Leg save me

Ukiona vyaelea jua vimeundwa or so they say. So when you are moulding that gakima in your hand and pasting it with the savoury green leaves, think about how much work has been put into the white goodness. This is the posho chronicles. A lot happened between planting and harvesting but for the sake of this chronicles, I’ll do a recap of post harvest activities. The maize had to be dried thoroughly to make sure that aflatoxin did not weasel itself into the grain. This included but was not limited to kuanika the maize on the dry maize stocks day after day. In the evening you had to cover with kīandarūa/ canvas to prevent dew and rain from reaching the grains. After drying you had to put the said maize in a sack and beat until river nyamindi was literally flowing out of your skin due to the intensive thrashing. There was no need for visiting the gym. After beating and separating the maize from the combs more drying was required. Then came the winnowing of said grains which left you looking like a snowman albeit without the snow. You see the wind could decide to change course without warning and all the chaff landed on your hair and face. If you think the story has ended, far be from it because the route to the nearest poshomill was a long and treacherous one. Those days it was either Marūa or Ngainī. As time went by new poshomills were established. News of a new poshomill spread faster than news of ,’so and so’s daughter amedungwa ball.’ When you know you know. Thus we learnt of plot 10’s poshomill at Kahīra-inī and decided to try. This means we had to cross the mighty Thagana river with the said cargo on our backs. One wrong move and or misstep and your flour/maize goes to the Indian Ocean. On arrival to the poshomill you had to seive the maize. Owners didn’t care if you had winnowed your grains five times or more. Rules were rules and she’d have to inspect the grains herself before you were allowed to put them in the measuring cylinders. You’d pay for the milling depending on the cylinders size. Many are the times you’d cross your fingers praying that the cost did not surpass the few coins you were entrusted with. One day while spreading the maize on the sieve, Karma passed by and made some coins to slip out of my fingers and into the maize. We went outside to play as we waited for the maize to be milled. Wueeh, what we heard next left us tongue tied. The posho mill decided to remove that grrrr grrrr sound and it was mguu niponye’, ‘leg save me.’ Our legs could not carry us fast enough. We left the kiondos, sacks and the maize not wanting to be told to pay for the damages. We arrived home hungry our lungs out of air and slept hungry that night, our butts beetroot in colour from the spanking. As if that wasn’t enough we had to go to another poshomill the following day. But then again there were those who got married enroute the posho mill and left their kindred to sleep hungry. Mapenzi hayo.Forgive them Father for they have sinned 😂😂.
Lakini nothing beats kuteremsha Ugali na terere na iria imata. Mūkūra still beats them all.

StillTheChronicler.

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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