Son of the soil

When Kamaa came to Nairobi, it was in search of greener pastures. He had come from Kirinyaga. When he alighted at OTC, he knew of Nairobi as a dangerous place to be. He had heard of Kiambu, so he asked for Matatus to Kiambu. Thankfully, the terminus was nearby. That is how he ended up in Ting'ang'a. Ting’ang’a is a small village in kiambu that refuses to grow. The town was still the same as it is right now.

I remember high school days, drama and music fest, zonals, were always held in Ting'ang'a Secondary School.  Most bad boys and the wannabes were always in the drama and music club. If you came to school at the beginning of the first and second term, most classes, especially form twos and threes, were empty. Only the boring and geeky guys remained in school. It was a teacher's paradise.

We always wondered why guys always loved Ting'ang'a. It was the booze. See, despite being a small town, there were so many bars. During our time, (haha. I talk of our time like I am a seasoned drunkard) there were small 10ml sachets 'makunia.' They were a hit since they were portable and affordable. Guys would come back to school high. Those must have been fun times to be in high school. 

It was also a prime time for the deputy head teacher, Mr Maina, to get even with guys who had escaped his noose. If caught, it meant suspension from school for several weeks. Some cared, other were worried, but for some it meant a welcome break from school. But when reporting back, those were interesting times. The seemingly ‘macho men’ demeanor they put up in school all deflated with the prospects of facing their parents, mostly mothers.

So, when Kamaa landed in Ting'ang'a, he had indeed found green pastures. He was employed as a shamba boy. And for several years, he worked faithfully. As a reward, his employer, who had a huge track of land, gave him a small portion near the river to plant veges. After two seasons, his farm was doing better than his masters. Furious. The boss fired him and refused to pay him his dues. Kamaa threatened to his boss, with a panga. If she didn’t pay him, he would cut her to size; well, into pieces. When the chief was called in to mediate, Kamaa didn't relent. He also told the chief he'd suffer the same fate. On realizing how serious he was, the chief asked the lady to pay the mad man. He was paid. And he left. This time with a bigger bag, a small mattress and a his beloved panga.

He was tempted to go back home and start all over again. But something told him his destiny was tied to this place. He rented a small one roomed house for 500bob then rented a shamba for two thousand shillings a year, and planted kales. He would look for menial jobs during the day and in the evenings, attend to his farm. After three months, he had a bumper harvest and made a super profit. He rented a bigger portion and started dedicating more time to his farm. He was a true son of the soil. Now, his evenings were free. That’s how he started selling roasted maize. One, out of the much free time he had and two, the realization that a bit of value addition, roasting, would give him extra income.

So on this day when he was, telling me all this (as I waited for him to roast the maize for me.) I asked him.

"Boss, but why did you leave home?"

He laughed with his coloured, out of the many years of smoking, teeth showing. He has this well thought out laughter. He rarely laughs, but when he does, it is from the depth of his heart. A meaningful laughter.

While blowing on the fire with a small piece of cardboard, he tells me.

"You see; (why do people say this?)  at home, we have huge track of land-he comes from Kirinyaga-but a very small market for our produce. So you put in a lot of work with minimal returns. I was struggling to make a living and someone told me there was a lot someone can do in Nairobi.” When he got here, he realized that there is a huge market for farm produce. His employer was making a huge profits from his farm.

Now, he has three rented farms where he grows: sukuma, cabbages and maize; and sells roasted maize in Kiambu town. During the day, he tends to the farm, then in the evening he opens shop. Kiambu has less than ten roasted maize stands. He makes a killing. Some days he runs out of maize before Nine pm.

One day I asked him, "how much do you make on a bad day?"

Again, he laughs. You know that contented laugh? As he turns one of the maize over the red hot charcoal, he tells me softly "eight hundred bob."

I am taken aback. Eight hundred bob?? While pretending not to be surprised, I ask, "profit or sales?" This time while serving a customer who is asking for the lemon like it is his birthright, he says, "profit. "

He told me he sells around 40 maize stalks every day. From it he has been able to rent a one-bedroom house in Kiambu and is taking her daughter to school. His family now has a very decent lifestyle.

While running his station as he calls it, he met a lady, got married and now they have a daughter together. In the evening, she plays around her father's stand, around the fire place if you may. The wife is his business partner. She takes care of the farm produce. She has small makeshift stall where she sells the vegetables.

As I take my maize, I ask him. "Would you want to go back home."

Disinterested, he says, "unless they come for me. I plan to go home when I am dead. Kiambu is now my home. I go to Kirinyaga to see my aging parents and plant some maize and beans in my farm.” He smiles when he mentions his farm. He tells me that Kiambu is the only home his daughter knows.

I pay him 20 bob and walk away. As I pocket my maize, yes, I pocket my maize to kulia mbele, I can’t help but wonder how this guy is changing the story of his life. How he is so much at home in a place far away from home. How his daughter will grow up with so much compared to the little he had growing up. His is truly an inspirational story. As I walk home, I feel a burning sensation in my pocket, it is the maize, and that reminds me of when growing up, I’d steal meat from the sufuria, pocket it, and go eat it outside. Old habits!

photo source: twitter.com/k24tv/status