Ain’t nothing bad like gumboots getting stuck on your feet. You may have to light a smoke signal to summon the entire village who will have to arrange themselves mūgithi style or like in a tag of war as they summon all their energies to pull the gumboots off your feet.
Growing up on the slopes of our dear mountain, gumboots were Veblen/ goods of ostentation. On the rare occasion you came across someone who had them, you’d sweet talk them into letting you wear them just so you could enjoy that kafeeling.
Now if that person’s leg was smaller than you, then brace yourself for the aftermath because truth be told sliding your leg down the boot wasn’t the issue here. Removing it was a ritual because ilikuwa inakwama hapo kwa ankle. Putting soapy water in the gumboots was not always as successful as operation Linda mama. Step two then would involve summoning all your kinsmen and if that wasn’t enough the whole neighborhood for a much needed team building affair, where one sided tug of war would be the main agenda.
If the boot was successfully pulled out you’d then proceed to sing Merle Haggard’s I’ll never swim Kern river again. This time it would sound more like, ‘Ill never wear borrowed boots again.’ Then again if you thought that was bad enough ask my sister Asusena how she felt when her small hand got stuck in a thermos. I bet she sung stuck on you by Lionel Richie kimoyomoyo. 🤣🤣just like this flower is stuck on me.
#StillTheChronicler.
Stuck
