Like all good stories, this one starts with alcohol.
It's a few days to Christmas Day. The general village feel is quite relaxed, little of the usual exhausting farmwork. Villagers are making merry, and the local pub is busy. It's a decent place, by village standards.
There's a plasma screen in a grill cage, high up on the wall, above the counter. It's a modest crowd. There's a teacher at the local primary school. He sometimes moonlights as a vet. A few hustlers here and there. There's a local businessman, with a cereal outlet.
Then, there's Jimmy. He's just a day old in the village from the city. Every Christmas, local versions of the 'Summer Bunny' flock the village. They are easy to spot. Jimmy dons oversized Fubu jeans, colourful Hawaiian shirt and a bandana. Like, Tupac Shakur used to rock.
The village loves the annual visitors. Except, with Jimmy, it's a little toxic. He's a loudmouth and a showoff. An irritating combination, but the things we do for love, and, a drink. Times are hard.
In comes a guy - Killa. Now, Killa is a local, quite popular. The village buffoon, sort of.
He's huge, strongly built. Walks with a swagger, like a tribal kingpin. But, Killa is not known for his strength or violence. He has a gentle disposition. Killa has a knack for being there, for village happenings.
Whatever is happening, and wherever it's going down.
An occasional lynching, perhaps. A community drive to build a new church. A drive to dig up bad roads after the rains. Killa will always be there. And, he'd often be leading whatever is happening.
For the purposes of this story, it's a good idea to learn how the alias came up. Killa's real name is Nkanata.
In Meru culture, in the initiation rites into manhood for young men, there is a teaching period. Young men are indoctrinated into the culture with an entire set of new codes and ways of life. They're instilled. Enforced.
It all depends with the affinity of the initiate. Sometimes, mild torture is applied.
This new code involves renaming the entire mother tongue. It's a way to teach discipline and respect. For instance, human waste, in the code is re-named 'Hyena'. In this case, going to the loo (dropping a deuce) is described as 'killing it'.
A young initiate may tell a colleague: "Hey, am going to kill it." Their mother wouldn't be the wiser. This is respect, in that culture.
Anyways, once in a while, an errant villager commits a crime or an abomination. It depends with the crime. Say, extreme domestic violence after a drinking session, a step-parent treating a stepchild differently, and so on. All these are frowned on.
In this case, a villager had disrespected his son's wife after a merry session. He'd spoken to her inappropriately, shouting outside his son's house. In the dead of night, sound travels far.
It so happened that the aggrieved son was Killa's agemate, a brother in extension, thanks to the initiation they'd endured together. Brothers fight together.
Trust Killa to rise to the occasion. It's his agemate, after all. Single-handedly, marshalls gather all the village youths and sets up an impromptu Kangaroo court to try the errant old man.
After a great deal of to and fro, a verdict was reached. The verdict?
At dawn, every youth will visit the villager's homestead and defecate within his compound. Remember, in the village, the toilet business is known as 'Killing It'.
Rumour has it that Nkanata, did infact lead the group in effecting the verdict. He'd supposedly given an outstanding performance.
Legend has it that his 'mountain' that dawn could be seen 'up and above' other lesser mountains.
Thus a legend was born, and Killa was his name.
Now, where was I?
Oh, Killa walks in on us listening to the city buffoon regale us with drab city tales. There's not much interest in city tales. They always revolve on how expensive life is in the city.
"Oh, this coffee you see, it costs an arm and a leg."
"These avocados you idiots leave rotting in the farm? You cannot buy them in the city!"
Of course, Killa needs a drink. It's a slow week. Times are hard for everyone, but for our city summer bunny. He loves the limelight.
The centre of attention, and, it's fair. He's buying, after all. A full jug from the pump was going for an impossible Ksh150.
A few guys at the table are a tad fidgety at the sight of Killa. He's known for his drinking prowess. He could gargle the entire jug in a single swig, lines of drink trickling from the ends of his mouth to his bare chest.
The summer bunny notices a shift of attention to a new alpha male. Time to remind everyone who's got the power. He thinks of a trick. A dare. He beckons Killa. Everyone is silent. The conversation goes something like this:
"Killa, my guy, long time...kumbe bado uko radar ya maisha (So you're still pushing on with life)"
"My brother, life looks good in the city...Kiu inanimaliza rusha kitu (I'm thirsty, buy me a drink)" Killa states.
He slides into a spot across the table.
The bunny now has his prey in his line of fire. Everyone is quiet.
He declares, with the authority of an electoral official announcing the winner of a hotly-contested presidential election, that he would buy Killa a drink, alright. If, there's always a bothersome fly in the broth.
If he matched to the local police station and pulled down the flag flapping in the wind. The national flag, also known as 'The Jack'.
"What!" Exclaims Killa.
"Wait you there. You'll know I was cut in 1975". He matches off.
While it's a great matter of pride in your year of circumcision, amongst the Meru. It's another thing to swear by it.
We forget Killa. He's probably chickened out. We've managed to save our jug. It costs a whooping Ksh150, remember. The bunny is once again, the centre of attention. The world is a happy place at that moment.
At exactly, 4:10 p.m, the front door bursts open. It's Killa!
I remember the exact time because Nyambu the waitress would open the front door at exactly 4 p.m. This was the time the Mututho Rules had effectively banned imbibing alcohol in the daytime. Local tulevis would be locked indoors, till 4 p.m.
And, Jesus, Lord Almighty, he has the flag in his hands!
He dumps the flag in the middle of the table, almost tipping over a half-empty jug. We'd all becry loss of such liquor in the hard times.
Killa plants a stare at an open-mouthed city guy, and says: "Cheza kama wewe...!(Make it happen)".
The chirpy city summer bunny, for once, is tongue-tied.
Needless to say, a ton of cops burst in a few minutes later, short of breath. And, we had to do a mini-fundraising to bail him out!
Have a responsible weekend. Excessive drinking of alcohol is harmful, and it's always wise to space your drinks with water and food.
