I grew up on the breathtaking slopes of the sweet mountain, well the one with snowcapped peaks discovered by one Sir Ludwig Krapf. Waking up to inhale the cool morning breeze while the birds chirped in the morning, I stretched myself and stared through the window at the sight before me. It was such a magnificent beauty to behold, after all beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. I went to the goat pen and opened it so I could take Nyange to the meadow christened, ‘kwa bataraitha.’ I’d heard that a long time ago when fertilizer was beginning its maiden journey on the African soil, my grandfather ploughed a parcel of land and planted bananas using this newfound mineral from Kariandusi. By default, the folks christened that parcel, ‘kwa bataraitha.’ By the time I was growing up, the said parcel was now a grazing paddock. This was where Nyange and I would have our daily bonding moments. If by now you are still wondering who Nyange was, wonder no more well because, Nyange was my childhood pet. A huge white Nubian she goat, with a long beard. I guess that’s why I love beards. Nyange was free spirited and had a deep craving for the luscious green maize stalks growing beyond the finger euphorbia fence. Well don’t we all crave the good things in life? This meant she was trouble a plenty because if her eyes caught sight of the maize plantation, it was like a switch had been turned on in her mind. No amount of shouting her name would deter her from advancing towards the crime scene, Unless of course you ran and stopped her and forced her to believe that the short grass on the meadow was sweeter than the maize leaves she was eyeing. Nyange would,’ Uma jaro’ letting you believe that you had convinced the jury, but no sooner had you settled down than she’d head towards the fence this time making sure she had a few bites before you found out. She didn’t need google maps or anything, she had it all; focus, determination and grasp of the moment. The consequences of Nyange feasting on the maize meant a thorough whacking on my callipygian region. The worst part though was the persistent sleep talking. I’d wake up to the ridicule of my sisters as they discussed in details how I was shouting ‘Nyange!!’ in my sleep.
Somehow Nyange made me a strong woman. I’ve been able to endure so much in these my four decades. Thank God for bringing Nyange in my life.

Published by Nyar Kaheti

Born and raised on the picturesque slopes of Mt Kenya, Nyar Kaheti is your girl next door vibe kind of girl. She enjoys reading, writing, hiking, and listening to country music among other things.

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