THE ELDEST WEED.
Part 1: The Father’s Last Gift
“Pressure? What pressure? Tear drops unwelcome in my world of toil and sorrow where most people prefer to be judgmental and acting walls of critics other than being helpful and understanding. You came to my rescue when the whole world turned its back on me. You have given me peace that I had never dreamt of and ever since I chose you as my confidant my nights have been whole, well, maybe short and breathtaking since you and me always get home late as a result of navigating our path through darkness, pot holes, trenches, mud, dust, thorns, speeding vehicles, impatient motorists, good for nothing cyclists and the little arithmetic we perform before deciding to cross the road.”
“ The good thing is, we are always side by side. ‘Yangu ni yangu nikipenda napeana yote kwa bar’. One correction though, embedding the title ‘bar’ to the places where I pick you would be versed a naming problem and rather fake than original supported by the fact that I always make sure I have no company on my way, especially this uniformed government support group that hate their job with landlord hate_ The Police. Apparently, we always make it to our four corner mansion where we may eat late but we do eat ‘wapende, wasipende’.” Phil’s muscle coordination is interrupted, his salivary glands produce excess fluids to protect his throat from stomach acids, the natural reaction takes place, he spits it out and that marks the end of his lengthy lecture to an imaginary audience.
The lack of a fatherly figure at a tender age has proven to negatively impact the life of children and mostly kids of the male gender. It deprives them of essential male role modeling, often resulting in identity struggles, fear of abandonment, difficulty managing emotions and even affects their masculine development. He must have been a victim of this.
Phil’s teeny weeny correspondence with his dad got to a sudden halt when he was at the age of eighteen, let it be known he lost him to AIDS.
Get into these shoes fellow human, every day you bid goodbye to someone who you are not sure whether will still be having his heart pumping blood when you set foot at home from school in the evening. That aside, the sight of him alone melts your heart_ extremely thin and frail with noticeable weight loss, reduced muscle mass and prominent bones. He fought a good fight though before giving in to the hand that takes life never to bring it back.
Phil’s siblinghood comprised of three boys and a girl. The poor girl didn’t grow up with brothers’, she grew up with three unpaid stuntmen whose life mission was to taste gravity and her patience. She was the only flower in a garden of weeds_ Phil being the eldest weed. She was a queen by title but surrounded by a kingdom of noise, dirty sneakers, free action, comedy, flying socks, occasional wrestling matches in the living room and questionable decisions.
After their father is laid six feet underground for a rest that would never end, his brothers and sisters _ their uncles and aunts opt to settle for the option of sharing the responsibility of bringing up their late brothers off spring, it’s evident though that they only had one choice in the list they were choosing from.
The late never wrote a will before leaving, this shouldn’t surprise anyone because who writes a will when his kids don’t even know the difference between right and wrong yet? His dad might have used these words at times when he was still alive, ‘’Phil, I want you to take care of your siblings my son.’’ I am saying this because everyone else except him was subordinate and accepted the offer. Bob was to be taken care of by their dad’s youngest brother, Tom and the one girl sandwiched between three boys was to be taken care of by their dad’s sister and surprisingly, Phil chose to remain in their residence, maybe, to protect his role model’s grave. Who knows?
“I am not going to fall for this trap, we both know he was the wealthiest of you all. His hard earned money will not be an escape route for you’ll, not under my watch. Continue enjoying your poverty. I am sure you celebrated his demise, all these demure smiles and fake aid can be best described as ‘quid pro quo’ and transactional. I am explicit enough, therefore, don’t bother me. You can now see the gate boogiemen.” After uttering these syllables that would be better described as ‘reputation killers’ Phil cleared his throat and left his uncles and aunts both gnawing their teeth in anger and disbelief.
Part 2: The King Without a Kingdom
You might be both wrong to judge or to side with him, well, one of the definitions of wrong is unsuitable — not appropriate for a specific occasion or to a specific group of people. To one who did not have the opportunity to see his mother for more than two years, morals were just a story to tell and morally upright people fiction actors. How do you whip an eighteen years old boy? How do you get him to lay down on the floor? Call Usain Bolt to chase him around and catch him or is this just another definition of impossible? The best you can do in a territory that is not yours is following instructions to the dot because by that, you will be at your best behavior. His uncles and aunts therefore left in peace.
Checks and balances are now not one of his worries, all road blocks including the strongest in the weakest _ his dad are broken. This can be dimmed as being above the law or being the law and the law maker, well, who else lives in a state of anarchy at a place where there is a governing council? That kind of life seems enjoyable anyway_ you could help me fathom. I mean it’s a life where you are the Don, talk about being the god of your own existence. Only that you live like you expect no future and have no destiny. Just living in the present. He does not do the free fall thud anyway, everything is gradual from bad, to worse, to unfixable. Regarding the level of fix-ability we don’t know that yet.
Money is available, son of man decides to tour the outside world visits this famous strippers club in town. Captivated by a she-and gripped by a yellow tone of skin sending signals to the heart, which pulsates then at slightly above seventy beats per minute. A feeling that is jaw dropping and cutting, leaving Phil in love. A curvy figure seductively modeled and full voluptuous breasts — that way without any modification — and this adds to the bonus point needed by the beholder. No dating, no courtship it’s a ‘come we stay’ endeavor. Shakira joins the scene or should I say Phil’s movement? After years of two, she conceives and brings to this world a sparkling baby boy then a second and a third one. A happy family in deed, they say being happy is relative though.
The bank account got empty day by day, Phil never worked. He was living a soft life. Not hand to mouth but bank account to mouth. Evidently, his late dad performed a meticulous saving of cash but not one that could guarantee someone who if laziness was an Olympic sport, could still ask someone else to collect the gold medal a life of no work forever. Is it true that money is the root of all evil or is Phil just a victim of a bad day at work?
Adaptability is not a character trait that works well with everyone, for instance, drifting to sugarless tea from always using sugar like honey has proven contagious even to diabetic people who tend to use that as a lifesaving criteria. Presently, Shakira is the patient in this hospital, she is not ready to cut short prices and she feels lowering the caliber won’t do with her. Well, I might just be committing sin in taking sides with her.
But how is she going to drop the makeup, vacations, snacks and hangouts? Yet she chose to stay because of the money not out of love? Is this the boldest effect of living a fake life? But theirs wasn’t a fake life only that they never sweated for it.
Part 3: Second Love
Her time to leave this marriage might have just reached but the timing was not a perfect one yet since it was still short of one thing _ The Trigger. Some could say the lighter or the starter. On this fateful day as per her wishes she manages to author a paragraph, every word placed sharply, designated to fit the purpose of driving sense into one with a head but no brain according to her.
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“You call yourself a man?” she scoffed, folding her arms as she looked him up and down with open contempt. “Every morning you wake up with excuses instead of plans. Look around you _ other men are out there breaking their backs to feed their families, while you sit here waiting for miracles to knock on the door. Do you know how embarrassing it is to watch husbands build homes, buy cars and provide for their wives while mine can’t even provide a better meal than cassava porridge alongside cassava itself? You are not just lazy, you are a coward. You are too afraid to take risks, too comfortable hiding behind bad luck and empty promises. At this rate even a stray dog shows more determination than you do. Tell me what exactly are you proud of? Because from where I’m standing, I’ve been carrying this family on my shoulders while you watch life pass you by.” This was the ultimate blow.
The ultimate blow was deputized by a lot of scolding with comparison to other men and tones of disrespect on Phil day by day until he decides to fetch for a second soulmate but this time not a stripper for sure. He gets a sweet, calm, patient personality. Surprisingly, all these attributes are not spotted in a human being this time but in a bottle of alcohol, precisely, cheap local alcohol _ ‘Changaa’. He embraces the moment and love at first sight hits. In deed every man loves peace.
Saying Phil’s life takes a U-turn after he meets second love can be regarded as a memory complexity in matters occurrences. This is because he took a different route immediately his father passed on, therefore, his relationship with the non-human being might just be put into records as an extension of the U in the turn.
All his money — wait, all his father’s remaining cents are now channeled to the local brewer, he becomes an addict but presently not lazy since he starts working in the ‘Jua Kali’ industry to at least get an extra coin for alcohol. Going home in the evening to his Chairs and bed now becomes a liability, remember, Shakira packed her things and left with the kids on that ‘fateful’ day. For the five in days of seven he chooses to sleep under the culverts in town, his diet is not known but since he’s not dead yet we know some digestion takes place at times.
Part 4: The Trench
His siblings are now not only of age but also learned with the ability to cater for themselves, but they don’t know whether there is something left of their father’s wealth. I might say this was a common wave because one by one their minds race towards the thought of the ‘eldest weed’ and that of the missing will. A plan is hatched, they decide to visit their first home. The next occurrence can be dimmed as shocking and embarrassing but to you my reader something that was bound to happen.
On reaching the place where home once was, they set eyes on a huge mansion with a perimeter wall, an adorable place of class and beauty. A grin in each of their faces is evidenced by their teeth expressing amusement. Maybe imaginary salute postures, unheard and unuttered syllables of praise and respect to their once was stray brother for such a big job. The ordeal is cut short by barking of German shepherd dogs and two heavy weight security officers who accost them asking questions like, “who are you? What brings you here? Any appointment with his Excellency?” “You mean Phil is now a politician or somebody of such caliber?” Bob asked.
“Leave! Leave now! Or we take you in for trespassing the governor’s residence!” one officer interjected. That’s when they knew their father’s land had been sold a long time ago. A tear or two and maybe some more from Joyce _ ladies always get themselves pouring it out. This is not stereotypic, it’s nature.
After comforting themselves they decided to start looking for Phil, not to scold him, not to hate on him, not to physically harm him but to show him love. They say blood is thicker than water. But where do you start the search for a vagrant? One whose identity is not known by the people you thought were his neighbors? One who at the moment might be fallen in a trench or taking a nap in the forest? One who is maybe in second loves abode singing songs of glory and just letting out syllables anyhow with flies getting in and out of his mouth freely with no charge? In their last desperate move they report a case of a missing person to the police.
Three utterly disappointed individuals together in a Toyota Crown Royal Saloon which is being driven with no pace across town, offensive silence is the theme of the atmosphere. At the moment, they are maybe inwardly cursing the person or thing that stole their brother’s destiny.
No sooner did they take the last turn to catch the main road than Tom sported a man lying sprawled in a muddy roadside trench, barely distinguishable from the heap of rubbish surrounding him. His clothes, once perhaps a respectable shade of blue, were now stained with layers of dirt, grease, and dried mud hanging off his thin frame in filthy, tattered strips. The sharp stench of cheap liquor mixed with sweat and urine clung to him like a second skin. His unkempt beard was matted with crumbs and grime, while his tangled hair looked as though it hadn’t met a comb _ or water _ in months. Empty bottles lay scattered nearby, silent witnesses to another night lost in intoxication. Every few moments he let out a drunken groan, too dazed to notice the flies buzzing around him or the curious glances of passersby who stepped around him with wrinkled noses. Looking straight and keenly at the face of the man, a bell rang in Tom’s head, “It’s him! Stop! Stop!”
Part 5: The Long Road Home
What a show that was? You and me must be thinking the sight of Phil in the trench made Bob, Tom and Joyce frown and pity him, well, regarding the last affirmation we can’t be sure — this is family. But this is it, immediately they confirmed it was him their faces brightened with joy and satisfaction. They together jumped into the trench picked him up, hugged him and remember, presently we have an audience wondering what on earth is going on with these well-off individuals and the man they’ve known to be the town’s lunatic for years. He is not sober but at least he is able to recognize his siblings by name, add to the bonus point the fact that he’s able to construct a sentence, “Bob, Tom, Joyce… whyyy… areee…youu hereeeeee…” What a way to regroup as a family.
They take him with them, clear his mess, bathe him and buy him new clothes then get him some food. Afterwards straight to the rehabilitation center they go. Evidently they are now seeing better days ahead.
Phil is not accustomed to the life in rehab. Every day follows a strict routine of early mornings, counseling sessions, group therapy, chores, and quiet reflection. There are no bottles to numb his pain or excuses to hide behind _ only uncomfortable truths he must confront. The rules feel suffocating, the discipline exhausting, and every hour tests his resolve, but beneath the hardship lies a faint hope that he might one day rebuild the life he nearly destroyed.
Three months elapse, neither has his thirst for alcohol been quenched nor brought to a halt. He is just surviving. But for how long? He finds his way out of rehab, his eyes brighten and he is hungry for his second soulmate. Driven by a craven heart but one with an objective, his first stop is the ‘Changaa base’. The knowledge of this pricks the hearts of his siblings but at least they tried _ I’m not saying they were now supposed to lay their amour down.
Part 6: The Last Arrest
The rehabilitation Centre must have helped, because Phil now sees the need to own a phone. You can tell the purpose it was meant to accomplish _ maybe to check on his siblings? No way _ to ask them for money? On point. One of his friends markets this so called ‘Mulikamwizi’ — button phone which is clearly within his budget. 1.5 dollars only. I’m not surprised with the price tag because it was worth the commodity.
The old button phone had long outlived its glory days. Its back cover was missing, exposing the battery, which was held in place by two faded rubber bands wrapped tightly around the handset. The keypad was worn smooth from years of use, with several numbers barely visible, and scratches covered its tiny screen. It looked as though it could fall apart with a single drop, yet it stubbornly clung to life, buzzing and ringing whenever called upon — a battered survivor refusing to retire.
After enjoying the services of his most expensive gadget for two weeks _ I don’t know whether he had others for comparison purposes anyway_, the area police alongside DCIs start hunting for Phil. You might think the phone was a stolen one, no, the original owner of the phone was a dead man who was murdered about a week before Phil became the rightful owner by trade. He’s taken in as a suspect of first degree murder. His siblings don’t feel like paying the cash bail or bringing lawyers to the scene. I might be taking sides with them in this. According to them prison would be a better rehabilitation center for Phil than the normal rehab. What’s your take my dearest reader??
By ENOCK TUMAINI.
