaxed a bit as I milked. As I was winding up, it threw the first kick. It missed the bucket and my face. I should have left. The the next kick followed, double kick,I dodged. Landing was the best twist, one leg was in the bucket, the next one on my toe. A dilemma to save my shapeless toe or the milk wasn't easily solved. I shrieked, the doomed servant was watching, with no hurry to save anyone. Smiling like a demon confusing a good soul. The toe was left much worse than it was. I have managed to salvage milk, half the amount, brown in colour.

On my way to buy the Elastoplast, I have heard whispers. The cow hates cats, allergic and super phobic. Then I remember seeing the idiot encouraging the cat to ask for milk from me. I'm leaving him too. But vengeance must be featured, from all possible corners. I'm having a cold, Aunty is listening and she's on my side. Change is a challenge.

#Nomys_Madness

UNCLE BRAT

A long holiday calls for interaction with all sans selection. In the name of family ties and society dictations, Uncle Brat is at our home, his late brother's den. This is the zone where the poverty store used to be, until the owner, our sly lazy dad departed with the hated state. Recently, our mother has been so busy in the land and women group savings. This has made our lives better as we have been left to our own devices. Uncle Brat and Dad were extreme contrasts, heaven and hell.


While Dad was a relentless unconcerned deadbeat, Uncle Brat is responsible and enduringly concerned with the particulate details on any deed or idea. Doubtless, we are used to a do as you wish parenting scene. Uncle Brat is therefore our worst nightmare, our greatest pain and worry.


Uncle Brat landed on Saturday. It is unthinkable, even,  to imagine that he is here for a month. The night he landed, armed with a 'diiriga mucii' ( 1.5 kg bread) marked his triumphant entry. His main business is to install fatherly roots and he asserted his position as soon as he finished the precious dinner of green mukimo served with the stupid jogoo that has been misleading us on the time to wake. He knows what it means to be a dad,a great uncle. He took my bed and we began quarrels immediately. He can't fathom how a man uses white sheets and full of feminine scents. It took my brother's swearing that no lady tours our cubicle to get him off my back. I have tried to save my sheets by changing and washing them daily, not a good joke. He insists mother should do it as he's a husband by virtue of being Daddy's brother.


Playing low has been mechanically installed. For instance, Jamie called yesterday and Uncle Brat picked. To his utter dismay, he learnt of my nickname, nugu. How could a good old uncle-cum-dad understand how youths have no issue calling each other craziest names?


My phone was not free from creating mountains out of mole hills. Uncle Brat sought an explanation as to why I was holding a girl so close to my body and yet to inform 'them' of plans to wife her. Jenny, my college mate visited this morning and you know ours are not handshakes but firm,tight embrace and a soft peck. Uncle Brat has been sweating and swearing to leave. He wonders how mum has allowed us to wander in the maze of foreign traits.


Uncle Brat is uncomfortable with the boys doing kitchen work. What he's not aware is that mum rarely visit the cooking chamber. He is so disappointed that food he's expected to take is prepared by his nephews.


The greatest pain he has suffered is attempting to unravel the content of my mini library,he has made a call to the pastor and the chairman Nyumba Kumi for a special counsel to the 'lost sheep'. The covers are scary, titles embarrassing,content disgusting. I am set to be buried alive or cremated before resting. How on earth can one be reading a series of texts whose content is only vulgarity, penetration and revolution?


 Uncle Brat is not too keen on media and technology.Our gadgets are demons. His keenness and discipleship are accorded to prayers before meals and bedtime.


It's the third day since he landed, and the imagination that he has twenty seven more days is the best motivation. If he doesn't speed up his departure, I just may die prematurely.


#Nomys_Madness