Let the kids be: it’s the least we can give them

Being a kid is so interesting, you know, kids are supposed to be the free spirits, the carefree souls, the worry free beings, their world typically should consist of throwing tantrums, playing, crying, sleeping and if old enough studying- which ought to be a leisure in itself. But am afraid things are slowly changing, for the worse I must add. Majority of kids nowadays, barely into their fifth birthday know the pain of lacking; lacking a good life, lacking a good environment in which to grow, they are already aware of the faults and crimes committed in their society, their innocence is already in question.  Long ago leaning was meant to be fun for kids, not any more- what with tuition at just a kindergarten level? Instead of kids thinking about their favorite games, they are thinking about books, about what to eat should they go back home, they are thinking about the disharmony they witness their parents go through, they have to worry about the ills of their society- what happened to being kids? Why can’t we just let them be? 

Play forms a very integral part of a child’s development: 

A child who has been allowed to develop play resources receives many enduring advantages. First, she develops a universal learning skill. Second, play maximizes her potential by developing her creativity and imagination. Third, her relationships with the world and others are based on loving-kindness. Fourth, play promotes joy, which is essential for self-esteem and health. Fifth, her learning process is self-sustained based as it is on her own natural love of learning and playful engagement with life. Sixth, play creates a basic trust in the world.   (Source: http://www.originalplay.com/develop.htm)

 

But prey I ask, how can a child play when she/he barely have a place to sleep? When he/she doesn’t have food in her precious lil tummy? When she\he hardly knows what it means to be happy?

Just for the record, it wouldn’t bother me as much if a kid walked with tattered clothes, or bare feet, no it wouldn’t, but it rips my heart a part when at just such a tender age they already know the pain of hunger, the pain of being unwanted, the pain of having to struggle, to hustle in order to get something to eat. 

There is this particular kid who reminds me every day how cruel the society has become, how his innocence have been taken away from him and forced to grow up well ahead of his age, every day on my way to work, I see this kid- I guess he hasn’t celebrated his 5^th birthday just yet, or utmost he is 5.  Almost 9 into the night (everyday), he is always busy cleaning up the place his mum and him were selling the groceries, he does that so diligently that he makes me feel guilty of untidying my environment, but I wonder what time he gets to sleep, what time he plays, what time he eats and if he ever have a sound sleep? I wonder!  At such a tender age, he knows the pain of hustling, the value of money , he has been forced to grow up, to fend for himself….how can such a kid have  unshakable self-esteem when he grows up? How can he ever trust the world? How can he develop his/her creativity and imagination when he barely have time to engage the world and fellow kids on the playground?

30^th of September was another dark moment in Kenya’s history, a grenade was hurled at innocent children attending a church service by the Alshabab militia groups, one boy who had just celebrated his 9^th birthday lost his precious life, in Tana Delta, kids were among the targeted group, quite a number lost their lives………and I ask, with lots of pain in my heart, since when did it become so easy to kill a child? Why would anyone, however hardcore you are, target an innocent child? What satisfaction do you get from harming a kid who barely understands your motive?  Why would you want to get sexual satisfaction from a months' old baby? How twisted is your brain? Why would you want to molest an innocent child? 

We are failing as a society and as humanity if we can’t shield them from the cruelty that exists in the world, children are the true reflection of the society, you bring up a rogue child, you create unsecure society, you bring up a morally upright kid, you eliminate the ‘ campus divas for rich men’ .

                                             Play your part; it’s your call as well.

 

My Little One, these are my thoughts for you.

I know Abonyo will feature in your name, it’s a name that I hold so dear and so close to my heart, your grandma’s name, my mum’s name: maybe I should first tell you a bit of her story and why that name befits you.

                                                  ……………………..

I know they will teach you about modernity, technology and stuff; the iPads, the iPods, the iPhones which most likely I will have ipaid from my ibanks’ savings, but quite predictably they will not teach you about our culture and the way your people use to live but lemme give you a brief history my dear one, the roots of yours truly:

 Long time ago in a place called Nango in Sakwa  Bondo  when wild animals- the lions, gazelles, antelopes, pythons etc - roamed freally  thanks to the heavy , impenetrable dense thicket that existed before uncontrolled human encroachment ,lived a hardworking, ambitious and industrious young man called Gumba who fell in love with and married  a tall, beautiful, chocolate and curvy young woman whom they fondly referred to as A luso (Lucy)Osumo Nyokaka. They were later to be blessed with 2 sons: Michael and Lucas (Oguk Rakula)-whom I was named after, he passed on the night I was born- and 2 daughters: Ademba and Abonyo (NyaGumba, Nyawuon Sawega) -your grandma. Their dad passed on when they were still very young and therefore all the responsibility of taking care of the young Gumba family fell squarely on Aluso’s shoulders. The first born; my sweet, brutally honest and straight forward uncle- Michael (Mikael) would later assume the ‘father figure’ role, since Lucy was still a young woman who still needed the warmth and protection of a man by her side and in tandem with our ‘outlived’ culture, she had to be ‘inherited’- get another husband , mostly an already married man to re-marry her while still staying at her late husband’s home to help her bring up her kids, they were later also blessed with two other sons- Ben and Julius.

After the demise of their dad, life was never the same at Ka’Gumba’s homestead, life took a turn for the worse and therefore sacrifices had to be made to enable them soldier on, Abonyo (Nya Gumba, Nyathi Osumo Nyokaka- as we fondly called her) was a bright, intelligent, introverted and a soft spoken kid, but due to lack of fees, she was unable to continue with her education and therefore she dropped out in class 6- a very big leap by then education standards (when education was education!!!!)

At a meager age of 16, she would later meet (at a dancing party) a dark, 6’4 middle aged tall man whom she later married and bored him 9 children, 4 boys and 5 girls, yours truly closing the chapter –last born.

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I was not particularly close to mum but I knew without a flinch of a doubt that she loved us unconditionally, the troubles I saw her go through, the sacrifices I saw her make and the heartaches she had to endure proved how deeply she loved and cherished us and even more she had a close knit with her family, she loved her siblings more than she even loved herself, she worried to death about them and anything that affected them, affected her even deeply. 

As you already know, your grandma was an introvert who rarely spoke about her feelings, troubles and the like, a devout catholic, submissive wife, annoyingly generous, lovable and laser sharp woman, she hated controversy like a plague and she would never raise her voice not even to a child, a strict disciplinarian mostly feared for her ‘Ngoto’ blows, she was 5’6 just my height-  one of the few things that I took from her- chocolate in complexion, an hour glass figure, long flowing black hair, a melodious voice, a to die for legs and a confessed lover of traditional dishes. She was extremely hardworking and patient- a virtue which I must confess I don’t poses , a hopeful individual even in the midst of all odds, she gave us the best foundation in the world- the fear and knowledge of God-and I hope I will do the same to you honey-she instilled in us the value of education, most villagers referred to her as ‘japuonj’- teacher -since even with the enormous responsibilities that she had, she would still spare some time, normally during mid-day and teach village kids ( the current diluted kindergarten education), she taught us how to be accommodative, never to compare ourselves to others and always to thank God for whatever befell us-good or bad. 

Now you see my beloved, I guess 10 years into your grandparents’ marriage, after they had accumulated some wealth as a young family thanks to the hard work input by both parties, your grandpa spotted another beautiful, well-endowed light skinned young woman whom he later went ahead and married, now let it be known that our culture freely encouraged this and the number of women you had was directly proportional to your wealth and standing in the society. But my dad- J.J (John Jeconia) as we fondly called him (and those moments were extremely few) re-married for completely different reasons. Your grandpa as I knew him, never conformed to the society ways of doing things, at least not all of them, he trusted his instincts more and had a unique way of approaching issues, he was a relatively tall man standing 6’4, very dark, very cautious in his dealings and a very cruel man- I guess this trait has rubbed a bit on me, he wasn’t particularly religious but valued education above all things, one thing my dad never waited for you to ask him was school fees, he cleared all the arrears well in advance, but boy ohh boy, misbehave in school and you will curse your conception night. I particularly don’t remember him for a lot of things though coz mostly he was in the city and we were upcountry, our interaction was therefore limited to the few times he traveled home and even then we had to split that time between the two families that he now had and sadly he gave high priority to his second family up until when his last days were nearing, when he realized where unconditional love emanated from would he then come back to be humanly taken care of.

Due to the success that your grandma had brought about in terms of her passionate engagement in the shamba, she planted all kinds of crops, tilled the land even in the darkness of the night when only the moon shone, planted all kinds of vegetables and as if God was particularly pleased with her hard work, everything did extremely well, we would have full granaries after every harvest time, our shambas were full of all kinds of foods regardless of the seasons and of course we had a huge herd of cattle, kraal full of goats and sheep. Not ruling out the input your grandpa put and given the fact that during this time he was still finding his bearing in the society, it was largely agreed that were it not for your grandma’s resilience, and industrious nature all these could have been a mere dream.

Since he had found  a particularly hardworking  young woman he decided to explore other avenues to bring in more income into their then young family , let it be known that your grandpa was one of the laziest people I know when it came to doing the shamba work, this is one area where he particularly scored the least and I think driven by this he decided to seek white Collar jobs in the city and being an O level  finalist finding a job was never going to be a difficult endeavor, he got a position with the ministry of labor before being later moved to NSSF when it acquired the parastatal status, he would later work there till his retirement period in the late ‘90s.

 ‘Many a man owes his success to his first wife and his second wife to his successes’ so they say, due to the apparent wealth that the Obor’s family was enjoying, most competitive neighbors were not particularly pleased by this, they plotted their downfall to no avail, and my treasured one, them days, ‘African chemistry’ was real but your grandma consecrated her homestead to the blood of the Lamb and this was her perpetual guard , protector and defender and therefore these ‘African Chemistry’ powers were rendered completely useless. In their attempt to bring them down they forged a plan to convince your grandpa to take in another woman whom they had rightly identified, even before the agreement had been reached, the young woman who apparently had a different agenda as coached by your grandparent’s detractors was already home,  you guessed right  to-her co-wife’s’ house, your grandma’s abode. 

Being a gentleman demanded that dad treated the new visitor with utmost decorum and therefore sending her back home was just out of the equation, they implored upon him just to take her in, and take her in he did and that marked the first chapter of your grandparent’s life and ushered in a turbulent life that would later divide the Ko’Obor’s family down in the middle.

As I had indicated above, given your grandma’s introvert nature, she never uttered a word, never protested, she took her in with open arms, treated her as part of the family and marveled at the thought of a new helper, but little did she know, until…..until much later when damage had been done. And so officially your grandpa became a polygamous man with a seriously biased approach which I must tell you dear one, made me loath him so much sometimes

Your grandpa passed on barely 4 years after his retirement and your grandma succumbed to Cardiac arrest 4 years later after his demise on one chilly morning of October the 30th where she breathed her last at Nyanza General Hospital, I vividly remember her last words “Please don’t go” imploring me not to leave her alone, not to go home but I went only to find her gone the next morning, but I gave her my Scapular just before I left and recited for her the ‘Three beautiful prayers for the dying’ and that gives me the peace of knowing that of all places she could be right now, she is nowhere near hell and I know she is watching over me and over you too honey- she is watching over us!

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You see my dear one, many a time I have imagined us playing together, holding you in my arms, telling you stories, teaching you how to pray, especially the Holy Rosary and how to adore Jesus in the Eucharist, on several occasions I have imagined your little tender hands, sweet legs and beautiful body, hmmm, interestingly I have even imagined myself caning your little buttocks, to discipline you (call it the African in me)……I have imagined these and much more. I have always wanted you to be a girl, so that I name you after your sweet and beautiful grandma, to cherish you just the way I cherished her, so that we become the sweetest and greatest of friends, I want you to become my BFF and if you allow me, I will also become your BFF :)

 

I don’t know your daddy yet swiry, no I don’t ,but I don’t want to bring you up alone, I want to give you the warmth and security and protection of a family, I want you to have unbreakable bond with your daddy, you to make us all proud. I would want your dad to share in the most things that I hold dear, I would particularly prefer him to be light skinned so that you come close to your grandma now that yours truly took after her dad- complexion wise- but most importantly I want your dad to be the perfect person on the inside. Very respectful, God loving- a Catholic would be ideal for me, good education; you see your mommy has a thing for deep intellectuals, those with impeccable English and interestingly those who possess an hybrid of civilization and our cultural values so that we give you both of those worlds.

Now treasured one, am not sure I will pamper you but don’t you ever misconstrue this to mean that I don’t love you, I will love you unconditionally, try to be the best mommy in the world, I will let you do as you wish only chipping in to give my ideas and thoughts but I will not decide for you, I will give you the freedom of choice mine will be to be there for you, and trust me my angel, I will always be there for you.

I would want us to discuss virtually anything, from the nice dress you saw at the exhibitions, to this boy whom you have a crush on, to how badly you are heartbroken, I want you to be there to offer me checks and balances, be there for me when my world is crumbling down, I want you to be able to see through my smiles and discern if am dying from the inside, be the peacemaker between your daddy and myself if things go wrong as I am a live to the fact that they sometimes will go awfully wrong.

My baby, apparently your mommy has a fear for labor pains, don’t ask why as she has never been there but she fears it like a plague, but for you I will overcome this deafening fear, I want to push you swiry, I never will go for a C-section for you unless the doctors insist, I want to feel the maximum pain when bringing you to this world hoping that that pain will translate to unbreakable bond between us, I will breast feed you even for a year if I must, I will treat you like the apple of my eye, like the air that I breath.

I don’t know if am being mean, maybe I will discuss this with your daddy, I don’t want you to have a brother or another sister, I just want us to be the three of us, this is partly shaped by my fear for labor pains but also by my drive to give you the best of myself unreservedly, but am fairly flexible on this. I want you to reach the highest heights that you can academically, do that which gives you satisfaction and be a blessing to the whole world at large.

My dear one, regardless of what age you will attain in life, you will always remain my baby, my little one, my treasured one. No one wants it to happen, but should anything happen to me that renders me unable to tell you all these, just know that this’ how I would have wished for us to grow up.

Silent Screams

                                            

                                               Just because my screams are silent

                                               That does not mean am not screaming

                                                      Paula Puddephatt

The tables were packed to the brim, different inebriating substances littered everywhere, some were drinking, others catching up on topical issues, some danced as the DJ played heart throbbing songs one after the other. Others were drunk already, some already enjoying the fantasy created by such feelings, others just sat there and watched. In one end, a group of young biceped men engaged in pool table while puffing away -albeit discreetly lest the fiery eyed bouncer spot them-the weed they were smoking, all this time she sat there, watching, evaluating her surrounding, studying it and the characters around but most importantly wondering about what had led her to that joint.

London Olympics games had just started and several screens showed the ongoing matches, many a time she lost focus about her surrounding and engaged her mind entirely on the ongoing games, trying to distract her mind and her stream of thoughts.

                                                                ……………….

Slowly he dived, deeper and deeper showing and exuberating the prowess of a pro, his body fully stretched as he emerged deeper into the welcoming pool of water, the slow-motion was a spectacular to behold, seems like his every move, maneuver and goal was being facilitated by the welcoming, embracing pool of water. For a moment her mind went blank, she imagined ‘him’ going deep, deeper into her as her womanhood gladly accepted him and wanting more, she felt the thrust that comes with it, the accompanying confusion before she was brought back to reality by a tap on her shoulder.

                                                          ……………………

‘Hey, you okay, you so quite?’ am good, she replied just mesmerized by this Olympics’ diver. But she hadn’t stopped there ‘he’ became a ghost, he wouldn’t let her be, and everything screamed ‘him’. How many people were going through these daily torments as her? How many people were actually there to drown their sorrows? To forget if only for a moment an aching heart?

‘So why are you here’? she asked one of the pals seated next to her. ‘Just broke up with my girlfriend, maaaan…that girl was a disaster, she wouldn’t let me be, she almost usurped life out of me. Do you miss her? She prodded……hmmmm, yeah, kind of but am happy we parted ways.

Few seats away some men broke into a fight for ogling another’s girlfriend and the ‘owner’ having felt that his ego was bruised had to teach this other man a lesson. In yet another corner two lovers held each other tight, not wanting to let go, devouring each moment of it, feeling each other’s warmth and presence.

                                       
Seated at her seat, sipping away a bottle of ice cold black Smirnoff ice, she felt broken, haunted, too many indeed so many words remained unspoken, she thought she would never mend. No one was able to read past the smiles, the laughs, the reservations, the guarded talks. She felt jinxed, jinxed on love, but why? Didn’t she give her best, her all? Why didn’t he give her time to prove herself? What happened to the steamy kisses? The cuddling, the soothing? The promises? Was he acting all this time? But why did he repeat the same mistake over and over again? Why was he betraying her trust? She had put him on a pedestal, but why didn’t he even have the audacity to set things straight, all she was yearning for was a closure. This suspense was proving to be too much. Ohh, the things she would have done for him, hmmm, but that was never to be. She remained hollow, disoriented, beaten and completely destroyed by the same man who had promised heaven on earth. She would summon the shared feelings and moments whenever she was down, but they were slowly becoming poisonous, some degree of loathing was creeping in, a hate-love affair was slowly playing out, maybe she needed to let go but most importantly she needed to talk to someone, but who? Her mum was no more and she couldn’t let the world know she was hurting so she had to keep her head high.

The two men she had loved fiercely, all left unceremoniously without giving her audience, would she be able to cope? Or was it high time she learnt how to throw tantrums, to get the world’s attention? If only she could fade away, dissolve, not having to face another pointless day and stop the existing-living affair, she would have been happier…much happier.

And so she gulped down the remaining bit of her drink, stepped to the dance floor and danced away to  Glen's smooth but pleading ballad ‘kindness for weakness’.

In him, everything sank!

This was my destiny and in it was my voyage of my longing,
and in it my longing fell, in you everything sank!

But how can you blame him when love once dealt him a fatal blow, how can you blame him when the past memories still blur his vision, how can you blame him when it sounded too good to be true? How can you blame him when he doesn’t understand your hurt, how can you blame him when he still sizes you up, how can you blame him when he got his standards, how can you blame him when it was too early too soon? But in you dear, everything sank!

There was thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit.
There were grief and ruins, and you were the miracle.

It pierces like a sword, confuses like algebra, wounds like a terrorist - ohh the aborted love, you are worse than assassin. You deprive one the desire to face a new day, you dash the hopes and reduce them to nothingness, Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity. Coz in you everything sank!

Like a jar you housed infinite tenderness.
And the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar

Those eyes reminded her of someone, someone who was once that dear, and that gaze seemed so genuine, they aroused thirst and hunger and he was there to quench them, to satisfy them. Those hands uh, they made her feel so tender, put her in a wanton state, the way he stole her heart- he could have been a crook and then everything was shattered to oblivion, in him everything sank!

It was the happy hour of assault and the kiss.
The hour of the spell that blazed like a lighthouse.

Until only the memory would come back to assault her, nothing could assuage the hurt, she felt lonely amidst crowd, questions kept bombarding her head, the whys?, the hows? The what  ifs but never the I wish I knews,  In the bosom of her heart, she still loved him, longed for him and came up with excuses to justify his insensitive deed. Or could it be a payback time? After all they say- What goes around comes back around, and she knew only too well.

Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs,
oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies.

Every man's memory is his private literature, so they say, and hers was an intense literature that never had a slow motion, everything happened so fast but they left an indelible mark, with no rewind button to unhappen whatever had happened- the entwined bodies, the unforgettable kisses, the shared laughs, the muted dreams, oh in him everything sank!

How terrible and brief my desire was to you!
How difficult and drunken, how tensed and avid.

But how could she blame him when she loved him so much, when she cared about him so much, when she thought in him she had reached? How could she blame him when maybe he was equally hurting- but was he? How could she blame him when she couldn’t find it in her heart to do so? But in him, everything sank!

Deserted like the wharves at dawn.
It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one!

It is the hour of departure. Oh abandoned one!

(Poem excerpts from Pablo Nerudo’s Song of despair)

Love is learning

Was it an issue of trust given too early, a lot said prematurely? Or was her boldness and blatant honesty threatening? Did her confessed love seem plastic? Was he having second thoughts, did he doubt her sincerity? Or did he know something she wasn’t privy to? Was she pushy, maybe bossy? She didn’t know, she couldn’t tell all she knew was that something had changed something she couldn’t explain, something only silence could ravel. Her eyes gave her away (or so her colleagues noted) - were her pupils maybe too dilated? Was her heart playing tricks on her? She didn’t know but she welcomed the feeling non-the less until……until ………

When she boarded that bus, she never anticipated what awaited her on the other side of the divide, but whatever it was- she was more than ready to take it in, and take it in she did- very furiously and fast, no pausing, no doubting, no reflecting and most importantly no regretting- she was carried away, away to a world she had long longed for, she hoped and wished that that feeling would remain, would last, would be permanent, did it last? Was it twisted? She knew not, until…..until…….

The blinking orange LED light that she was fast becoming accustomed to made her heart race whenever she saw it, it was a perfect indicator that heartwarming and moving texts had come her way, she didn’t have to think about the words she would use to reply back, they came so naturally to her, so correct so fitting, so blending like her piece of the puzzle had been found. All the barriers had been broken, all the walls she built came tumbling down- and they didn’t even make a sound, it surprised her, surprised her pals. Was it a wide contrast to what she had made herself believe, or was she the one changing? Had she not known herself all these time? Whatever it was, it was a most welcome change, most treasured feeling until…..until……

She longed for that tight embrace, those searching and knowing lips, that welcoming chest, those protective arms. They made her feel safe, want more and wondered how on earth some people chose a life devoid of all these- were their thoughts synchronized? Was she alone in all these? Did he mean what he said? Was he holding back? She knew not. She trusted fully, loved completely or so she thought. Was it too early to confess her undying love? How much did she know about him? Her world seemed perfect, her heart and soul were in sync  that’s all she needed to know , that’s all she needed to feel to be sure, until…..until…

The LED indicator became sporadic, content basic. She started minding her words, her replies. Was she thinking too much? Maybe blowing things out of proportion, she knew not, but hoped so. She still felt her heart had found a home. That she is right, she feels and knows she is and with patience she summons her energy every day and hopes she never erred. Until then, her heart will have to be tamed, to drop the wild imaginations and her body as well will have to be subjected to life’s tutorials to learn to be patient, to know how to mute the raging and burning passions, to learn to postpone gratification, she will holistically have to learn all these while wishing love wasn’t so bittersweet after-all.

To tell or not to tell- Your kid his/her father

“I dint need anything from him, all I wanted was to see him, to know him and that’s all, I think that would have solved quite a number of my problems”. I saw the hurt, the disappointment and most importantly the betrayal this man felt towards his mother. Did you ask her about it? I prodded, “am sure she hated me for that’, he admitted absentmindedly,’ but she passed on before I knew the answer and by then our relations had been severed by my constant questions and nagging on who my father was”. I watched this man closely- a father himself- as he talked about this topic which he adds,’ I rarely talk about because just the thought of it changes my moods’.

This is a nightmare topic to most mothers who are not living with the father of their babies, this topic sends shivers down their spines, somehow at the back of their mind they know it will come up someday, some out rightly lie to their babies with tales such as he died in an accident etc while others build walls to bar their kids from ever bringing this topic up. The nature of relation one had with the kid’s fathers more or less makes mothers a bit hesitant especially if the breakup was nasty, if she was betrayed or if the father disowned the baby during pregnancy etc. But the truth of the matter is that withholding this information from the kid affects him/her deeply than maybe how it affects you.  Mothers have their own reasons for withholding this information from their kids but are the psychological torture they are subjecting their kids to worth it?

At some point in a kid’s life they start to notice some differences maybe on how they look, how they are treated by their step-dads, some words that maybe relatives or other kids  throw at them, maybe why their birth certificates lacks a father’s name, why they have a different surname etc. these observations get pronounced when a kid becomes teenager and during this time he is actually seeking himself, trying to know and understand himself, the pain especially gets deeper if they find out from a third party, they feel very betrayed by their ‘current’ parents and especially by their mother.

Someone ones told me, ‘maybe I am here and my dad is a beggar somewhere, how I would do anything just to SEE/KNOW him and I swear if he doesn’t want me in his life I will not insist, my aim is just to know him.

These observations and much more kept me thinking about this topic over and over again and now I ask “ Should you or should you not tell your kids who their biological father is, and what would be some of the reasons to make you withhold this important information from them?

                                    

My vantage encounter with the Professor of Solid State Physics (Atomic Physics?) One Fredrick Onyango

That feeling of importance, of achievement of satisfaction, yeah that was the state I was in, and who can deny how nice that makes you feel, after all I was about to be officially welcomed in the larger Maseno fraternity, I was at last a University Student, making one of my most treasured dreams come true and here he was Onyango himself, this man whose name elicited love and hate in equal measure, this man whose name had almost become synonymous with Maseno was about to give us-fresher’s- a welcoming speech.

I sat in silence watching him pass by, sizing him but silently admiring him, admiring his grace, his authority and how he was so sure of himself. Over the microphone-which he did not need because his voice was loud enough to cover the hall-I heard his somewhat demeaning but reassuring voice welcoming us to the only University along the Equator where he said ‘we churn out Job creators not Job seekers’, you could feel his passion talking about an institution he had offered- then- almost 6 years of service, talk of being proud to be proud, Miguna style, he deliberately floated his credentials and achievements in a manner likely to suggest ‘where are yours’?, ‘What do you have under your belt’? But at the same time it was challenging you to aim higher, work harder maybe smarter and have some long titles to feel good about.

You see, trying out somewhat unpopular things gives me a nice adrenaline rush, the risk involved is even worth it especially if you succeed. It was one of those times that I just had to get it right, somehow this was my last resort and my academic life sort of depended on it and I needed help fast! That’s when I mooted the idea of seeking audience with this man, it took me almost a week planning everything out, I played the plan one too many times in my mind and once I was convinced, I made the BIG move. It was the start of my second year semester, not so sure of what laid ahead of me I asked his secretary to let me in, she adamantly refused to let me in at least not until I stated the purpose of my visit. I insisted that it was personal and should be treated as such, I was only going to talk about it with the VC and I was not going to leave until he agrees to talk to me. The secretary went in and delivered the message, unfortunately he was too busy to talk to people who had personal matters but I stood my ground, asked the secretary to let him know politely that I was not going to leave his office until he agrees to see me.

Sensing my resolve and determination, the secretary went back a second time and passed my message, this time she came back and gave me a go ahead nod. A bit off balance, I briskly walked into his spacious and meticulously furnished office, he offered me a seat, looked at me straight in the eye and asked what I wanted. I did not mince my words:

Me: I am in my second year of the University program, pursuing my degree in Computer Science but I cannot learn the course theoretically and therefore I need you to buy for me or at least find way in which I can have myself a computer because personally I don’t have the financial capability.

Prof: Don’t your department have labs?

Me: Sure there are quite a number but the fixed lab access times are quite limiting if at all I am to fully understand this course, it would be proper to have a computer of my own.

Prof: Surely you don’t expect me to buy you a computer with my own money right?

Me: Well, maybe, maybe not but I know whichever ways you are capable of enabling me have one.

Prof:  Which high school did you attend?

During this time, our conversation took a friendly turn, eventually he called the Higher Education Loans Board offices and demanded that I be given full bursary with immediate effect, and this is the money I used to buy myself my first desktop computer!

Onyango must go slogan became very frequent whenever KPLC decided to plunge us in complete darkness.

We were to meet again when he was conferring us degrees and giving us the ‘POWER TO READ AND DO EVERYTHING THAT APARTAINS TO THAT DEGREE’

Even though he never lived to please everyone during his decade service at the helm of Maseno University, he did bring about several and great changes changes that have made Maseno be where it is at the moment.

RIP Prof.