Tribute for My Mama: Part 3

Enduring lessons in life are captured in various mediums. They could be found in books (which are legion), films, life and people. In my intercourse with great minds I have learnt vital tips. I have searched for life’s meanings in the treasure troves of books—and I have never been disappointed. I have met people who I prefer to call characters for the various roles they play in life: Some rude, others polite; some loud-mouthed, others cool and reserved. I have also learnt things from this life which I never found in books. Things which books have never captured. I have lived in poverty and tasted the life of the wealthy. I have been with beggars and other funny characters and dined with the high and mighty. I have schooled in village during my formative years and also have had the opportunity to interact with the top cream brains and souls in CUEA.

These are the lessons I have learnt. But inasmuch as enduring and endearing such lessons might be, they are a pale shadow of the indelible mark that Mama behind the hills has left in me. For they are not captured in books, films, life or in any other person.

One day Mama was not happy with my High School ‘behaviour’. I digress. In form two, hot blood of an adolescent teenage ran in my veins. And boy, how I used to sag my trousers! I always left firm instructions to my tailor to expand the waist of my trousers and have ‘bell-bottom’ below. I could add: “Na usipofanya hivyo wee utabaki na lon’gi yako”. Hard to imagine how one could sag a gameskit short. But trust Lorot Son of the Hills: I did it! And I received love letters too and wrote numerous more. Those letters which on top of the envelope a lady could write: Lorotsticate, Salemsticate it to….Kiss before you open. I keep all these letters in a small box under lock and key. Once in a while I open it up and read what I wrote more than 10 years ago ( I ensured I had a carbon copy of every letter that I wrote to any lady, May be one day when I am famous it would be compiled into a book and be a bestseller).

So Mama was not happy. She started the way she does when she has an important message: “Mtoto yangu, nataka niongee na wewe. Hebu kaa chini”. Mum is quiet and I know either way am fried. But she is cool.
Then she proceeds: “Mtoto yangu, unajua maua?”.
I look at her askance and respond: “Hee, najua maua..tupande kwa boma?”.
“Hapana”
“Sikiza mtoto yangu, wasichana ni kama maua. Wanachipuka wazuri ajabu..Kila mwaka, kila mwezi, kila wakati utawapata wasichana wazuri. Wakati wetu tulikuwa wazuri lakini saa hizi tumezeeka. Soma kwanza, oa mwanamke mzuri na uendelee na maisha. Wanawake hawataisha. Hata ukitaka kuwaoa hautawamaliza”……

{Apology: The subsequent chapters of Tribute for My Mama will not feature here. The Author will be locked up in an underground cubbyhole and will be working on it. ….)