Tongues Too Can Read Braille

After the lunch meal, Kaka liked to while his afternoon away on his hammock under the compound tree shades, to savor in his thoughts and accept sleep as it came…

“I will only marry you when you get my name right”, the phrase lingered on. A thought that resonated in Kaka’s mind whenever he dwelt on the idea of marrying that sweet girl in his life. It was the answer she had given him when he asked her, “Will you marry me?”

Someone came along and cut short his chain of thoughts. “Uncle, have this, I’m told it’s meant for blind people.” Kaka smiled and accepted a bar of chocolate from his nephew. He mused at how naïve some kids could be. “Why would this bar of chocolate be meant only for blind people?”

“Just lick it!” the nephew chirped.

Kaka un- wrapped the chocolate and began to lick it. True to his nephew’s word he caught some Braille on one face of the chocolate bar. He “focused” his tongue at the constellation of dots and caught the calligraphy of some word, “BERRY” which he voiced in lowly tones.

“berry?!? Could be the brand name of this chocolate?!”

“Kaka…Kaka…wake up Kaka, wake up.” No answer. “Wake up Kaka, it pains me when you lick at my pimples.”

Kaka woke up with a start. In his hands however, was not a bar of chocolate but a woman, the girl of his dreams in a tight embrace next to him on his hammock. He had cupped her head between his hands, fondling and licking her all over her face.

“Sorry, you just woke me up before I could eat my chocolate” Kaka posed.

“What chocolate Kaka, you just called my name, you got it right,” Came the reply.

“What?” Kaka wondered.

“You called my name Kaka.” She emphasized.

“What name, BERRY?” Kaka asked, puzzled.

“That’s it!” Berry replied.

“But that’s a chocolate”

“That’s right, am your chocolate Kaka, your wife…”

Verdict; Pimples cluster on a woman’s face to spell her name.

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The True Tattoo
Storymoja publishing - Wednesday, 12 August 2009

© Storymoja publishing

The True Tattoo

Among my Primary school partial friends was Alphonse. He wasn’t my all round friend because we differed in many ways. He would often tail the class that I lead in many exams. Unlike me, he was always a culprit in many situations: making noise in class, speaking in vernacular within the school compound, avoiding lessons, stealing stationery from classmates and and and...

Joining the school gymnastics club of which I was a lead member was Alphonse’s big dream. I would take him through many informal coaching sessions but his inability to grasp the flow sat him on the spectator bench, not without envy. What I liked about him were his adventures. Every Monday, he was full of stories about how eventful his weekend had been. Most of them were naughty experiences, but the enthusiasm of his narration would evoke my imagination. I started hanging around him many times. I even reshuffled sitting arrangement with a colleague and made Alphonce my desk mate! Soon, I had joined his circle of friends…

The adventures now beckoned. However, I was careful not to be trapped in the mix wherever this squad screwed up with disciple so I censored myself wherever I felt that they were going overboard. I chose the more “innocent” epics like finding fruits in the bushes, trapping wildlife, the childhood craftsmanship of making our own toys, venturing in the wild and enjoying a swim in the streams and ponds. All these activities wouldn’t go down so well with mom but need I say more, mom remains one of the heroes in my life who’s had to endure a lot in her noble determination to nurture a son.

She found me cringed quietly on a sofa one evening and inquired what was up. I was not presenting my normal self and so she suspected that something was wrong. When she lost her patience at my stubborn silence, she heightened her voice with leading questions. “Are you hurt? Did you trip? Were you beaten? What is it?

“I have a wound”, I mumbled, with a retreat of my ego.

“Where are you wounded?” She inquired.

I drew up my shirt sleeve and revealed the unthinkable. Something that mom probably never experienced in her childhood, here I was, peeling my skin. She slowly edged towards me staring at the wound, confused and perplexed as she tried to figure out what could have caused it. A scary red wound screaming “N” in the wake of a blood-spattered under skin.

“What happened to you? Was it fire? A charcoal burn? Or were you bruised?”

It was none of the above. It was Alphonce! He whose image I wanted to copy when I saw the letter ”A” tattooed on his arm. I remembered very well how we had arranged with him on how I could also get the first letter of my name tattooed on my skin, but when the logistics of our appointment couldn’t work out, I and Baraka, my cousin, decided to do the procedure on our own, I can’t exactly trace the date but I know it was on a one particular weekend in the season of cashew nuts, in my sixth class of my primary school.

At the backyard of our house we didn’t have to climb the trees. The bountiful yield of cashew nuts weighed down the branches and we could reach them on tiptoe. When they’re raw, cashew nuts are soft and green in color.They contain a fluid that is an enemy to the skin. It blackens and softens the tissues in the upper layer of the skin and within minutes of its contact, it transforms it into a Gorilla-like skin. Baraka and I had used it to smear our names’ initials on our arms, giggling all through the exercise, oblivious of the consequences. Chemistry began to happen and when the pain became unbearable , instinct duped me into peeling off the “gorilla” part hoping to arrive at my original skin underneath. That is when all hell broke loose. The freshness of my bloody inner skin sent a cold shiver down my spine. I knew I had messed.

When mom finally came to grips with the events, she prepared some warm salty water for the first aid and early the next morning I was taken to hospital. I got the medication that included five consecutive jabs to be administered daily. I reported late to school that day and just as mom had instructed me, I was to avoid Alphonse’s company. No one in class knew what had happened to me. I was laying trust on my shirt sleeve to drape the bandaged arm so from time to time I would pull its hem down, a habit that conjured up many curious questions.

“What happened to you, Ndune?” a colleague would question.

“Nothing”, I would lie.

Eventually, the truth came out and guys become loudmouths about it. I progressed on well with my healing and today, my shirt sleeve is the curtain that hides the tattoo on my arm! I chose to abbreviate “Ndune” my mother’s dad, whom I was named after, because it was the name frequently used at home while I was growing up, and even up to now in the circles of my close relatives. I now acknowledge this tattoo both as a souvenir and a heritage from some legendary lover or mine.

To Alphonse; you didn’t have to laugh at me when I got wounded. I was setting a trend. What I got more than half my lifetime ago is now craze of everyone in town. For five jabs, I got what every Tom, Dick and Harry is paying dearly for today. You wasted me, and this tattoo is the scar that resulted from our friendship.

To mom; in this tattoo, I see a mark of your love on my body. You who healed me from this wound and from Alphonse, you are the true tattoo in my heart.

Isaac Ndune Keah,

Edible Lawns!!!

When in "shaggs", don't just pick up a slasher and start "doing the compound". You've got to ask first; "can I cut this grass?" then a "cucu"or aunt has to confirm that "YES you can or NO you can not because hii ni mboga!"

You know, town people are more or less like goats, (sic)! While goats can't differentiate between wild grass and crops in the sense that all are edible to them, town guys can't tell the difference in the sense that they can't tell what is edible!

I grew up in upcountry myself and happens to know which "grass" is eaten and which one is not! In our childhood outdoor games we would avoid the fields with edible "grass" to those with wild grass or even the bare fields! There was one field we liked for its Nappier carpet. We would play on it despite the fact that when the evening shower came and water touches your body, it itches badly as a result of having contacted the nappier earlier! Our "shamba" was densely encroached by this "itchy" weed. No matter the number of times you "buruga" it, it would sprout back! Luckily, it was pasture to goats. We tamed goats, alright, but letting goats into the "shamba" expecting them to "weed off" the nappier was not the wisest thing to do because goats actually do prefer the crops to the weeds! Luckily it was food to rabbits as well so we would from time to time prune it for the hutches.

Technology Not Geology

(This is a story of the continued sagas of Reverend Magadi. The sequel.)

Adam loved Cryonics. It was his most favourite unit among the many others that comprised of his Cremation Science major. As a requirement to the wider Chemical engineering degree course carriculum, each student was required to individually research on a project. Adam had in mind putting up a crematory. In the project report, he had to work out the logistics involved. This was two-fold. One was the initial capital investment and the subsequent maintenance costs of the equipment. Two was the “customers” issue-whether deceased families would be willing to dispose off their loved ones by burning the corpses.

The idea was borne by Rev. Magadi, Adam’s father. He was the incumbent arch-diocescern arch-deacon. He was an extremely ambitious man who reckoned it was possible to manufacture crude oil from cremated remains! He argued that since one of the sources of crude oil is fossil fuels which is gotten from organic matter (like human beings) that died, was buried long ago and has been subjected to very high temperatures and pressures that occur naturally under the earth crust;- if it can be possible to create these conditions artificially, then it can also be possible to manufacture crude oil artificially.

This inspired Adam to carry out a research on it. He put the idea through a rigorous feasibility study and came up with a research paper titled “ARTIFICIAL OIL MINES”, which contained many facts. That the world population, at 6.6 Billion and eight deaths occurring per every a thousand lives, this means 52 Million deaths per the world population in real-time. The average weight of one person’s cremated remains is 2.7 Kilograms (1.8 Kgs- 3.6 Kgs.), which arithmetically translates to 140 Million Kg. of cremated remains at any one time (even without factoring in the world population growth rate). This means that, the world can, at the current death rate, sustain One hundred and forty thousand tones of crude oil at any one time from human beings cremations alone, which gives the 83 Million barrels of crude oil a day (what the world currently produces), a run for its money; considering the fact that the natural crude oil reserves contain only a fraction of human organic matter.

There were hindrances to this idea. Mainly ideological challenges.The issue of faiths and religions. Islam for instance doesn’t allow for cremations and they are a whooping 1.3 Billion of them worldwide. It would be no mean feat convincing the masses against their faiths especially on the basis of the theory that the buried corpses have got no other use apart from constituting to natural crude oil.

Reverend Magadi seconded his son in all his endeavors. “Son, this is a noble idea that can even win the Nobel peace prize. Remember, in the year 2005, the Nobel peace laureate won the prize on an almost similar platform. She advocated planting of trees to provide an alternative source of energy. This, according to her would help curb the fighting for oil as the sole source of energy and the regional fragmentations as a result of scrambling for the resource. Son, when this idea comes to pass, instead of America waking up one day and force their way into the Iraqi oil fields, each country will assume a sovereign, almost sacred duty to transform its fallen citizenry into the black gold. All countries of the world will have oil! Resource distribution will be more equitable, international over-dependency will go down and the shape of world politics will take a positive turn towards peace. Scramble for the natural resource will end since then, people will get the true picture (and America had better realize this now) that it’s not just the Iraqi oil they’re after but actually Iraqis’ ancestors!”

Adam was amused by his fathers analogy. He recalled a theory he studied in school. The Malthusian theory. It predicts that in time, the world population will rise to overwhelm the resources that occur naturally to sustain it. This reinforces the need to seek alternative sources of the resources since man can’t obviously do without them.

It was on a Sunday and Rev. Magadi was on the pulpit. “Fellow Christians, I salute you with a verdict. Today, I wish to emphasize to you that the most important thing in all of us is the soul. The spirit. Our bodies are mortal,- souls are eternal. When we die, our bodies are buried, they go to rot and that’s it. If only we could find value in dead bodies instead of just disposing them in grave yards. Brethren remember, scripture does not reject cremation,” there were murmurs across the congregation. Nevertheless, Rev. Magadi braved them and carried on with his sermon. “I will repeat, scripture does not ban the burn, as long as it’s not done for reasons contrary to biblical teachings.”

There was more disquiet in the church. People appeared openly disturbed by the sermon. Rev. Magadi knew it was no mean feat preaching cremation!-to convince the congregation to opt for cremation as a permanent substitute to burying the dead. This, according to him will help save on land and trees since cemetery gardens and coffins will become history. Unfortunately, even before his sermon was over, almost the entire congregation was out of the church in different opinion groups. "What? cooked flesh to run my car? What the hell is wrong with him?" Most people thought it was absurd, others felt it was a conflict between science and religion while some just couldn’t take any of it.

Rev. Magadi ended up to the psychiatrists. Adam’s research paper ended up in the waste paper basket while Adam himself remains the naïve teenager living under the tutelage of an illusionist.

Isaac Keah. 22.

The Welder And The Acrobat

Well, these are not two different people, it's one lady. It's not even about her proffessions, it's her dress code. If you are confused, then you are just like I was when I saw her. She was in goggles and was walking on stilts- this welder and acrobat!

I turned back to look at her and her sleeveless top revealed a scar- sorry, a tattoo on her shoulder!

Ha ha ha! ati sun glasses; that size? Those were goggles- I swear! Wait, wait..., what kind of shoes are these that you have to struggle to keep in balance? High -heel-shoes? Are stilts shoes then!

A strange looking lady this one.

Image matters.

Too Much Ambition

His flaming desire to rise to the pinnacle of his career was not doused even when he succeeded in acquiring the pulpit. He still yearned for more. His determination would only cease when he would have risen to the equivalence of the likes of Siddhartha Gautama-founder of Buddhism and Marin Luther king - founder of the Lutheran followers. What kept Rev.Magadi on his toes was his desire to be referred to as 'The Great' or 'Mighty' or 'His Holiness' Magadi - founder of a so and so denomination, cult or even religion!what an ambition he had.It is this inquest that made Rev. Magadi think of the possibility of maneuvering a tactful twist on the 'rigid' story of creation.

This man was determined. His meteoric rise to become the arch-diocese arch- deacon testified just this. All the information in the Bible was at his finger tips(he claimed so), even though he was a mere semi- literate chap- holder of the only primary school certificate and immediately tossed himself into the field of preaching. After a chain series of promotions, he had found himself at this current position in authority over priests and deacons. With these credentials, he thinks he has an idea and gives it a thought of convenience. He uses his handkerchief to only rub sweat. This goes on day in day out for weeks and months until the handkerchief stinks of saturation. He still wipes sweat with it!

Adam Magadi is equally ambitious. He goes to the local high school where he takes sciences. He is child to Mr. Magadi and is fond of taking assignments home.One evening he comes home in his usual way carrying a documents file and shot straight to the kitchen where he spots a can on the stove. The liquid in it was warm as he touched it. He dipped his fingers into the liquid and licked them to establish the contents. It tasted salty. Astutely, he fished his thermometer from his file and lowered its bulb into the now boiling liquid. He recorded the reading on his thermometer that stood at slightly above one hundred degrees Celsius.

Happy at the completion of his days homework,he re-organized his items back to the file and was headed for the door. He made sure that he was leaving behind everything in the order he saw so that it would not appear as if someone had messed up with whatever was cooking. He slanted a gaze backwards to affirm this but, Alas! something was amiss. The can was upside down on the floor and its contents overly spilled on the floor.(maybe)by accident,he had been a little bit careless and fell the can. In a quick action thought,he wiped the floor and made a mild solution of salt and water in the can which he replaced on the stove,and then stealthy vacated the kitchen.

"What is it in the kitchen that's cookin....?"

"Hey please, don't tamper!", cut in his father sharply even before Adam had finished asking.

Shocked at such a sharp reply from his father, Adam just kept quiet and took his usual seat next to his father at the sitting room to watch the television.

"Through with your homework?",asked the Reverend.

"Oh, Yes" replied Adam.

The task given at school that particular day was to establish the actual boiling point of water with impurities especially salty water. Rev.Magadi was busy between the pages of the Bible as he usually was at this hour of the day. Contrary, Adam was fixedly paying audience to the television as if trying to curb his father from shooting in anymore questions. Instinctively, he thought something wasn't quite right after messing up in the kitchen. Somehow, he started feeling guilty.

The salty water continued to boil merrily over the stove. Science followed its course as the level of water fell in the can while more kept on disappearing in the form of steam. On and on it continued to evaporate amid intervals of check -ups by Rev.Magadi who wanted to know how his project was picking on. Meanwhile, Adam was busy with the remote control occasionally switching from channel to channel. Guilt,Guilt,Guilt!

"Eureka!" came the wild shriek that took Adam by a big shock. "I've discovered the LOT THING! what simple science! this is me,hey!" continued the shouts. Adam couldn't continue watching the T.V. He briskly made his way to the kitchen from where the shouts seemed to be originating. Equally surprising, he saw his father deep in prayer holding the can high above him.

"This is more than I can handle",thought Adam and simply went his way.

It was the next Sunday at the chapel and Rev. Magadi was delivering his sermon.
"Fellow Christians. I salute you in the mighty name of our Lord with a verdict for you. You may be surprised to learn how we have been deceiving ourselves all along by thinking that we are made of soil. My dear brethren,WE ARE NOT!",he emphasized. "If you have ever stopped to think and ponder why Lot's wife turned into a pillar of salt and not clay during the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. I personally have a practical evidence and can comfortably affirm it today that we are made of salt and not sand...", he said these at the back of his mind referring to his previous experiment in which -he thinks- he boiled his sweat in the solution that resulted when he squeezed the saturated handkerchief in the least possible water and poured it in a can - and collected salt! At least,in his primary school science,he had learned that there is a lot of salt in our bodies that is wasted as sweat and other metabolic processes which is what he had wanted to collect.

It is a sermon that was perceived indifferently by the congregation some of whom looked startled while others doubting. Some made cat-calls, din some looked worried and still some were attentive!

All was not well.I hear that after two weeks,the man was in hospital beds with other mentally challenged fellows!poor man