Chapter five

It’s going to be a boring day that I know. It was too early to go pillaging fruits and the cows were happily grazing. My slow and carelesss mind isn't allowed to dwell in trivialities like love. I have to concentrate on more important stuff like sliding in the mud, wait, speaking of sliding in the mud, I have just the implement. It is now ten minutes since I started sliding my butt sore but the fun just isn't there. It is always cool when my partners in crime, the crime of wearing our butts off inch by inch are there. It has actually helped since I don’t here my friends screaming out when they are thrashed as they did. Some would bet that we was growing up but I think the punishment our butts took on the sliding pads was the sole cause. I remember the day I first wore some rugged caterpillar underwear, the one and only I have. It was a big thing obviously meant for some XXL person since I felt naked even though I had it on. It was a magnificent piece anyway and really earned me respect amongst my comrades. I remember how I ‘accidentally’ kept lifting my shirt when girls passed by the grazing field and man, didn’t my respect go up a notch higher? My momma of course rebuked me and told me to give it to her since it was only meant for Sunday wear and yes, I only wear it on Sundays. My shirt doesn’t go up ‘accidentally’ nowadays. They only do so on Sunday. The sun is forcing its way out of the thick clouds and I’m happy that I may get the chance to go for a swim. The cows are a bit peaceful but I know them better. They would watch me from the corners of their eyes and once I wandered off, they would take advantage of the situation. The best thing to do was to shout about and maybe thrash two or three to show how strict I am. Of course that has worked before. Twice out of the twenty times I tried but I can take my chances, who knows? The game begins where I shout at the top of my lungs then chase two of the most stubborn around then stand back. When i am sure that they are towing the line, I wander off. It’s a bad day. The womenfolk, my mother included are there washing the few clothes we have. I ponder between hiding behind the bushes to catch their gossip so as to share with my friends, but what if I sneeze like I did the last time?i would be dead. I walk back dejectedly to the field. The stupid animals weren’t there. Those bastards… Ole Kimmeto. The Maasai man we humourusly and behind his back called Kiboko or hippo because of the only four teeth in his mouth was behind them, his heavy cheeks huffing and puffing in anger. That man, despite his four teeth, never missed a meat-eating party. That’s not important though. The important thing is that I am dead.