First things first

Well, I wanted to think of a title for my very first post on the all new blog but just couldn’t come with something catchy. I, however, think “first things first” still works well. Being my first post, I’ll talk about “first” the word and how it impacts almost everything we do in life. When you are the first-born in the family its a damn good thing and it comes with a whole lot of responsibility. For instance do you know what they say about first-born children? all amazing stuff like you can only have one first born child, you may love all your children deeply and with passion, but there’s something unique about the first-born. I am a third born myself so I guess there isn’t much in me that my parents see as compared to our eldest brother Francis whom some call Bradley because that was the name he was given by mum at birth.

The Roman Catholic priest at St. Kizito Lusumu catholic church one Fr. Kelly Mirimo, however, declined to baptize him as Bradley since it wasn’t a catholic name and instead he was called Francis from then on and Bradley dropped. There’s still folks who call him Bradley loosely translated as “Platiri” as he’s referred to by his peers in the village who think Bradley is too hard to pronounce but again you’ll forgive them since we are luhyas. The one guy among my brother’s friends who always called him Platiri is the late Abedi (His soul rest in peace)  the son to Chalusa, a nickname that means putting an end to someone’s behaviour in a not so pleasant way.

To explain this better I might have to use the example of our once luo shamba boy back in the day one David Onyango from Kendu Bay who used sneak into one of our neighbour’s compound in the night and knock on the small hut and “steal” one of his daughters to come make love to her all night before he took her back before day break. Remember David didn’t have a house of his own where he did all this in privacy. We and I mean all my brothers Peter, Antony and myself plus Onyango shared a bedroom in the only “simba” our dad had built for the boys. Platiri our elder bro lived with our uncle far away in Webuye where he went to school.

What this simply means is that we had to endure all night as David and his girlfriend Namisi made love and screamed. I was in class six then so y’all know how curious I’d get right? Let me just say I never closed my eyes every night Namisi was in attendance Lol!!! Wait, am still explaining the meaning of Chalusa.  So one day our neighbour, Waswa, got wind of David’s conniving ways with Namisi and decided to lay an ambush for him as he tiptoed his way towards the girls hut. Before he could knock the door, Waswa landed a very heavy rungu(club) on Onyango’s back he jumped and ran off like a hungry tiger he even passed our simba like he didn’t even live there only to come back after two hours.

David never went back for the girl ever again! At least we got to sleep at night from that day henceforth. Lets just say Waswa chalusad Onyango from stealing his daughter at night. Back to first things first and I was talking about how awesome it is a being first-born. They say a woman has two smiles that an angel might envy, the smile that accepts a lover before words are uttered and a smile that lights on the first-born baby, and assures it of a mother’s love. When my wife gave birth to our first-born daughter, Candice, I wasn’t there to witness the same but I know she did smile just the same way she did when I first confessed my love for her the second day we met. This happened along some bushy footpath in a village called Siguli in Murumba sub-location Busia county.

Now y’all know Mama Candice and I met in the village and not in Monte-Carlo night club on Accra road in Nairobi or Tacos along Kimathi street which am told it’s mainly frequented by homosexuals. Wait, Tacos closed shop and its now called i-club so the homos shifted base to Club Envy on Tom Mboya street. I am not here to talk about homos since I don’t even give a hoot what someone decides to do with their life. Your sexuality your choice but about how I met my wife? that will be a post for another day I promise. An entire post on the same.  So she gave birth to Candice while I was away. I wasn’t away because I was an irresponsible father as most of you already have concluded, I was away because I had just started on my new job in Nairobi like two days before after moving from Kisumu where I left her very pregnant.

The day I left Kisumu for Nairobi is the only day Velma, my wife, ever saw my tears. I couldn’t hold them back knowing I was leaving behind a very pregnant woman all on her own in the house, we didn’t have a house girl or anyone apart from us. The thought of leaving her behind to take care of herself when labour strikes and to think she was only 23 at the time made me cry like a baby. We held each other in the arms with my bags packed and out of the doorstep and cried like babies for over two hours. But I had to leave. I had got a better job in the city and prayed to God to take care of Narano, as my dad calls her. When I stepped out leaving her sobbing uncontrollably on the couch I met with “Daddy”, a neighbour and a very good friend of mine who once beat up his drunk  brother senseless for calling out another friend of mine, Kimani Kariuki, whom I accommodated in my house when the post-election violence was at its worst and Kikuyus bore the brunt of vengeful Luo youth who claimed Baba’s victory had been stolen in the 2007 presidential elections.

Daddy’s brother whose name I have even forgotten because he wasn’t such a pleasant human being shouted “Gipand okuyu ka!! Wabiro wang’ odni!” That’s luo for “They’re hiding a Kikuyu here! we’ll burn this house!” Kimani didn’t sleep a single minute that night. He left with all his belongings the next day as we went to work but Daddy’s brother received a sound beating from both Daddy and his father he was locked in the pigs’ house after that. Baba is the former prime minister of Kenya, Rt. Hon Raila Amolo Odinga. Wait, let me finish about Daddy. So I met him and he could see the tears in my eyes and he wanted to know why I was crying. I explained the situation to him and he was like “Marto, as long as am here, don’t worry about anything. Your wife will be fine. Am going to your house now to let her know that she can count on me for anything.”

I am still more than grateful to Daddy for everything he did for me when my wife knocked his door at 1 o’clock in the night when labour pains started. He took her to Milimani hospital and told the nurses he was the husband and stayed there till 5pm the next day when my wife delivered. He kept me posted of every progress and I’ll never thank him enough. Lol! do you know how words keep flowing the moment you start to write an interesting story? Am having to force myself to stop here since this is a web post and not a book I don’t want to get anyone bored. But I wish one day I’ll get to write a book about all these things so i can go on and on and on because after all its a book! Am very thankful to have completed my first ever original post. I’ve always wanted to do this! I’ve had blogs but I used to do copy and paste from other sites and it didn’t give me satisfaction. Am more than glad to be me and write my own original stories here and share with the whole world.

First things first. Feel free to leave a comment, give your opinion, criticize, praise and share my stories on social media.

Twitter: @RusesaWear, IG: @RusesaWaBagina, Facebook: Rusesa Wa Bagina

 

Yours Truly,

Okumu Olala.

“OleMsorombombo.”