Chapter Three

As I peeped through the thicket fence, excitement was bubbling inside me like a pot of simmering stew as I watched my neighbours Ali Mwakosi's compound. I tried to think of reasons why my mother had forbidden me from going to enjoy the Swahili delicacies that were to be served.

The enchanting aroma of pilau rice and the rhythmic sounds of taarab music wafted through the air, stimulating my senses and making me want to join the party.

"But I am not a girl!" I thought to myself. In our village, girls were the ones who were always protected. On one instance a girl who had failed to listen to her mother's warnings, not to go to the market alone, had later regretted her decision when a child started growing in her stomach. They said an old man had put it there! I often wondered how that was possible. She was a small girl and one occasion she was chocked after swallowing a cassava without chewing. Her mother had stood up arms on her head and instead of helping her out, ran around the church compound in search of the pastor. I had clutched my fist and hit her on her back several times before the cassava jumped and fell to the ground.

Here I was, holed up like a parrot in a cage behind this wooden fence while the celebration was tantalizingly brief. Colourful shukas and kikois were waving in the wind as if mocking my misfortune. Occasionally, you could catch a glimpse of gorgeous dancers spinning around in time with the rhythm, their movements as graceful as a flock of gazelles flying across the savannah.

I pressed my face against the fence, flattening my nose to get a better view. Dressed in an intricately embroidered kanga, the bride looked like a scene straight out of a fairy tale. Meanwhile, the groom stood tall and proud, his smile wide enough to be the width of the Tana.

As time went by, I waited with bated breath for the familiar footsteps of my mother as she prepared for her kibarua. Today she would be working at Mzee Abdul's farm. As she disappeared around her corner, lost in the swirl of colourful shuka, I seized the opportunity like a lion pouncing on its prey.

With the agility of a bushbaby, I threaded my way through the brush that served as a modest fence, its prickly branches scratching my skin like a playful kitten. I eagerly joined the line for the sumptuous feast and imagined myself enjoying a plate full of delicious delicacies. With my short stature I overtook the unconcerned adults and waited with anticipation.

In a cruel twist of fate, the women serving informed us that the food was over, leaving me stunned and growling in my stomach like an angry lion refusing its prey. All my efforts had been in vain!

With an empty stomach I returned home as the sounds of laughter and music from a Swahili wedding gradually faded. When I got home, my stomach rumbled like distant thunder, I noticed that our modest abode was completely devoid of the warm, comforting aromas of cooking. My mother, exhausted from a long day's work and the hard labour of caring for her family, sat hunched over in the dim flickering light of a kerosene lamp.

Her weary eyes told a story of quiet struggle and unspoken sacrifice and I knew without a doubt that her boss had failed to pay her again.

The shelves that once held jars of cornmeal and beans were empty like sentinels guarding an empty treasure chest. In the darkness, I could almost hear the painful cries of an empty stomach.

Mwabili sat facing outside. His normally cheerful demeanour was overshadowed by the unmistakable sadness etched on his face. His gaze was fixed on something in the distance and before I could ask, he suddenly shouted;

``Uncle, has a new bike!" He said, his heart pounding as he looked towards Uncle Mwakoma's house, which was on the same property and just a stone's throw away. And sure enough, there it was - a shiny new bike, glistening in the moonlight like a beacon of hope in the darkness. In that moment, a spark ignited within us and dispelled the darkness that threatened to engulf our hearts. With renewed enthusiasm, we looked forward to the dawn of a new day when the wheels of my uncle's bicycle would take us to places beyond our dreams.

The next morning, when the rooster crowed loudly to signal dawn, my brother and I were already awake, our excitement evident in the fresh morning air. Excited by the anticipation of riding a new bike, we jumped out of bed with boundless energy and excitement.

With a sense of urgency, we rushed outside, ready to tap into our newfound source of joy. But as we neared my uncle's house, a harsh voice cut through the morning silence like a sharp machete cutting through the deep undergrowth.

``Do not even think about it!'' our uncle called out. His words were like a bucket of water, instantly extinguishing our excitement. With a deep sigh, he sternly warned us never to touch his valuable possessions and emphasized the importance of respecting other people's property. Despondent but reluctantly complying, we nodded in understanding, our dreams of a carefree bike ride shattered by the rocks of reality.

After my uncle's stern warning, my brother and I hatched a naughty plan worthy of a pair of evil monkeys. With determination burning in our hearts and a glint of mischief in our eyes, we set out on a covert operation that would make even the wisest fox proud. Under the guise of an innocent game, we scoured the grounds for the perfect instruments to carry out our evil plan.

With our hands as shovels and big smiles on our faces, we set to work, digging in the soil like two treasure-hungry pirates searching for buried loot. We strategically buried thorns beneath the soft surface, like hidden mines waiting to be triggered.

Yes! Any body who played around with our ego would meet their fate. We had calculatedly implemented our trap in was now the turn for us to watch quietly as the events unfolded. We had always watched how selfish our uncle was. Even yesterday when our mother went to knock at his house to borrow a cup of flour, Uncle Mwabili and his wife had pretended to be asleep. He and hi family only interacted with us on their way out of the compound as we shared a common gate. This was our day to revenge!