Tales

A recent visit to Kagio town took me to Abai lodge and I couldn’t help but reminisce about them old days.
Welcome to Kagio town a town I’d like to call, ‘a tale of two cities’ then again I think it should be, ‘a city of two tales.’ Back in the days when I was a permanent resident of this town buzzing with activities, one thing that caught my attention was the availability food. You know having come from Kanairo and its economic constraints it was such a relief. Here tomatoes, butternuts, watermelons and horned melons basked in the glory of the ring of fire (the sun.)
However, the heat emanating from that fire ball was too much especially for the month of May when the said ball is somewhere in the Northern hemisphere. As a result I was not only welcomed by food and warmth but also by mosquitoes. Sleeping under a net in the incessant heat was not an option so sleep became an interchange between slapping the mosquitoes, sweating profusely and catching naps here and there. Since the government had not won the battle in annihilating the female anopheles mosquito Malaria was always standing in the way.
Tale one goes like this: Someone brought me some stinging nettle and I deciced to do some soup. You know the daughters of Mumbi and soup were born on the same day. Right! So I sip my soup and go on with ‘kusukuma maisha’ (hustling) and voila joint pains, fever and fatigue transport me to bed. I sleep the night away thinking that the dawn would come bearing good news. Unfortunately in the morning, I’m feeling even worse and so I get my lazy body out of the bed and head to the health centre. They do that pricking of the forefinger thing and squeeze until a tiny dot of blood drops on the slide. You know the one they place on a microscope and close one eye and gaze with the other and then write ++++. Soon enough I’m called and told that I have too many of the malaria parasite within my capillaries. Next question is, are you allergic to AL? I scrunch my nose because I’ve never taken malaria medication before as I say no. I’m given the full dose and I throw my legs forward one at a time. I make it home and start on the dosage thinking that by tomorrow I’ll be feeling much better but wapi, no improvements and upon going back to the same hospital, they measure my blood and again they say it’s still ++++. This time I’m told I have to face the music, sorry the jab 😂 and it’s five days of agony for my Kapedo area but I take in a stride. I’m a big girl you know. However another problem occurs, kumbe I am allergic to the contents of the AL taken earlier. Itchy and scratchy become my partners in crime, no sooner do I itch than I start to scratch. Itchy, scratchy, itchy, scratchy, itchy, scratchy… From the rising of the ball of fire to the setting of the same, I’m scratching like my body will produce some fuel to propel a turbine that will light the whole of Kagio town. For two weeks I live in agony but thanks to the liver for finally metabolizing the Atemether out of my system.
Tale two: All mothers will tell you how they struggle with baby fat and I’m no exception. Having delivered two babies back to back the struggle was even more ferocious. After trying to fit in my clothes and having people stare at me like she’s gonna burst like river Nyando during the heavy rains. I decide to take my clothes to the surveyor. You know the kind that have a Singer machine and can increase the size of your parcel without landing you in a courtroom for land grabbing. I took most of the clothes since they were all in the same predicament, or should I say we? So the lady tells me when to get them back and I’m praying that this one keeps her words; you know how most fundis are, right? Days tick by fast and on the material day I walk to her kibanda only to find a padlock. Day two and day three same thing so I decide to play detective and ask her kibandaski neighbour about her whereabouts only to be hit by that word, ‘hujasikia?’ The cogs in my brain are turning as I imagine that what I’m imagining is not true. I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs like those professional mourners from Ingo. Or like the prophet who cried to Elisha when his axe fell in the water. ‘ Ooooiiii she has gone with my clothes.’ As you can imagine, I never saw my clothes again. Back to the drawing board. You can read a previous chronicle, we drew and see how we were good in drawing.👇👇


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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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