After Kīrimi’s ordeal with the chief and the turbulent waves in his stomach subsided, he thought enough was enough. He had overstayed in this village and the comfort zone phenomenon was all too familiar. However things had started changing and he could see it by the looks of disgust from his neighbors some even spitting when he crossed their paths. He had been branded the chicken thief and in his mind he’d ask himself, ‘sasa kukula kuku ya wenyewe ni kitu cha kufanya mtu aitiwe chief, nkt.’
So he packed his bag and decided to visit the green city in the sun. He’d had stories and seen people who had gone to Kanairo come back shining like the sun had changed it’s position in the universe and landed on their faces. He too knew that one day he’d come back to this same village where he was dejected and would buy beer for every wagūkunda. He’d then be called titles like, kiongozi, mheshimiwa and other reverent titles.
He stepped out of his house, surveyed around it and felt emotional at the thought of leaving, home sweet home. But what must happen must happen, so he locked the house and walked towards the bus stop not caring to look or greet the people he met along the way. ‘They can have the whole village to themselves,’ he thought. He walked briskly as he whistled summoning the last ounce of self esteem left inside him. No sooner had he arrived at the stage than an overloaded Toyota sienta came to a screeching stop….
To be continued.
#StillTheChronicler.
The journey
