The twins I did not know of…

By Kenneth Juror | Kenya

            The good book says “He who finds a wife finds what is good and receives favor from the Lord” Proverbs 18:22, consequently in the same book in Proverbs 21:9 Better to live on a corner of the roof than share a house with a quarrelsome wife.

This is the story of my wife whom we have been married for the last four years.

            We have lived a normal life like any another couple out there making sure we always put food on the table as well as rally around to make sure all those close to us are comfortable. Between Nicole and I we were blessed with a three year old boy who always kept asking for a sister or a brother, I guess this is due to his friends who have siblings yet he does not.

            She worked as a financial advisor. This was great as we pulled resources together towards acquisition of a roof over our heads. This was part of what I had intended nonetheless I was living my dream.

All went well until she insisted on having our house in what “many” call the diaspora - Rongai. I did not object to it however she made no attempt in making sure we got a piece of land for the construction of that dream home.

Conflict of interest

            One evening I came home and informed her of a piece that I was advised of in Kitengela which indeed was within basically all the basic amenities. She vehemently repudiated the idea as she insisted that she would rather continue paying rent than move to OlKejuado municipality.

Her reasons were quite flimsy as the sole reason why she wanted us to put up in Rongai was that her friends lived there.

This got from bad to worse each day as the house became untenable for both of us either she was in as I went out and the vice versa was the order of the day. My desire to have the matter discussed was met with an enormous click that woke up the little boy each time we were to solve it.

My twins

            She started getting sickly thus took her for medical attention. She was taken in as an in-patient as she needed a keen eye of the doctor. She was in for two months each time I was being told that she had a stomach problem I was however not being told of the exact problem. After her second week the doctor called me and asked me of whether I knew what was ailing my dear wife. I knew that she was pregnant although she did not overtly tell me. So when the doctor said that she was admitted because of the after effects of an abortion she procured.I was confused, my heart sunk, angry I was trembling… “Your wife procured an abortion, were you aware she was pregnant?” I confirmed in the affirmative to the last question but perplexed at the statement.

I decided to cool off by not going in the ward to see her but rather went home.

By this time I had already bought the ¼ acre, the house plan was ready too.

            We were although communicating over the phone during her stay in hospital she was getting better each passing day. She never knew that I was told she had aborted.

I gathered courage to go to visit her.

She was shocked upon seeing me but held my cool so that she could perhaps talk of what led her to get rid of our children, what would warrant my wife to do such a thing? I asked myself.

She opened up…

                   She sat on the bed amid struggles to be up due to drugs which made her feeble, she held my hand as she explained. "I was 15 weeks pregnant when we had a fight over where we were to construct our home it became so much on me that I decided to terminate the pregnancy, they were twins". Her confession was corroborated by the gynecologist's examination report.  

I never wanted to stress her further, so I told her we could talk over it when she was out of hospital. 

The doctor finally gave me the green light after two months that she was well.

They say all that glitters is not gold, my wife made it to the statistics of married women who have procured abortion. http://www.nation.co.ke/news/-/1056/1962356/-/qbbuqs/-/index.html

The scenario was thicker when the doctor said she could no longer become pregnant as the corrosive, crude instruments used  ruptured her uterus, I was in the company of my parents in law as we were being given this best worst news. 

I am still confused   

A sequel soon...

Our unique flaws…

Here’s some good old Chinese wisdom!

 An elderly Chinese woman had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a pole, which she carried across her neck. One of the pots had a crack in it while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water. At the end of the long walk from the stream to the house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

                                                     (Photo courtesy)

For a full two years this went on daily, with the woman bringing home only one and a half pots of water. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it could only do half of what it had been made to do.

            After 2 years of what it perceived to be bitter failure, it spoke to the woman one day by the stream. “I am ashamed of myself, because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house.” The old woman smiled, “Did you notice that there are flowers on your side of the path, but not on the other pot’s side? That’s because I have always known about your flaw, so I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you water them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house.”

                                                                   (Photo courtesy)

Each of us has our own unique flaw…

But it’s the cracks and flaws we each have that make our lives together so very interesting and rewarding. You’ve just got to take each person for what they are and look for the good in them.

To all of my crackpot friends, have a great day and remember to smell the flowers, on your side of the path.

Just like the fingers are, they are not the same size, so are our friendships, relationships, marriages let us learn to live with each other harmoniously. 

Take the time to share this message to all your friends who have a cracked side…

And God knows how many we are!!!

Courtesy

Tribut : VIVIANNE NALIAKA MAKOKHA

Par Kenneth Juror

            Elle était une dame très heureuse tout le temps comme elle s’est décrite sur facebook ; une dame simple, pétulante et sociale. Nous nous sommes rencontrés à la l’Alliance Française d’Eldoret où je travaillais, puis nous sommes devenus des amis. Je lui ai adhéré et pas à pas elle a commencé ses études avec Lisa Kamonya et des autres étudiants. 

Car j’étais le patron du Club de français, elle aimait chanter et danser surtout la salsa. Je suis fier d’elle parce qu’à chaque instant que j’entends la chanson Collé Collé par La Compagnie Créole sa voix est toute claire dans ma tête, comment elle bougeait ne m’échappe jamais. Elle a chanté jusqu’à la demi-finale du « Concours de la musique » de l’an 2009.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k2TVM7cpEfI 

Pendant cette période du concours son nom a changé de Vivianne pour celui de Collé Collé. Beaucoup d’autres étudiants la connaissaient par le surnom Collé Collé plus que Vivianne parce que sa maîtrise de chanter était excellente.   

   

Ses études…

Elle n’avait jamais peur à s’exprimer en français comme monsieur Paul Wambete m’a dit « Vivianne avait une passion inexplicable de français » elle a tellement travaillé dur à ses études. Elle a fait ses études jusqu'au niveau 5, un niveau de l’autonomie linguistique, discursive et culturelle ; en effet elle a dû voyager en France le mois de septembre (mois prochain) pour les services au-pair avant de son décès. Elle avait déjà gagné le visa pour partir en France alors c’était seulement le billet d’avion qu’elle devait payer.

Aller en France était son rêve.

            Petit à petit l’oiseau fait son nid ; Vivianne enseignait le français à l’école d’El-View à Eldoret malgré son niveau. Elle était au deuxième niveau à cette époque là, elle était forte et uniquement fier de la langue française. Sa parole était claire et tout le temps elle parlait à la haute voix. Elle était aussi une bonne animatrice.

            Vivianne avait des différent défis surtout la compréhension de la vie, je suis croisé avec elle deux fois quand j’ai essayé de lui conseiller ; cependant il n’y a pas de route sans courbe.   

            Nous sommes allés à Musikoma, comté de Bungoma avec Richard Arina l’administrateur de l’Alliance Française d’Eldoret, Claudine Otwack, Paul Wambete, Michel Mutua, Brenda Ng’omo, Kelvin Obwoga, Dennis Werunga, Michael Sikowo, Lisa Kamonya, Timothy Ombati et Leah Odera pour les funérailles.

Avant de partir de chez elle, nous avons trouvé une opportunité rare de parler avec sa mère, chacun de nous lui a parlé. Dès que je lui ai approché pour les salutations elle m’a dit qu’elle se souvenait de moi « Je vous connais et je ne peux pas vous oublier, » la mère de Vivianne s’est confiée à moi.  

Collé Collé va franchement me manquer, néanmoins, elle vit parmi nous et sa mémoire est bien collé dans nos cœurs.

Les informations ajoutées par Richard Arina

A night with a twilight girl

By Kenneth Juror | Kenya

                   

            Mtito Anderi town in Makueni County is a must-stop for most people traveling from Nairobi to Mombasa. It is a transit town and a mid-point between the capital city of Kenya and the second city, Mombasa.

Mtito Andei according to the local people it means a forest of vultures. Some residents say it means marabou stork.

           

Nick had boarded a bus to Mombasa for vacation but decided to alight at this town. Most bus companies stop here to allow passengers either empty their bowels, fill them, stretch their bodies or quench thirst. Bus drivers and their crews are often treated to free food and beverages.

After the usual stop at this town he halted his journey to the coastal city so as to sample it. On the right side of the road on your way to Mombasa, there is an OilLibya petrol station from where Nick heard booming music coming from what seemed like a bar or a discotheque. He decided to go to where the music came from; as he walked he bought airtime so that he could inform his host of change of plans and that they should not expect him, more over to assure them not to worry just in case they did.

It was some few minutes past midnight. The town was literally getting up from the day’s slumber quite literally.

Choices…

            He went in and sat at a corner so as to “acquaint” himself with the restaurant. It had a raised area which acted as its dance floor, above the dance floor there was the DJ stand/ cubicle, on the left there was a sign leading one to the washrooms.

A waitress came and took his order of Tusker baridi (cold Tusker) he took two at amazing speed. A lady who looked like she was in her 40’s or late 30’s approached Nick. She asked whether she could take a seat after greeting him. “Do you want to be helped?” Nick did not understand what she meant but did not express shock; she asked him what type he wanted. Nick got curious on what was meant by “type”, the lady pointed to the direction of a girl seated alone on the bar stool at the counter. It was then that it dawned on him that he was being offered a girl of the night with the cliché “type”.

He requested the lady if he could sample them himself. The lady who we shall call boss agreed but after an exchange of Sh300 as “viewing fees”. He was taken towards the washroom then took a right turn just behind the DJ’s cubicle.

Voila! There they were, he looked around but chose a chocolate, medium-bosomed one who also had round medium derriere. She was a little bit younger as compared to the rest who had seen tougher days. She was still natural!

 

Pay more

            This young lady was his pick who happened to cost an arm and a leg because she was younger. They settled for Sh2,500 for the girl for the night with the boss. The boss left as the girl occupied the boss’ seat. She was called Mueni once they exchanged pleasantries.  She was shy although better looking in a well-lit place than the dark areas they were being “kept”.

They continued drinking up to around 1:30am. They left the bar for the lodgings that punctuated the small dusty town, they chose one and in they went one after the other. She sat on the bed then removed her shoes which had a slant. The slant and the ground made an acute angle.

“Do you live here?” Nick asked. She became so wild and told him not to waste her time with such a question; he had no authority to ask her anything apart from what he had paid for. Nick tried asserting that he had “bought” her for the night amid her shouting interjections. After the confrontation she went straight for his belt saying “kama wewe ni mwanaume kamili mbona ulikuja hapa? Mbona ulinitaka?  hebu toa hiyo kitu yako?” (if you are man enough why did you come here? after all why did you choose me? Can you get out your organ out?) He stopped her then put her on the bed as she was on a kneeling position.

            He opened up on who he was, where he had come from and why he was there. He then excused himself and went outside the room. Upon his return he had bought more drinks put in black polythene bag. 

Mueni asked him what he wanted. “Who is that lady I paid?” she said that was “our mother” who acts like our broker. She goes from village to village looking for girls who were not attending school, she would then agree with parents to be remitting some amount of money on weekly basis depending on the work done. “In my case my mother is a widow; my father was run over by a trailer some kilometers from Mtito Andei in which police said it was a hit-and-run case”.

She dropped out of school the previous year in form two, 16years of age yet she had a national identity card indicating her age as 21. She has sold her body for the last six months; she narrated this as tears flowed freely from her tiny eyes that had seen the world’s cruelty at a tender age. She has six brothers and two sisters, one of his brothers was shot dead at Salama area along the Mombasa-Nairobi highway after he tried his hands in carjacking.

Money 

            Nick cajoled her tapping her back slowly as they talked. He gave her Sh 3,000 and asked her whether she would willingly quit the trade for school. She said she would quit but vehemently refused to go back to school. She wanted a job.

Nick removed his shirt and trousers as Mueni got her’s off too. He explained to her that he was not interested in sleeping with her so it was not important to get into bed in her birthday suit.

He was not a vulture who wanted to gnaw her innocence; the town is a vulture town just as the name, men and women are vultures too.

            “I have never met a man like you” she said as she got herself in bed. Why do you do this for me? She asked as she got to a sitting position, “why?” she insisted looking straight into Nick’s eyes. He requested her to calm down, to get a rest as he would explain everything the following day.

Day break

            “Nick, Nick..wewe (you) wake up” it is 6:24am. She had already taken a shower. Nick went in for a shower as well and asked her to give up her “job” as he would help her look for a job in the hotel industry.

After that Nick left for Mombasa after getting her phone number as well as her mother’s.

He knew some influential people in Mombasa who would probably help Mueni; during his stay he kept in touch with her.

Two weeks thereafter, Nick sent her some money for transport to Mombasa all this while Mueni had stopped being a night girl. On her arrival she went to the salon at least to look impressive because the following day she was scheduled to attend an interview for a waitress job in one of the hotels that Nick’s friend owned.

It was a small oral interview which led to her training the following week.

            He left the city as his holiday was over, as he did, Mueni’s two brothers got jobs at the Kenya Ports Authority as a loader and technician which was through Nick’s influence.

Mueni on the other hand already had a one bed roomed house in Mikindani, she indeed had quit her previous “job” and earns a decent living.

The poor are cured by work, the rich by the doctor Polish proverb