It is about dusk, a fine Saturday evening when the heat and hype of childhood plays its at its peek. Mt. Kilimanjaro is still naked, showing off its torso like a spoilt Konyagi girl.
But Siloma has been pressed since 10:00am and his bladders are giving him an ultimatum, to either release the… was it hydrochloric acid or ammonia? I don’t really care and so is the pregnant D grade I got in Chemistry. Anyway, the bladders just wanted to burst.
Little Siloma has held his bladder for so long that he cannot walk straight. He knows that he has to pee in a wink of an eye lest his position in the heated boys’ play will be taken by another.
The village is blossoming with an aura of incoming celebration. It is December, the only time flowers bloom and the lush wild grass mock the prolonged dry season.
Young lads like us would have all kinds of play, from hunting, to looking for wild fruits, to rolling in green grass and jumping heights. It was an interesting season because Jesus was to be born soon.
The plays were ecstatic filled with high-pitched screams and incessant laughter. No lad would want to lose such a moment and being told that you were grazing that day would be nothing but a nightmare.
Little Siloma rushes to the animal shelter to relieve his pot filled bladder while still looking back at his peers probably to ensure that they do not steal his spoils.
Well, there is no honor among uncircumcised lads. It is a wild world. One would destroy the toy you took days making just for sheer fun. Another would steal the food you stole and another would steal points you won in a game. And then you guys wonder where, “Waliiba kura” came from.
Anywhu, Siloma is busy trying to push all he has while monitoring that these silly IEBC lads do not steal his points. But suddenly he gives a scream that can deafen anyone around.
A balelo was chewing his wee-wee. Now balelo is a Maasai word that means a goat kid. Do I really need to explain what a wee-wee is? Well, no, I love the Lord as my Christ and savior. Thou shalt not explain what a wee-wee is.
What in the hell was a young goat doing with Siloma’s wee-wee? Well, maybe it thought that that was its mother’s titties. It was evening and it was waiting for its mother for milk but Siloma’s wee-wee looked like a freely flowing tap.
For once Siloma concentrates on his wee-wee and slaps the kid’s head only to realize that it was a male goat with almost protruding horns and therefore hurt his hand.
Aki these small goats should be taught manners to respect children of their masters. The kid thought I wanted to play and charged at me. It took some steps back and came full force with its tiny head on my stomach.
I lost consciousness and found myself in Rombo Mission Hospital with my sombre mother close to me. I was on drip and my uncles were…
Nkt! You guys watch a lot of movies… Yaani you almost believed that. Little Siloma was laying down in excruciating pain, one of a painful stomach and second of a chewed wee-wee.
But that did not hurt, what hurt was my peers laughing at the top of their voices humiliating me asking how a balelo would chew my wee-wee and put me down as well.
I couldn’t tell my mum. I would have been beaten like nobody’s business. I would have been asked between the young goat and I who had brains and what kind of a Moran I was. I persevered through the pain in my endoscopic reticulum of my wee-wee until the healing mercies of God were upon me.
You rather die than have a goat chew your wee-wee. Glory to God that I am alive. I wonder what they could have said was the cause of death.
