Br. Brian

I will tell you about Br Brian but first I will tell you about two types of people, then you put him where you wish. People come up with various analyses of people and number these personalities. I also want to put down mine. Research can be done later by scientists about these two types.  First is what I will call the face value speakers and second are the authentic speakers. Face value speakers will tell you everything they deem right for that moment even if they do not mean it. They will make the listener feel good. They make the listener feel like a hero, while they mean none of their words. On the other hand, authentic speaker are usually scrooge with words. They don't see the need to talk if it is not true and if they don't mean it. They can be quite boring and that is why we don’t want them much around us. Who want to get bored anyway? As a matter of fact, it is not easy to make a quiet man laugh or be made laugh by one. Brian is different because his laughter flows like a river which makes those around him helpless. Do you know the type of people who make you laugh not by the story they tell but by their hilarious laughters that carry you along even before they tell the story? Br Brian!

Today being a Friday, we hit the road to Laini, a small village in our parish. On our way back Brian is engrossed in a very rib cracking conversation with an elderly sister in our company. It is her first experience in the village. Brian keeps teasing her about her powerful teaching. Unlike Brian who had only met two Christians that afternoon, sister had met an approximate number of not less than fifteen. So Brian tells sister that his was very boring. Sister on the other hand says hers was exciting because it had many people. So he says,"sister ukiongea na watu wengi, eti unaskia vizuri sana?" The way he made it sound is like the Sister had felt a good tide around her body like one who is seated on a merry go round swing! Even before he could finish the sentence, the sister had already admitted with a big YES, sending us all into hysterical laughter and Brian keeps fueling it with his laughter.

Br. Moko

Sometimes I wonder how young men who do not even have a single hair below their nose come to acquire so much wisdom, at their age. I know of only one master and his tricks on the minds of elders at the temple when he was only a teen (Lk 2:41-52), but he was the son of God so he knew a great deal of this universe because they built it with his father! Let me put this way: A man dressed in jeans and clad in an Arsenal FC jersey is not a perfect image of wisdom, right? They are supposed to be hanging themselves after their team has lost. At least that is how I know sports fanatics, empty heads, until you think of Jude Moko. Ka-game is his style, even his former buddies at the minor seminary thought so of him.

          A while back, I thought I knew it all, or at least I knew more than Jude. I would talk to him instead of sharing with him. After all, that is how juniors should be treated, rather less important! One morning as I was talking TO him, and giving commands to him to follow me, he did. Right at my heel, I knew an empty headed young man was in need of me. It was a great feeling to be superior or to feel superior. Like any proud and stress-free mind does, I whistled with pride as I led him to wherever we were going. Jude must have been listening to my whistling for quite a while before he said. “Najua hiyo whistling yako sio wimbo, unajua nyimbo nyingi watu huwa wanawhistle hazikuagi nyimbo kwa kawaida, nikujiskia vizuri tu.” And it was true, there was no song, I was just dancing in pride of being needed! Why would God allow such a young fellow to sound so wise? As I grapple with that, I remember a psalm that I had read of another young man who had become wiser than his elders (Ps 119:100). A few more times when we were working together, I learnt that his understanding of things comes pretty easy and yet he is never boastful of it.

I have really aged in foolishness!

Br. Shumila

        I wonder whether John Mbiti verily meant to say that an African has no sense of time and his life is shaped by events. If that is what he meant, then I am truly an African. When Shumila paid us a visit, he sparked in me a lovely thought. It is a thought of an event. It is of an awesome evening with him, then my formatter. If I was to recount this by beginning like a true son of this African soil, I would do it in this manner. A long, long, time ago, when I put down this interesting evening with Shumila I ate and drank from his fat pockets. In my memory it looks like last night.

      

Apparently, I had never thought I really would like to go to the airport to receive strangers and hold a placard all night, seemingly the best form imbecility because I was holding that piece of paper at the wrong exit. Eventually our strangers arrived though they never saw me. I was only informed later. On our way back, we had a hungry lot that was coming from Rome, so shumila decided to treat us in some Kenyan way. He turned to me and said, “riiich, leo niko na pesa nyingi. Hawa watu wa Europe hatuhitaji pesa yao.” That was the beginning of my merry-filled evening (i was alone in that merry spirit). This is why i was alone, at the choma place, one fellow said he wanted to taste monkey meat because it was long since he came to Africa-congo (he was Congolese by birth). We don’t have that in Kenya, so our money could not buy us monkey meat. So we settled on something Kenyan. As soon as they brought mbuzi choma and Guinness baridi, the begging cats camped at our table. Hell was on us, (rather one of us because i did not care). The fellow, a Nigerian born, knew nothing of cats except witchcraft! So he fled and left the meal. So I munched the whole meal meant for four people alone, and my beers on top.

       A few weeks ago, shumila paid us a visit. We did the same thing all over again. This time I wanted to do what we call “revenge for the generosity”. Like that evening, he told me the same thing again, “hapana, mimi niko na pesa nyingi huwezi nilipia.” One day, perhaps I will repay that generosity. Unlike most of us who are always broke or lying we have no money, he has and I know it from experience.

Because he says he has money, I believe him!

Br. Gabriel

          I wish to call this particular article “a walk under the scorching sun with a priest.” When you take a walk with a priest you ought to brace your tainted heart for scathing admonitions and your drooping spirit for some levitating or lulling advice. In this case, the priest here is Bro Gabriel or Gabu if you like. That was back in 2009. These are vivid memories of my occasional evening walks in the afternoon with him. The sun would be very harsh on us, yet I and him enjoyed the company. Rarely did we think about the sun. As it is, coming to Hola was an experience of its own kind for Gabriel. He frequently insisted we walk because I was available. I did not understand then the purpose of those walks to and from the shopping centre. In fact, he often informed me early enough and the walk would only be at 4pm. On the first day, I was looking forward to it for two reasons. First, I was expecting a free beer. Second, I was looking forward to it because, before then, no ordained brother had ever asked me to take a walk with him, probably because ordained priest usually have means of transport. So it was probably a privilege to me and unfortunately a disgrace to him. It does not matter because both reasons were wrong especially the one about a beer.

         

I call it a walk with a priest under the scorching sun because Gabu was always aware of his status as a priest, was not supposed to be languishing under the heat of the sun. He always felt the sun was unfairly hot! Often, we discussed a lot during those walks mostly rotated around priesthood and the “hardness of life”. These discussions would at times scare the young me then. Gabu has a way of putting across his points. He is a comically serious man who would tell me, “Haki wewe si unateseka sana! kama mimi ni padre na nateseka hivyo hapa Hola, na jua hii, na wewe?” seemingly, priests are not supposed to experience the raw scathing of the sun. I had not thought about suffering then until he pointed it out to me, perhaps I was just a happy pig munching its rotten rubbish and never caring to change a thing in life, (and I have not changed a thing, I am still preparing). All the same, he woke me up!!

Br. Mwaura

        Today Br. Mwaura will be buried. A lot of stories are going to be said about him, and probably you and I will not hear even a half of them. I am going to tell his story as well, from my perspective. It is easy to tell stories of dead men; owing to the obvious fact that they are never there to object. Only in comics do they rise to defend their character when it is not well represented. For instance there is that fellow who had pretended to have been dead only to hear his neighbor telling his wife that “he has died with my cassava, arrowroots, sweet potatoes, and other debts, he should have paid his debts before going.” The fellow rose to tell his wife the truth! Br Mwaura is GONE, gone too soon although he had hit the fifty years necessary for seeing Abraham (Jn 8:57).

         

The period between when I met Br. Mwaura, forgot him, then met him again and renewed our acquaintance, was a decade that flew like a snowball falls off the sky. When I met him last, he reminded me that indeed there are people who live their life saying yes to almost everything, fully conscious that an emphatic No hurts and an inappropriate yes can always be explained later. He was one of them. Everything to him was “ah, ndio”. One day, and as his responsibility to dispense certain services like giving me 40 shillings for shaving, he always did it with a vibrant, “ah, ndio, unahitaji kunyoa ukae smart, ndio.” He would give and then later tell me, “lakini sasa ukinyoa hivyo watanzania, watakuona kama umetoka kwa mazishi!” I stopped shaving like “that” jordan. I stopped shaving all together - but today I have to shave because indeed it is a burial day for him. May his soul rest in peace. 

Br. O. Evans

          This 17^th day of May, 2017, as we prepare our breakfast with Br Evans, our laughter shrieks through to the sitting room where Br Kamrata is seated. It is obvious that Kamrata is concerned because, according to him, Evans is a little reserved. So, what could he be laughing about? That is exactly the puzzle I have been seeking to solve with Evans. This life has taught most of us that our view of life is highly shaped by our passions. Take for instance, when a pilot is looking at a cow (ng’ombe), it is true he sees a cow with four legs, a wagging tail and so forth. But, if he is truly passionate about his flying job, he might find himself looking at the cow in relation to his passion; probably wondering why cows don’t fly like eagles or like his airplanes. Hence, Evans is passionate about various things but mostly animals.

          One time, as I flipped through the Tuesday’s newspaper (full of animals and farming stuff), Evans peeped and asked if we could talk a little. Of course we could talk because I was actually reading the newspaper out of sheer boredom. I, like many government employees shamelessly admit, the best way to look busy in the office is by carrying with them a newspaper around as if it is the book of eternal life. The talk with Evans hence surpassed that of the newspaper significantly. The talk was about his journey as a Capuchin Friar. It was very interesting, or is it how he narrated it that made it interesting? Anyway, I have forgotten most of the things he said, but there is one account I would be an imbecile if I forgot.

Apparently, some year back, his father said ‘to hell with the taxman’ and boycotted the taxman's rule of staying alive. So, the formattor called Evans and informed him that he would need to travel to kisii. Unfortunately, the formattor did not entirely disclose the purpose of his travel and that he was actually going to bid his father goodbye. Thus, as usual, we say that when you hear Kisii, your head has no option but to go “bananas”. That is exactly what happened (it went “bananas” for the sake of natural inclination to self-preservation). According to his very interesting narration, he put aside the fear of the office of the formattor. He demanded to know why he was being sent away without a just cause. Even more he left me in stitches when he told me that all the while the formattor spoke (mentioned) about “some” problem back at home his mind raced and was flooded with strange idea of his/their priceless cows back at home. His spirit wreathed in anger and disappointment, and he thought furiously, “acha kunidanganya bwana, unataka tu kunifukuza, unaniambia niende nyumbani juu kuna shida, ni shida gani hiyo iko nyumbani, kwani ng’ombe wetu aliibiwa?” For the love of the animals, what other more problem can there be other than the safety of animals? So he wondered. 

Hardly have I met a man half-passionate about animals as Evans.

Br. Peter

   I happen to know only the good side of many brothers, not that I don’t see the bad ones, rather, that they don’t show me that side and it is certainly good for my health. Br. Peter is one of these many brothers whose only side I know is the good one. I have intermittently lived with him in various communities and it was always like living in the life of the famous Mr. Bin! He lives a silent yet hilarious lifestyle. The best memories of Br. Peter I have are of a tough-faced hilarious brother. I prefer calling him “P” because he mingles well with young folks and they call him father “P”.

Some brothers remember him as the haired one with afro and beard. But to me, he is a clean shaved brother living this moment. I want to tell why I refer to him as a man living this moment. I met him a decade ago. That time, we had a gathering, celebrating something (something I cannot really remember because it was a “high school celebration” and being fresh from school then, the memories of high school were still fresh in me – bad memories. school, to small minds is a kind of foretaste of how we will suffer in hell). Anyway, it was a school by the ocean run by the Daughters of the Sacred Heart sisters. In fact the school is known as Baharini because it is – as I said – by the ocean.

As usual, the celebration was very boring with multiple speeches. Br. Peter came late while the speeches were still going on. Upon sitting next to me, before anything else, he spoke in a very audible voice. A voice that attracted  the attention of those around because it was loud, clear, true and in the middle of someone’s speech. He asked, “sasa tutakula saa ngapi?” I could not stop laughing all through the celebration. He had not even spent three minutes since his arrival. He must have seen the hunger and the boredom so glaringly written on my face. True to that moment, what we needed was food not talks, and he saved us!!!!!