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!!!!!