Today we buried a good man… scratch that. “No!
No! No! You can’t be gone my dear!” Wailed Grace in a shout as she jumped into
Mr. Steven Akumu’s grave. Some three men jumped in after her, dragging her out,
an abomination, with much force. They were joined in by a couple of sympathetic
women, with one tying a leso around
Grace’s waist. They – the women – could easily have been in her place. Then again,
you couldn’t blame the men who extracted her from inside the grave violently.
They, too, could easily have been in Mr. Steven Akumu’s predicament. Dead and
desecrated.
The hired pastor for the day, for the
burial, was The Most Reverend Bishop Maina Kanyenyaini. Mr. Steven Akumu,
though born and raised a Catholic, had absconded the faith in little matters
such as church attendance, joining a ‘jumuiya’ and all the extortions that came
with it in countless offerings… church roof repair, St. Peter’s pence, church
bus, Father’s vehicle, etc., etc. Hence, his local Catholic Church – St.
Margarita of the Faith - was much within their rights in refusing him a burial.
Mr. Steven Akumu was well known at the
local bar, The Tropical Paradise, a pretentious ‘makuti’-thatched affair
decorated in Rasta colours – red, gold and green. Once or twice, locals had
gone to him and convinced him that he could represent them in City Hall. Such a
man as he was wont to listen to his people, he had offered his candidature,
with many of his political meetings held here. And on such occasions, he had
been a most generous benefactor.
Now, there is much in solidarity that
Christians in the residency could learn from their drunkard brothers. For when
the Catholic Father refused to cooperate in giving Mr. Steven Akumu a proper
burial, his loutish friends had banded together and raised the requisite fee necessary
to attract the attention of The Most Reverend Bishop Maina Kanyenyaini. And he
didn’t disappoint either, for he religiously attended the nightly vigils and
got a brand new suit for the burial day.
This Mr. Steven Akumu, a man who aspired to
great heights. A man that had style and grace. A man whose doings were a flair
of panache. A man of finesse. Some said – sad, little, envious men – that he
was a haughty man, but there is nothing wrong in walking the earth as though
you owned it, if you ask me… He strode like a colossus, as the papers said of
our politicians gone to Glory land. And so, women loved him, for their kind
loves a sure man, a bold man, a colourful man.
We all knew Grace… and her colourful and
chequered history. Then again, colourful men attracts their kind in the
opposite gender. Grace, looking past her blemishes, was a proper enterprise
woman… brewing of ‘chang’aa’, small small ‘magendo’, that NGO for orphans and
widows that the authorities clamped down… again, rumours by envious folk…
abortions, harvesting of body parts… for progress has many enemies. They had
come to co-habit together and we knew them to be husband and wife.
Mr. Steven Akumu was now dead. And with
that, came many inconveniences… the appearance of two other wives – slightly
malnourished broods of children in tow – the local women had much to gossip
about, chiming in, that group of sad, little, envious men. His mother too,
uncles, a brother, two sisters… who confirmed that the two wives, and the
marasmus children were Mr. Steven Akumu’s people… Grace stood to be
disinherited if she was not careful.
Now, as we have noted before, Grace was a
woman of enterprise. Mr. Steven Akumu, it emerged, had long discarded upcountry
visits, neglecting his folks there. Grace, having learned something from her
ambitious other half, on matters politics, allied herself with his mother and elder
brother. She had sniffed bad blood between his mother and his upcountry wives…
and the elder brother had lecherous eyes.
Soon enough, Mr. Steven Akumu’s mother had
a new dress, hairdo, and shoes upgrade… which goes to show how a little vanity
can smooth relationships. Grace’ tongue, Jezebel had nothing on her… whispering
conspiratorially to her mother-in-law how she had begged him countless times,
begged of him to at least point her to their upcountry home so that she could
introduce herself properly, even gave him money on slim months for his mother’s
upkeep… Did she receive the monies? Yes, very occasionally. Grace had dealt
with much more stubborn authorities in her brewing business… Plus, she was the
future, the mother-in-law, could tell.
When Grace spoke to her mother-in-law, she
spoke of him, Mr. Steven Akumu, as though they were properly married… Perhaps,
in church as insinuated by The Most Reverend Bishop Maina Kanyenyaini… Perhaps,
at the DC’s office… either way, as the mother-in-law’s probing couldn’t really ascertain
where this matter stood or rested, plus Grace seemed a formidable opponent
should mother-in-law choose that route… either way, Grace was talking of
building her a proper house, some dairy cows, etc., etc. Really, the
progressive type as opposed to his other sulky wives.
So, mother-in-law and daughter-in-law conspired.
The hearts of the people that mattered would be won at the night vigils and on
the burial day… So, food was had in plenty on the vigils. Sister-in-law, too,
had a new dress and hairdo, though not as elegant as that of her mother…
priorities, priorities… Elder brother was shown the backstreets to happy
places… women and drinks… surreptitiously, of course. One of the uncles too,
while for the other religious uncle, there was talk of The Most Reverend Bishop
Maina Kanyenyaini opening a branch for him. A small, modern church, and a small
car for this new pastor.
Ah, the drama by our sister Grace on burial
day! That was the clincher. Wailing and gnashing of teeth, baring of bosom, mad
plucking of (artificial hair)… An Oscar performance is what we had from our
home girl, Grace.
(Meanwhile, get my short stories collection
at: https://nuriakenya.com/product/a-funeral-dress-for-nyasuguta-by-mark-mwangi/
)
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