My grandfather used to tell me that it is wiser to ignore people than to bother with their problems. He also used to ‘sing his cows’ whenever he was drunk and near his homestead (for security reasons). He was a trophy grandfather to all of us.
Nevertheless my grandma would not hesitate to point out that he had mellowed into a polite and kind man once he hit
retirement at the tender age of 80 (you only retire from shepherding when your body starts to curve inwards as it starts assuming a lower case F form)
Apparently in his younger productive days, the old man used to give my grandma and akina my mzee hell. This he agreed but countered that it was his discipline that made grandma and her children such good citizens of of the community.
I remember this one night the old man came home drunk late at night. We could hear him singing his wild tunes in the silent night as he headed towards where the goats used to live (kennel, goat house??). Whichever name they give to (gichegu kia mburi), my grandfather was heading there.
On this night, the mzee came hungry and since there was no food left out for him to
microwave he decided to take a healthy looking kondoo and prepare a late night snack. He wisely tied the limbs together and got surgical sending the poor kondoo to a place where even dreamers dare not go. Keep in mind that at this point much of the actions he was undertaking were not in his control.
He had had one too many at muigai’s and there was too little blood in his muratina to complete the task he had initiated.
While all this was going on my poor grandma had woken up and was starting to shield verbal insults as she tried to gauge how crazy her husband of 40 plus years had become. And the good thing about old people, they don’t have enough time left to keep anger inside like us; instead they hurl lovely insults at each other; it was a full fledged matusi on demand marathon!
Long story short, a goat killed must be slaughtered, chomwad nicely and deliciously consumed. So as the night winded down our proud grandfather was unleashing storoz for us as his sons and a few older cousins angrily perfected the kondoose to our liking.
And my grandpa (God rest his soul in peace), had gigantic balls; he would often break away from entertaining us and sternly warn the grown folks that none of them was lalaing or even dozing off before each kid had eaten their stomach full and slept. We were loving every moment of it.
And Oh yes the late night snack was deadly! It must have been due to the blessings of a drunk grandfather and a dozen grandchildren plus a kondoo that was too busy enjoying the whole story unfold that it didn’t realize it was the main character.
Good times my friends…Good Times!