-
25
- LANGAA RPCIG
- Chapter
- Additional Information
173 25 am dreamt of going home, to his village of Mung’oma. He had not seen his grandparents for a very long time, a little over seven years. Though he was no longer a youth with a dufflebag running away from home, he was a grown man accompanied by a wife. His dream was as vivid as it were, happening in his present. As the duo walked on, the heat was relentless. They could feel it to their bones. All around and about them, they noticed how the grass had begun to show signs of drying-up; only dust-covered areas could be seen for miles. Farmers could not cultivate their farms to plant the New Year’s crop. Too much bloodshed. Even the Almighty knew it. A bad omen for the New Year. Sam could barely remember much about his travel, but he and his wife found themselves on a dust-covered maram road that led to his grandparents’ village. Once there, they walked hurriedly up and down the road which meandered and snaked through the once plush villages. They walked uphill, past the tea depot and turned right where the giant jacaranda tree once stood and now only a stump remained; it was the only significant landmark along their path to his grandparents. Then the road snaked downwards in a steep descent. Sam experienced a hollowness in his feet, as though they were about to buckle from under him. This descend was hard on his knees, but that did not bother him. He eased himself down the steep descent as gently as he could. It made him press on much harder with determination of his quest being to get to the Old Man. A bad thought crept through his mind: ‘What if the Old Man was dead, and no one had told him? What would he do? Quickly, he pushed these thoughts off his mind. ‘The Old Man couldn’t be dead,’ he consoled himself. ‘He was as strong as an ox. That breed of men does not die quickly or easily.’ The couple walked in silence until they made their way to the small Mmene Creek; its quiet murmur reminded Sam of how close he was to his destination. It was the first valley along their path to the Old Man’s homestead. They were two only valleys on the way to his Mung’oma Village. The second one, Wa Mbuso, was much close to his home. Once they had S 174 crossed it, they began another uphill incline. The climb was as steep as was the descent. Above them, they could see giant boulders of Maragoli Hills spread like giant mushrooms. Above the hills, the red sun rose and so did the familiar haze of heat. Hurriedly, they walked, their feet stabbing hard on the hard dry murram road. They did not stop to exchange any form of greetings with those they encountered on their way. This was a bad sign. Logooli people believe that one can never be too busy as not to exchange a greeting with anyone. Sharp pebbles along their path made the journey painful at times, especially if they happened to stab a toe on one of the stones. That did not stop them one bit, for they were driven in their unprecedented journey. They paced with vigour, almost pumping their feet hurriedly; a cool wind gently brushed against their bare skin, a hardly significant distraction. The end was more covetous than anything along their path. And the sun continued to shine upon them unrelentingly. As they drew close to Wa Mbuso Valley, Sam knew the end was near. Suddenly, he remembered the fury with which he had stormed out of his grandparents’ home. The first time, he left to go to Bumbe Polytechnic. He left them standing by the doorway, puzzled by his sudden and unexpected rage; or was it his liberating freedom? He remembered how he had felt the couple’s piercing gaze at his back, even if he did not stop to look back. He remembered how the hot sun had baked his forehead. He remembered the puddles of rain along his path. He remembered how he had played hopscotch with them to avoid dirtying his shoes. Then, he reflected on his last departure. The Old Man did not see him off. Neither did his grandmother, for they were both still asleep when he left. Today, there were no puddles, just swirling dust. The sun was not shining...