The Book

I probably already said it before, that it is only when I hop into a train that it becomes apparent that I am in the land of the Swiss.

Other times, I might as well be in some kijiji in Kenya. In yester years, David, my father, was a forester. A diligent worker he was, for he brags the award of ‘elder of the burning spear’… or something close. During his working years, which was when civil servants were regarded as elite, he got posted to many corners throughout Kenya. Odd is how I describe the places we lived in. For instance, my eldest brother was born in a place called Gede, and that is in Kenya, and once we lived in a place called Timboroa, that too is in Kenya.

But all these places were similar as far as I was concerned. We lived in grand houses of former colonial masters, always complete with a host of workers, ranging from gardeners, drivers, and houseboys…and always, it was in the vicinity of some forest. I suppose from an early age, I came to appreciate nature. Trees, animals and streams are what I call beauty. And that is what Switzerland reminds me of. Nature. In many ways, I feel very much at home here.

But we were children of two worlds, my siblings and I. After some years, David’s wife preferred life on a farm. I started school in one remote school, where I did not wear shoes. No, I owned shoes, but most or all kids did not. And rather than have my decent pair worn out due to each and every foot in class taking turns to wear my shoes, I gave up and joined their ranks, and got used. Until my father retired, we ‘owned’ two homes, the farm, and place X, X being the next station my dad’s work took him to….But that is not today’s story.

It helps too, that I live with my family, for I am certain that if I was alone, I would probably be homesick. Within the confines of the walls of where we currently call home, it matters not where we are. We do what any family does, eat, sleep, laugh, cook, clean, and occassionally we yell at each other. This last bit we are now doing more. When this family unit began, it was just two of us, Denzel and I. We didn’t shout at each other, if anything, we probably whispered a lot. And life was good.

And then, they came along. Those three. Always beginning as cute little things, then metamorphosing into brats of sorts. Now I am beginning to see where this is all going. I am afraid, that soon I will get a beating. Not from Denzel. I think he still has some love for me. But from my very offspring!

Sample this:

I take the lift with my son in the morning, as I head for work, and him to school. Before we get into the lift, he steps aside and says, ” Ladies first” and repeats once we get to the ground floor of our apartment. He is a fully grown up six year old! I am looking at this stranger and wondering, ” Who art thou, and from whence cometh thou?”

Scene two, we are at the dining table eating dinner. With time, our dinner times have become longer and longer. This I like. Because, it is at the dinner table that we share, announce, surprise, shock, mourn, or celebrate whatever happened during the day. This too, is where the yelling takes place. These people, have a voice. I promise you, sometimes I fear for my life. Am not sure whether it is the weather or climatic changes, whatever, something. These people have grown. In size, in opinion, attitude etc. Nowadays, we have to somehow merge 5 opinions inorder to make even the simplest of decisions.

To counter this handicap, or bottleneck, Denzel and I are now resulting to speaking more kikuyu. That way, we undercut some opinions and get to move forward( these people don’t understand much kikuyu). But in some strange twist, in public, we present ourselves as …’this nice family that has it very much together’ …this, to quote a friend of mine. I challenged her to come home unannounced and listen outside our door for just a brief 5 minutes.

Anyway, this story, was about books. In the train, everybody reads. The morning papers are provided freely at each train stop. And the Swiss love to bury their heads in the morning papers. I suppose I would do the same if I was already fluent in German, or if they had English versions. As you can imagine, my German language is far from polished, and rather than squint at the morning paper, I rather use the time to observe the Swiss. Afterall, they can’t see me staring, can they?

During my 10 minute train ride to-and-from work, I write volumes of books. In my head, ofcourse. I write and write and become famous. For some reason which I am yet to unravel, while in the train, I get this unstoppable urge to write. And I seem to have lots and lots of things to write about. [This paragraph was edited on July 16th]

It is for this reason, I am thinking of starting on my book.

[I am not happy that my name is now in use by another blogger. I think she is a lawyer, therefore clever. And since clever people don't clone blogs, it can only be a coincidence. In view of this, I will now use my full name, mwari wa david.]