Really, our story begins in heaven. An
enterprising Kenyan had found his way there – sweet words, some Kenyan ‘chai’ –
he was now past the Pearly Gates and in God’s hallowed courtyard. There – more
sweet words, more Kenyan ‘chai’, some ‘kahawa, the best in the world he had
left behind – he was now part of God’s kitchen cabinet.
It was a silent night – for a few
interspersed minutes, at least. It was a holy night – for an hour, or so – when
the blaring speakers from the ‘kesha’ brought church to homes, by force, by
fire. Now, the stars could be seen. The cause? Kenya Power had done their thing
– blackout across the city.
With the security lights – hoisted on masts
high above - out, the stars twinkled as
prophesied in that children’s song of old. More, Bishop Kimani’s House of
Covenant Biblical Church had been quietened. Again, the occasional shouting for
help as someone was parted with their valuables added flavour to the night.
Jose, he was a deeply unhappy person. A few
months before, he had been sacked from Njoro’s Future Furniture. This as some
tools had gone missing under his watch. Taking a loan, he had started his own
workshop; but business was slow and the Kenya Small Business Financier was
threatening to auction him.
Jose, he was a deeply unhappy man. For now,
Mary had decided to catch a pregnancy and pinned it on him. Jose, he had
thought of going MIA – into exile – in Jericho, Eastlands. Then, again, the
financier would be on his case, probably engage the police to arrest him for
theft or something. Make an example of him.
Johnte was a happy man. In the last two
months, he had been the recipient of two donations – cash and kind. It was just
as well – for he was almost being locked out of his two-roomed house. He had
three months’ rent arrears then, and only his connection to the Member of
Parliament of his constituency had the landlord hesitating. Plus, his
association with political goons. Again, the landlord had half of his property
astride what could be termed as riparian land.
With fortune having smiled at him, Jonte
leased some of the landlord’s idle land – now, the two become fast friends.
There, he set up a greenhouse, a hen house and a cowshed. Some Maasai guy had
sold him a calf at a throwaway price. Most likely, stolen. But, John was a man
who took calculated risks. Again, push come shove, the MP was there to bail
him.
It is in these circumstances that Baby
Jesus is born. But before that, the county medics had gone on strike… something
about a dishonoured Collective Bargaining Agreement. Trust Mary to go into
labour this very night, prematurely. Perhaps, the shame of their house (now
living as man and wife for there was evidence of sin) being locked had induced
this.
Jonte, ever kind… truthfully, for a small
consideration… lets them refuge in the cowshed. The manger, the only habitable
zone for the Christ child. He phones the MP about these constituents that need
immediate help, quoting his cut slyly. Ever vigilant, the MP sends three staff
members from his office – wise and worldly – to verify this. In their vehicle,
always some gifts for exigencies.
Merry Christmas folks!
**********
NB: Meanwhile, I have a small ask:- I am
running a campaign that will enable me launch my two books in February, end,
2024. I humbly ask of your donations of 20KES/20Kshs/20bob, towards this. The
campaign is dubbed #20BobSanaa. Thanks in advance. You can also support by
liking and sharing this content, or by buying these books using the following
links:
‘A Funeral Dress for
Nyasuguta’ available at: https://nuriakenya.com/product/a-funeral-dress-for-nyasuguta-by-mark-mwangi/
‘Love Told, Poetry
Souled, Family Bold’ – available on Amazon Kindle at http://shorturl.at/hzALY
Buy Good Till Number: 9080911, Gatere Mwangi
Send Money: 0708 276 622, Mark Gatere
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