Siasa muBungoma yawunya eng’ololo. Bungoma politics smells of urine. A satirical look at recent seemingly unrelated political and politicized events in Bungoma yefwe.
Khwabasikamekho busa nga khusaba esapuli
Bebungoma, this staying at home has shown us things! Eh, we have seen kimiini attend press conferences. Wandayase, Ikuweikuwe, I pray that you never think of running away with my girl, for you have a good pair of heels on you.
During khutiukha, didn’t they not teach you to keep off the kitchen? You didn’t heed the counsel of bapapa and worse started telling the world about pots, pans and things like jerrycans. Ok, pardon me, water dispensers that go for a cool 10,000 Kenya shillings each. Look at you now…
Escape from okitilile
Nono, just as we were still digesting how kimiini and press conferences don’t mix, then came the leaks. Bebungoma, don’t we love leaks! The odor emanating out of this leak came in the form of a message from a distraught omwami okitilile.
A report in a local daily says that okitilile has shamed his alias. Ata baye! The man of the famous red cap has let go of what he had caught. As a result, a certain self declared general has forcefully quarantined a clutch of the most visible social media accounts in Mulembe Nation that are affiliated to an elected official.
Simba ekhasi feeds her cubs
Then, just as we thought it couldn’t get better, social media reports surfaced of a payroll that sounded like my mother’s struggles trying to call one of her children. Her mind, almost half rested because of age, makes her go through the motions.
She’s blessed with the twelve of us and would have called out at least six by the time she gets to the name of the one she wants. Anna, Stella, Daisy, Kizito, Andy she calls out; before finally the name she wants — Kate — creeps from the under the layers of memories laid down over the years.
Sometimes she attempts to short the process by calling us by our second names. All that this maneuver accomplishes is that it triggers a short circuit whose unintended end is she raps out my father\’s name, our surname, before quickly realizing its the same thing.
Bebungoma, kamausi sing that such was the case when they tried to read out a payroll in a certain public office. The only distinctions between the names were the first ones. Curiously, the second names were conveniently left out; but the last ones. Those last names. In this wild west, in these times of coronavirus, where Bungoma politics yawunya eng’ololo, why can’t simba ekhasi feed her cubs in peace anymore?
Siasa Mubungoma yawunya eng’ololo? Well, blame it on coronavirus
Growing up Luhya, the men were almost always out on the important business of creating and nurturing contacts to protect their nests now, and nourish their progeny in the future. These men I talk about are still here; or at the very least, their mannerisms are still with us. So you can imagine the anguish created by this #stayhome business.
I remember those rare days omusakhulu stayed home on his own accord. His restlessness would lead him to wander here and about his kingdom. That meant that stuff that we had successfully swept under the carpet will see air much to our pain. There he was minding his business next thing be sniffing on panties that had been thrown under the bed, thought to be lost or not needed anymore, and they would be smelling of piss: chipachamu chawunya eng’ololo.
It could be that someone had been careless grazing the animals some six months back; as a result his treasured kumuchanjasi tree at the edge of the farm had met an untimely demise. Justice had been delayed, but the punishment would be swift. Make no mistake though, unlike our mothers the fathers weren’t quick to lukhendu, but that’s not to say the didn’t have their ways to khukololosia embulu.
I speak in tongues.