Thursday, October 8, 2009
Paul Kibe makes a return with the "NEW SEASON" Where are the rain Gods? Kenyatta Day is my D-day. I perform in public for the first time.
The enchanting sun spread its wings across the barren vastness like a warm and sensual soothing light,natural yet surreal.
For six seasons,the skies looked down scornfully as the streams turned into valleys,crops choked under the scorching heat while an army of vultures banqueted on sumptuous meals of animal carcasses that dotted the countryside.The farmers watched helplessly as the fields became a furnace,the sun the executioner.
But the afternoon still crawled on as the once vibrant village drowned in silence of blood-cuddling screams of anguish set out to break the coldest of souls.Mathioya's life of quiet desperation was slowly becoming a nightmare,a fleeting shadow on a cloudy day.
Then without warning,pregnant cumulonimbus clouds gathered hurriedly above the jagged Ngai hills pushing the crimson sunset rays to the western periphery as the sun dived into the ocean blanketing the village into near pitch darkness.
Whirling dust to skies infinite,a violent breeze gushed scattering the clouds momentarily and giving way to bolts of lightning punctuated by incessant roars of thunder.And as a multitude of drops coalesced menacingly,a wolf howled from a distance as a mother scolded a truant child who was still playing outside just in time for the long knitting needles of rain commenced their choreographed dance of clatter on the thirsty soil.
Muhunjia was still lying on the concrete floor of the cell of the shrine almost lifeless when the three horns trumpeted in unison.He stirred laboriously as if to scare away his sealed fate,the stench of death threatening to suffocate him.
He reached for a matchstick by the side with much difficulty.Striking it on his left earlobe,he lit the sooty lamp and as the wick hungrily swallowed the last few drops of oil,he propped his bones on the wet wall.He clutched the rosary beads with trembling hands unsure of what prayer befitted that hour of need.
He was still mumbling some caned lines when steady footsteps approached hurriedly.Then the black door creaked open allowing in the three wizened clan elders.
The mesh work of cobwebs clung defiantly almost indignantly on the door frames,the streaks of freedom preying into the room briefly.And as they mopped their soggy faces,one staggered onto a dry bone.The intruding clatter reverberated,scaring a curious lonely rat.
The rat dived into the pile of bones as it scampered for safety disturbing their ordered sleep and like a house of cards,the heap came crushing down in a deafening scream of mercy.
A gush of fresh air stole through the half open door whistling soft commands to the ears of the warring parties in a jig of pacification.Then it rushed out violently,unsteadying the precarious lamp on its belly as the door banged shut.
For a brief moment,the village shook as the explosion resonated in unison with an ear splitting rumbling thunder from the mountains.
Panic stricken ,the entire village poured into the shrine but a moment late.They found the charred bodies of the three elders prostrate on one side alongside their sharpened machetes while that of the new village pastor was sprawled on the other still clinging on his rosary.
That planting season was marked with less fanfare for there were no seasoned elders left to lead the celebrations.And as they toiled in their farms,the peasants would occasionally share snuff or cut sweat in small hushed up groups exchanging notes of that fateful evening.Some blamed it on the lightning while others cursed the lamp.But they all unanimously agreed that time had come to stop spilling innocent blood at the onset of the long rains.The rains had not only brought hope on the dry fields but also watered the seed of tolerance in their hearts .
The Thai faithfuls took an oath at the eve of the bounty harvest to uphold their beliefs and allow other doctrines to take root in memory of the three Matathi elders.