My worry mummy
, she could cry the whole day. Daddy travelled to the city almost every day and I didn’t know why he was going so often. Could he still be looking for Kato? I didn’t know. I wish dad could bring Kato back. I wish the lobe of earth that I threw without looking into the pit could bring back his head and bind it back to his neck. If dad’s frequent going to the city was with the hope of finding him again, that would be good news for me, even Joe and Katumba would celebrate with me. But when dad spoke faintly to mummy in low voice, my hope vanished. When I heard a sob in mummy’s voice, I cried. When I heard dad telling mummy that Uncle Tom was caught with a sack and blood in his car and that was not enough evidence, I didn’t know what to think. I coiled there on my lonely bed. The space left by Kato’s death was very big, we had been together in the womb as twins - this new space was unbearable. Mummy told daddy to leave everything. But dad insisted he would still go back. He would pay the money which the policemen said would act like a stone – anchoring Kato’s file so that it is not ‘blown by the wind’ as they investigated the case. He would give the money for bringing Uncle Tom back to the prison, since the time he was captured, he left to urinate and didn’t come back. He would want to see the witch doctor who confessed that he dealt with Uncle Tom, but was rubbished by the police as being insane. I wanted to open my eyes and see, but the night was so dark. It was blinding. The night was long. I could hear the conversation of Katumba and Joe coming to my ears faintly. They kept me awake in bed. When morning approached, mummy’s face was heavy. I had to look for the company of Katumba and Joe. Much as their words made me uncomfortable, at least they gave me company. Although Joe was only two years older than Katumba, he spoke much more maturely. When I was with Joe and Katumba, I forgot my problems a bit. Katumba advised us to go and get some pawpaw from Mr. Mukasa’s plantation. We sneaked in. Mr. Mukasa was busy inside his hut; he only greeted us with the white smoke on top of his hut. Katumba picked one ripe pawpaw. We 22 moved farther into the middle of the plantation where the banana leaves wouldn’t give way to sunlight. It was very dark, but we loved it. We were getting accustomed to darkness in our village. When we cleared ground, we uncovered the banana leaves which were softened by moisture and covering the place. We sat down, Katumba cut the pawpaw. We ate while giggling. Joe stood up, we saw his leg going down into the earth, he pulled it out and he told us to run. Though I didn’t know why, I started running after him because I always believed in Joe. Katumba remained, laughing at us. “Why are you running?” he said. I stopped and looked at him. “Come we go, let’s leave this place, it’s so dark.” Joe didn’t talk, he was just running ahead. I saw Katumba kneeling down near the place where Joe’s leg had sunk. “There might be ripe bananas inside.” He started scooping the soil with his hands and throwing it behind him. I went back and stood near him watching. Joe stood the furthest away from us. Katumba continued until he saw a sack, that confirmed his thinking. Mr. Mukasa had buried bananas there. When he scrubbed all the soil from the sack, he removed it at once, expecting to see the yellow bananas. He jumped abruptly to his feet. Looking at me, I saw his eyes open wide, his eyeballs dilating. Joe came near me. We moved toward Katumba together to see what he was seeing. Without a word, we began running. We ran, when we stopped somewhere to catch some breath, Katumba said, “His head is alive.” “I...I don’t know,” said Joe. “It is true Joe; he was looking at me when I removed the sack.” “Go...go and...and you call, let him out and we’ll go home.” He started running again. Katumba followed Joe and me. It was horrible, more than anything I have ever seen. I didn’t expect to see Kato’s head. Truly Kato was alive. His eyes were open. He was seeing, I whispered. He was clearly seeing, only that he can’t talk. His voice cannot be heard, now. Kato was seeing, but his voice. I kept on saying things which I didn’t know to myself as we ran toward Mr. Mukasa’s hut; we needed somebody to help us. The last thing we saw was the big silver cross which fell from the sack. “That cross he is putting on, we can also put on,” huffed Joe as we were running. “Yes, we can all put on.” I said, not knowing exactly what I was saying. “I hope he cried, before he was killed,” said Joe. “Maybe.” “If someone had heard they could have helped him.” “Kato’s voice was small, no one could hear. And this place is very dark, we are in the plantation, no one will ever see this.” Katumba was running very fast ahead of us, we saw him entering inside Mr. Mukasa’s house. We rushed after him; when we reached the door he was coming out of the room. He told us he had seen blood in the bottle in Mr. Mukasa’s house. Before we could ask him, he started running again. We followed him before I branched and ran straight home. When I reached home, dad was sitting at the door. I didn’t know what I told him. But I heard him saying, “I will go and pick it.” I didn’t know which one he meant, the head or the bottle. I couldn’t imagine dad holding Kato’s head. I rolled in my bed and closed my eyes tight so I would not see Kato’s head in my mind. When I imagined Mr. Mukasa and Uncle Tom squeezing blood from Kato’s head, I bit the blanket. I wanted to climb on top of the hut and throw myself down. I lay on the bed waiting to see what dad would bring. And I kept on whispering, Dad will fix back Kato’s head and we shall be together again. 23 Pre-Naivasha Days Emmanuel Monychol We used to fight flies and heat In the bullet ridden grass thatched huts, We lived in the hope of milk and honey. We tried to share the little we got with guerrilla forces Who lived in hope too and tried To survive with little or no food and water Tyre sandals for shoes and old clothes looted or donated. The signing of the Comprehensive Peace Agreement united us. Yes! We were united: together, Army and ordinary Citizens. We decorated our bodies with ostrich feathers; We danced and smiled, we laughed and celebrated Together, we ate, together we drank, Together we poured libations to bless the spirits Of the fallen heroes buried or abandoned. The Guerrilla Generals-turned-Politicians Cruised the V-8 vehicles in our new dustbowl They swim amidst ill-hooked wealth, Cool Juba heat with the air conditioners Chilling out of the newly furnished Bungalows and palaces. We fight flies and fan off the airless heat in congested Tin roofed shelters without ceiling boards And ventilated window - after Naivasha Day
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