Rad_Dec@go.com
27 September 2004
Stepfather gave the unmistakable impression that he was the kind of man with no use for small boys. Doubts on the matter did not last when he said things like “I have no use for small boys”. As far as he was concerned, the only thing small boys could be relied upon to do reliably was to eat and, as he put it so delicately, soil our shorts.
Stepmother indirectly influenced my understanding of Mr Musyoka, the valiant man who was entrusted with the thankless and next to impossible task of teaching some thirty unwilling small boys one of the fundamental concepts of algebra – gathering together of like terms.
Her motorboat like dimensions almost mirrored those of my stepfather, down to larger than life feet. The only place my stepfather was completely eclipsed was her colossal rear that was the source of much merriment for us juveniles. My elder brother Jimmy had once unwisely used my stepmother's rear and ‘solar eclipse' unflatteringly in the same sentence and lost a tooth thanks to that lady's inability to appreciate his wit.
How is it that I have a stepfather as well as a stepmother? My father had fought a losing battle with a speeding lorry after one hard night's work at the local watering hole. After most of him had been scraped off the bonnet, grille and bumper, we laid him to rest. Shortly after, the man who used to come into the house in the capacity of “uncle” assumed the new office of “father”.
Two months later, my mother, feeling the mellow effects of the considerable contents of a tin of the local brew had gone to draw water from the well behind the house. The splash of water left little doubt that she had encountered some trouble as she navigated her way. Shortly after, we had a new mother.
She was not popular. Her method of getting our attention by smacking us across the head with her sausage like fingers was disconcerting. When she condescended to speak to us, she would shout from a few inches away with breath, we felt, could peel paint, but we wisely felt this was information that would not be well received.
Breakfast this morning was an eventful affair. Jimmy, in his capacity of resistance leader, had pulled off a coup with the limited tools at his disposal. Like a dutiful stepson he had stood behind the seat of Stepmother, and as she was in the process of lowering her considerable backside onto the seat, Jimmy had deftly withdrawn it.
Unhindered by the presence of the seat, Stepmother's considerable backside kept descending. Noticing that something was amiss Stepmother desperately grabbed the edge of the table, and rather than arresting her progress to earth, it toppled over on top of her.
The air was immediately full of table, Stepmother's limbs and assorted crockery. My stepfather was torn between outrage at the audacity of his stepson and the duty to help out his better half, and finally settled for the latter.
Jimmy and I had no such conflicts. We immediately succumbed to joyous laughter. Hearing this, my Stepfather paused from this effort of unwinding Stepmother's right leg from behind her right ear and looked up with a bellow of rage.
One look at that twisted grimace and the yellow teeth bared in rage convinced us that our presence was unwanted. Like twin streaks of lightening we were out the door and running hard for the horizon. Stepfather hurled some choice insults and a mug after us.
The mug bounced smartly off my head and staggered me briefly but soon we were over the crest of the hill and running down towards the school. Soon we slowed to a more leisurely walk, still laughing at the morning's entertainment.
“He said some interesting things just then, didn't he?” Jimmy said thoughtfully as we walked, and I concurred. We were never shy of building up our exotic vocabulary and Stepfather was always a ready source.
“Listen!” Jimmy said suddenly stopping. I stopped and looked apprehensively at him. The look in his eye was the one he got when he had an idea.
“Listen,” he repeated. “We can't go to school today.”
“Why not?” I asked with concern. The vision of Mr. Musyoka, our headmaster, and his right arm swam immediately to mind. He was not the kind of man who believed in sparing the rod.
“Pops will be sure to come to school looking for us”, Jimmy said slowly, drawing a line in the soil with his toe. “And once he tells Mr. Musyoka we will be in trouble”
“But won't we get into trouble for missing school?” I asked.
“Yes, but if we go to school right now Pops will beat us, teacher will beat us for disrupting the lesson and then when we get home Pops will beat us again because we were beaten by teacher. If we miss school Pops will only beat us for what I did today and teacher will beat us for missing school.
Jimmy saw my tongue stick out with effort as I tried to marshal my thoughts. When it came to intelligence, nature had only half equipped me with the necessary tools. After a minute he let out a snort of frustration and helped out.
“We'll be beaten three times if we go to school today but only twice if we skip school today”.
“Okay.” I said trustingly. “Where do we go?”
“I'm hungry; I think we should have some mangoes from Mwikali's tree.”
Apprehension immediately rose in my young breast. My memories of Mwikali were not fond ones. Her technique of pulling ears and smacking heads was second to none. Her acceleration was excellent, as was her cornering.
However my apprehensions were tempered by memories of her mangoes. As mangoes go, they were second to none. Hers were kings among mangoes. I hesitated and was lost.
Mwikali's farm was adjacent the school, bounded by a high bougainvillea fence. Pioneers before us had made a hole and this we put to use. We emerged behind a small bush and proceeded to survey the lie of the land. Immediately ahead of us was the main house and right outside the main house was a large garden. Right in the middle was the prize – a large mango tree. The joy with which the Israelites beheld Manna was nothing compared to ours on seeing those mangoes, whose weight was sagging the tree's branches.
Jimmy was not one to procrastinate. Even as I cautiously raised my head he was already swarming up the tree with the skill borne of long practice of reaping where he had not sown. Within seconds he had disappeared among the branches of the tree.
Breathlessly I waited. My eyes goggled as the familiar snarling face of Mwikali suddenly appeared at the window. Blood is said to be thicker than water, but I was unwilling to remain and find this out. Entrusting Jimmy to the care of God I wriggled through the hole in the fence and fled on winged feet.
Seconds later I was skidding to a halt in our living room, where a puzzling sight met my eye.
Seldom had I seen Stepmother oozing the milk of human kindness as she was now. The bald head of the man in her warm embrace belonged to none other than Mr. Musyoka, the man entrusted with our education.
They suddenly noticed my presence and flew apart as if each had realized the other was a leper. The struggle between embarrassment and fear was plainly visible on both faces.
“Dear boy!” Musyoka said warmly approaching me, an oily smile on his expansive face. “You look hungry. Would you like a meal, dear boy?” The tone matched the smile.
My habitual look of buffoonish imbecility caused his smile to falter, and he looked anxiously at Stepmother.
“Would you like some meat, my boy?” Stepmother asked sweetly. She retrieved a plate from the very top shelf of a cupboard and was coming towards me, her face twisted in a nervous smile.
This caught my interest. Meat was something Jimmy and I tasted only in the cover of darkness after our step-parents had gone to bed. It did not take much convincing for me to throw myself at the meat. While I was chewing, Musyoka made a hasty exit, assuring me that I had looked too sick to go to school that day.
“No need to tell Stepfather that Headmaster was here,” Stepmother said nervously as she took away the empty plate and pressed some hard coins into my small hand. The wooden look I gave her resulted in some more hard coins being pressed into my hand. I pocketed them gratefully and made for the door.
I had just reached the crest of the hill when I ran into Stepfather and Jimmy. My young mind was puzzled at the amounts of tenderness I was witnessing that day. Generally when Stepfather was walking with Jimmy he assisted his progress with a series of swift kicks but this time Jimmy was riding happily on his shoulders. A sticky moustache and beard of mango juice adorned his young face. In Stepfather's hand was enormous basket of mangos.
Jimmy waved at me merrily. The look on stepfather's face was hunted.
I was not one to waste time on formalities.
“Are you going to beat us for skipping school, father?” I asked directly staring up at him.
“No, no, my son! Not at all!” he said hastily with a tortured smile. “As I was just telling Jimmy you both look a bit tired. In fact I was just about to give you some money to go to the market and enjoy yourselves. Would you like that?” He craned his neck anxiously to look up at Jimmy.
Jimmy nodded vaguely and Stepfather lowered him tenderly to the road. He pressed some coins into Jimmy's hand and patted our heads.
“You won't tell mother about this will you?” He asked anxiously.
Jimmy gave a non-committal grunt, took my hand in one of his sticky hands, took the basket from Stepfather with the other and led me down the path, round a bend and then we sat down in the shade of a tree. We promptly got to work, and when the basket was empty we lay on the grass, sighing with contentment.
“Where'd you go?” He asked.
As I explained a very thoughtful look crossed his young face.
“Where did you get the mangoes?” I asked finally.
“After Mwikali came out to catch me, Stepfather also appeared. He talked to her and she allowed me to pick some mangoes and climb down. They were very friendly.” He paused thoughtfully.
“Still, I wonder why he was dressed only in shorts”
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