Chapter seven

Yeah, my grandma’s funeral was one of my best days, of course due to the fact that I couldn’t really tell what was going on. I remember my mama calling me out from the field and wondering whether to soak me first. The scrubbing was rather harsh that day with the ‘mawe ya mguu’ forgetting its boundaries and roaming up to my knees. I remember raising my leg up in the air as she had requested before some village women passed by. She of course conducted them into the house with strict instructions that i wasn’t to dare put my leg back in the basin. She had then resurfaced after three minutes and the torturous process continued. Some ‘arimis’ multi-purpose petroleum jelly(though I wondered why it wasn’t used in cooking)  to glitter point and then shoved into some oversize polo shirt and short, prized possessions from the last christmas that were stored away for travel use only. I didn’t have a boxer then but had a green ‘capetown’ cap. I remember trying to take the little canter, a small ‘wire and cardboard’ car my old man had made me but my mother’s eyes showed me otherwise. It wasn’t very far off and so we left with the three women who had been gossiping in the house. There was a host of people outside, something that I really liked and was soon in the kitchen watching the steaming pots of meat with the most greed we could muster. We knew we’d only be allowed to feast on the soup or some bits of tough bones to keep us busy but we nevertheless had to try. That was my turf, after all, my grandma’s place who had at that time stopped sleeping on her bed and was resting in a box, more like a chicken coop only without water or bits of grain. That was not important though. It didn’t even raise my suspicion when they carried her out in her new bed. We used to joke around, out of earshort of course that she was like a mat, to be carried in and out in the morning and in the evening.  I successfully negotiated the meat sector though and walked out to show off to my friends. I remember being swallowing the first piece after popping it when it slipped in my mouth. I flexed and stood at every possible angle to make sure the hot piece wound its way down faster and saved me the agony. The next thought was to look for my father who had left earlier in the morning. The face I saw haunted me for the better part of my childhood. I first thought he was praying as he always did but then raised his eyes and dabbed them with his white handkerchief. To be honest, i felt jealous. He was crying because grandma was asleep yet he never did the same to me when I went to bed. I reminded my mother of the memory two or is it three weeks ago? My laughter turned into a dirge. I’ll never joke around my mother no matter how simple a joke is but still, I have reservations about my dad lowering my status in front of the boys by crying like a child. As for Kiprotich’s eye, I did it justice with a stone about a year ago when he raised the topic. I’ll tell you what happened.