MY OLD MAN

By Brian Nzomo

By the time I was in standard seven, there was no single moment my father had raised his hand on me. Partly because I was disciplined and drew myself away from trouble, but also because my mother took the lion’s share of the responsibility to discipline me. And she did it with vigour.

His ways were sort of diplomatic. He would chastise me by word of mouth, tell me what I have done is wrong, and sought to ensure I was penitent. All of this done verbally.

Nikamzoea! Makoshaaa!

I was in Nairobi for the August vacation. That afternoon, I thought it was the right time to play with him. He was watching a television programme calmly. Not minding my presence in the room. I picked up the remote without his knowledge and sat at the farthest sofa set.

I then secretly tuned to another channel and grinned.

“Ni nini? Umechange kwa nini?” He asked in a tone of chagrin.

“Hata mimi nataka kuwatch!” I said playfully.

“Ebu leta remote!” He blurted, now standing up.

“Wacha hata mimi niwatch!” I said defiantly, but still blithely.

“Remote Masila!” He blurted. “Nilikuwa nawatch kitu ya maana!”

I feigned deafness and continued watching the television. That mzee swung his right palm hard across my cheek nikaona giza. I found myself spontaneously handing him the remote. I could not cry. But I was maimed by shock.

“Ulisoma lini mara ya mwisho?” He asked angrily.

“Asubuhi!” I mumbled.

“Ebu enda usome. Hii TV ni yangu. Maliza shule ununue yako! Sawa?”

I nodded and left the room. That was the first time I knew that man was not be taken lightly. I had to be wary of him.

For the second and last time he hit me, I was in hot soup pale Alliance. That was the final seal of respect.

**** **** ****

My brother is a different kettle altogether. He has incurred the man’s wrath since he was seven. And he continues to do so till date. My mother no longer deals with him. He has outgrown her wrath. And very soon he may outgrow my father and begin run-ins with the law like many of his ‘Gengetone peers’.

My sister. That girl is the Apple of his eyes. He loves her immensely. And she knows that. That was why when she tried to make tantrums one Sunday morning demanding to be bought a new dress, she prolly imagined he would bow to her whims.

“Nataka dress leo!” She demanded.

“Sina pesa Chelsea!” (Her name is Joan Chelsea by the way. Mzee is an ardent Chelsea fan way back before I was born).

She was six then. Had never incurred his wrath. Not even a reprimand. She decided she would torture his peace till he acquiesced to her demands. She screamed at him. Tagging him by the shirt. Biting his finger lightly. She then climbed the table and jumped up and down. It was chaotic.

Then a porcelain plate fell on the floor and broke into pieces. That girl was pinned on the sofa and given several slipper claps on the bottom.

“Utaacha ujinga umesikia!” He blurted at her. “Toa kilio hapa na uende ukalale. Sijui nini inakuamsha six asubuhi kunisumbua!” I was chuckling inside as I saw the fuming girl storm to her bed.

“Na wewe!” He ordered me. “Kuja uokote hizi vitu mtu asikanyage!”

At the time, I was just a week stale from my second beating. I couldn’t hesitate and went in search for a dust pan.

That mzee!