Drum Bits of Terror: Drum Bits of Terror

36

225 36 onths later, when the dust settled and the drum bits of terror had claimed many of its victims, Nature’s wrath took its toll against humankind. In the western region of the nation, an acute drought erupted. January, February, March, April, the Divine one withheld rain. An inferno like heat descended upon earth destroying life. Streams dried. Plants dried. Crops died. Animals died. No vegetables. No food. No life. May, June, the effects of recent events were evident—farmers had fled their farms, withdrawing deeper into their ethnic enclaves out of fear. Ripe maize left unguarded in the fields was reaped by unauthorized men and women who took advantage of the unfortunate situation; some burnt or left it to rot. As a result, Cain’s sins were visited upon the living. One by one, some succumbed to starvation like flies—others had near-death experiences. Nature’s unexpected whip against every man was too strong to withstand. Prices of maize skyrocketed—the poor were unable to meet their basic needs. Was this vengeance? If so, whose vengeance? With the blood of the vanquished avenged, the living that turned humanity and land into a field of slaughter, bore the brand of the impudent sons of Cain. With the vanquished long gone and their existence a mere memory of a distant past, the bitter lines of discord, unresolved, remained a mere straining enigma of a tumultuous present. Wanja’s camp was disbanded, and most of its inhabitants had no place to call home. Only one family returned to Maraba suburb, but not for long. Others vanished as though they never were, as their whereabouts remained unknown. For where their homes once were, only ruined homes and empty lots remained. The nation’s Human Rights Commission on truth and justice, the leaping hand of reconciliation, was paralyzed in silencing trumpets of terror, and left humankind hanging in the balance under the bedrock of a scathing live volcano capable of erupting without notice. M 226 When the reforms and a vote for a new Constitution came, Wanja, like many others who had borne the brunt of the clashes, waited in the queue in eager anticipation to cast her vote. Even if she knew without her stall, it would be difficult for her to rebuild her life, she was still hopeful. That was 2010. Ahead of her was a young woman, dressed in a brightly-colored kitenge, readying to cast her ballot. Her deformed fingers were wrapped around her ballot. A shiny vivacious scar was stretched from right above her left ear to her lips. The entire left side of her face seemed to have melted away in a searing inferno. Seeing her, Wanja’s mind began to conjurer-up recollections of years past, from the hoopla and euphoria that had preceded the memorable election, the excitement she had felt when she stood in the queue to cast her vote and then the clashes happened! She also remembered the emptiness she felt being separated from Sam. All these things remained eternally etched on her mind. Then, she opened the petals of the lotus of her heart, seeking deep down, within herself hoping to find knowledge, a cup of knowledge, to give her wisdom and peace of mind. Yes, she now understood the fallible nature of all mortals; they are always partial, imbued with selfish desires. Perhaps, she was like most of them; if not, she was unlike any other being, infallible in nature. Now she knew she had to cast another vote, yet again, hoping a change was the only embargo to ethnicism. And yes, she did cast her vote . . . As for Sam, after the calm had returned to his neighborhood and after he, too, had cast his vote for reforms, he had ample time to reflect upon his past. As he lay on his bed beside his wife, in the quiet of his solitude mind, a series of thoughts percolated: from the day he had asked the Old Man about his father, his schooling at Bumbe, his life in Kakamega, that chaos the ensued in the country after the elections, to his separation from his wife. Even in his adult life, he had never stopped wondering what the son of a donkey who had fathered him looked like. His mother, whom he had disowned many years ago, had not been much of a help, for she still maintained she had been truthful in naming her partner, the very man who had signed...