Still Sings the Nightbird

Wam says No

219 W Wam says No he last words Kabi heard as she left Kenyalini Village came from a crying woman, “what will, I, Nyina wa Njenga do? We were thrown out of Burnt Forest. Our houses razed to the ground. Only to come and find no home here!” That voice was loud, aggressive and hurt. Was it surprising that Kanyi’s madness had gone to its crest again? Having given a hand to the suffering, those whose pains Kabi could only alleviate with moments of cheer and a few items to brighten the toil, she left. At Kenyalini Village, she had to try and be cheerful for of what use would it be to take tears to those who already suffered? Once she was away, it was different. Kabi’s memory was alive with sorrow. A sensitive soul, she suffered with the people. Every night she dreamt about fires. Her heart bled with pain. Kabi telephoned Wam from home. She asked her to think of helping Kenyalini. Wam answered with a firm no. She said she had carried other peoples’ burdens only to be hurt. That was not her way anymore. Kabi had no time to celebrate Christmas. She was overwhelmed by the thought of the terrible meaning of life for these people. The weather did not help. It rained heavily. There were floods. Wam was crying for herself, as they said in her language. There was no resurrection for Kenyalini Village. Wam had to hope there would be a new life for her but there was nothing. On the third day, each day seeming a decade for those who suffered, Kenyalini Village was flattened like a pancake. It was on that day the big bulldozers accomplished their work, driven by the power of overzealous men. They undid the work of loving hands that built shelters for loved ones, giving final blows to the shelters. Light building materials flew from walls and danced in the sun. The slum was a big clear mud field with iron sheets, blood, clothes planted in it. No more the laughter and chuckles of children. T 220 No more room for lovers running to hold each other behind shacks. No more bleating sheep and goats, or so the authorities thought. No more room for aged ones. Kabi wrote: When will the morning, the awaited alba, come? Can a heart that has loved with the depth of soul be without sorrow filled at such early decay? On that third day, women, men and children still carried bundles of clothes, cooking utensils, door frames and mabati to nowhere. Many of them lifted their shelters again to escape from the harsh wind and rain. But their lives were only to be lived once and they would never be the same again. What about the little one -week- old Timi who hungrily suckled at Auma’s breast the way Jugus used to? What now? Little Beatrice clutched her mother’s skirt and cried loudly scratching her own swollen stomach. There were dangers there. Exposure to: the cold, diarrhea, pneumonia, hunger, anger and uncovered pits filled with human waste. Worse things would be repeated in time: polio, more violence, rape. Disease and poverty. It was time to act. ...