Mzee's Wrath

Mzee always wore a tough face and he kept a record of our wrongdoings. It was also safe for my stepbrother to keep the little secret. So he said to Mzee that I had told him that I had fallen. This way, we would both be safe. He wouldn’t know that we were playing by the road. It would have been chaos. It never crossed my mind that the situation could worsen due to possible internal injuries.

By the time he returned from work, the right side of my head was badly swollen. I was in pain but I brushed it off afraid of being questioned and facing the music. I remember that even getting near him was a frightening thought.

The scent of his sweat alone instilled fear. We only could be close to him when answering cases for causing trouble. He could hang you for a few seconds before cutting the rope. Just to frighten you.

He had done it on several occasions. I only remember two though.

I was lucky to have never faced his wrath, unlike my elder brothers including my step-brothers. Maybe he thought I was a good child or perhaps I was silently cunning in covering my tracks. I was always at the top of my class and I think he always found a reason to pardon me for that. My siblings were not as lucky. My older brother. I won't say he deserved it but he was notorious. Money used to disappear from the house. I still remember my first day to watch the rope in action.

Whenever he wanted to punish any of us, it was never serious until he took off his watch. It was a heavy analog mechanical watch. It did not require power to operate. I felt privileged and entrusted whenever he handed it to me to keep it safely on a small table beside his bed, in the other room - his bedroom.’ This was the second room of the two-roomed house. I would then return for his court. He demanded that the court be held by the collar, strategically resting on a stretched hand. As heavy as it was, I would grab and hold it with my second hand supporting the hand on which it rested. That hand had to remain above my head to ensure that the coat did not touch the ground. This blocked my view ahead, so I had to carefully watch my small steps underneath to see the way.

Usually when I came back to the living room, either the “fight” would have ended or the case would be ongoing. That day, I heard him murmuring that "the gost that takes money from this house has not yet left because I just placed fifty shillings on the table less than a minute ago."

He then handed me the watch

After the Accident

After the bicycle accident, I was luck I had landed on a hip of fine sand, which had formed the previous night by flash floods following a heavy downpour.

I lied that I had fallen and broke my jaw. I was also lucky the sharp edge of the bike’s carrier missed its target. It was an ahead-on collision and only the flat frontmost part of it touched my right jaw.

Yes, I was that little, shorter than the bicycle handles. Perhaps this is why I've never felt like trying a bicycle. No parent would allow such a child to play by the road, not alone on it.

 We knew that well.

But we did it anyway. And that’s why my lie was crucial.

Saving me from additional problems.

A New Life

I don't remember feeling the vacuum left by my bothers my mother when then moved permanently to the village. My step brothers covered that vacuum perfectly or maybe I got used to it. We even became so close with my step brother during the one year that we schooled together that we started adopting bad habits. It started with skipping school.

We would monitor the movement of Mzee and his firstborn son to ensure they have left for work so we could go back. While they were at work, we would spent most of the off-school hours loitering. I would have all the time I needed to build toys. And when I was not making the toy cars, we were driving them.

We lived by the road, so we made it our playground. I would tie a string to the front of my own-made toy car and pull it.

Those days, there weren’t many cars on the road. I remember the two of us sitting by the roadside - when we got tired of playing - to count passing cars. We would each choose a direction and compete who counts the most cars. Winning was pure chance but it was fun. Sometimes we felln over who takes which side or whose count was higher.

This particlar day, I remained behind after a related conflict as we walked back home. I was passionate about every toy I made and I'd watch closely the toy as I pulled it. To see it moving, I had to walk while facing backward. I would frequently look forwards, but only at a glance to see where my next steps would go. The road was smooth and there weren't many vihicles on the road that afternoon. I had already covered tens of meters walking backwards, enjoying the view of my small car following me gradually. As I turned to scan the road for my next steps, something hit me hard on the face, nocking me unconscious. It was a bicycle!

It was a customized Black Mamba bike. It had a customized steel carriage on its front, designed to hold light items and a rectangular metalic seat at the back for currying heavy loads or a passager.

When I regained consciousness, hysterically trying to recollect what had happened, the rider varnished. I found myself a ditch, about five meters off the road. People hard started gathering around me.