Bitten With Me!

9th December, 2012. This was on Sunday, a couple of months into my long holiday. I was at the middle of my university education, having completed the second year of study for a degree in Bachelor of Science, Media Science. I had left Moi University’s main campus early October that year and was still counting up to four more months before travelling back to Eldoret for the 2013/14 academic year.

She tried calling me once before sending a text message. She knew I would hardly answer her call, even if she redialed 100 times. Not because we were in bad terms or that being a Sabbath day, I would probably be listening to a sermon at Calvary Baptist Church. Our services usually end before 3pm, but now it was around sunset and the environment I was in could not permit a telephone conversation. It was noisy!

My schedule was tight. But that could not prevent me from cheering up for my team. It was another tough derby between the two local rivals, Manchester United and Manchester City, at the latter’s Etihad Stadium. Inside a local video room at the outskirts of Kakanjuni sub-town, I cannot exclusively say whether I was sited or upstanding. You do not maintain a similar position while watching such a do-or-die clash! Especially at the dying extra minutes of the final half and no side is trailing the other. Wayne Rooney had already scored a brace for the visitors in the first half but Yaya Toure’s and Pablo Zabaleta’s strikes took the game to an entertaining 2-2 level with less than four minutes remaining. Now that is enough to guess the kind of noise and anxiety the long distance spectators were involved in at that moment.

I quickly opened the ‘1 message received’ which read, “Nimeshuka hapa stage.” I did not take that to be important, at least for a minute. I then pressed the reply button and speedily typed, “Bado dakika mbiri game igome.” I sent it and refocused my whole attention back to the big screen.

Soon, a free-kick was awarded to Manchester United and I knew that would probably be the last event before the referee brings the English Premier League match into a close. The Netherlands International placed the ball where the referee had suggested and moved a few strides backwards and slightly to the right. He was, as usual, going to take it with his left foot. The former Arsenal captain brilliantly lifted the ball straight passed the barrier of strong boys, who slightly deflected it, tackling their own helpless goalkeeper into the back of the net!

Ooh Gosh! Looks like I am giving a match report here! Anyway, that is how it ended, a 3-2 victory in favor of The Red Devils.

As I excitedly walked out of the video house some minutes after 6pm, I was a little nervous about a couple of issues in my mind. First was my ‘want-to-meet-me caller’. I knew I had kept her waiting, which was not due to my fault anyway. I was not the referee to be able to end the match earlier than that. After all, I had sneaked out of church, primarily because of the match, not to meet a ‘stranger’.

Strolling down the then crowded Kakanjuni road towards the stage, I did not find it necessary to ask my caller whether she was still there or not. Ideally, one who is desperate to meet you will not make any attempt of moving elsewhere before your arrival. I had that in mind.

It was now getting dark. The sun was almost resting into the West. From the East towards which I was walking, the moon was almost taking over the reign. However, I knew it would take a little while before its light could be completely relied on. This posed another challenge in my head. I hate meeting strangers whose faces are immersed in the dark, who I may not quickly recognize. Another basic concern was about whom else was probably accompanying her. “If they are two or three, it will be a different story altogether. They may request to be sent home in a motorbike! Do I have the courage to let them know about my doomed financial status? Or do I just joke around that they need a slight walking exercise after resting on a vehicle seat all the way from Malindi town?”

Before I even finished thinking, I suspected a short, slim, brown lady in a glittering dress approaching me. But because I was on a road that could lead anywhere, I was never going to be absolutely certain that she was the one. I quickly made up my mind, stood still and pretended to be doing something serious on my phone. “If she is the one, she will definitely stop here. If not, she will pass and go!” I told myself. She neither passed nor went. She stopped. Since I was now done with my phone, I looked at her and said, “Vidze?” This is how a teenage from my Giriama community would open up a greeting session with an age mate.

After realizing that all was well and that she just wanted to see me and know how I had been faring for the past three or four months apart, the mission was over. Of course there was absolutely nothing special about her intention. My close acquaintances understand me as a friend of the people, a representative of their other friends. Seeing me is therefore almost equal to meeting with all the rest. That was all. Now she wanted to go to her mother. She did not say that, I just guessed. The 7 O’clock Citizen news was ongoing; she would not walk home alone at that time. I know how she fears darkness or even just night hours. Unfortunately, there was no way I was going to suggest an alternative transport means, other than her legs. You don’t tell somebody to hire a motorbike or so, you just give them the fare!

Those days, my church was involved in a serious session of preparations ahead of a major event. 15^th December 2012 was not going to be just like any other Saturday in the calendar diary of Sister Claris Rehema, the pastor’s last-born daughter. In as much as the Sunday school children would still want her teaching services, it was no longer going to be so. The youth committee which she was currently chairing was also not at ease. She would proceed and shamelessly make a vow amid exchanging rings with a man in front of a congregation that would extend beyond the limits of the walls of the church building. The two would then immediately become husband and wife, upon declaration by the priest or bishop. As for me, I was going to be on the front line, leading the pet boys and maids through all their processions. Claris had chosen me to be the patron. With no reason to say no, I accepted to take up the responsibility of organizing for and on behalf of the boys and girls expected to be dressed like angels and dancing in unique patterns! In fact, I had just sneaked out of the church to avoid an after-service sitting that would have prevented me from watching one of the biggest matches of the English Premier League.

So there I was, with my caller. I had planned to pass by the bride’s home after the match, at least to get one or two updates about the issues discussed in the meeting where I was absent without apology. It was almost mandatory to see her before she slept because she had already dropped a hint on me that she would travel the following day, at day-break! But now my caller needed attention too. An escort was surely going to be inevitable. But she lives a few kilometers away, on the opposite direction from where the pastor’s home is located. This would make it difficult to take her home then walk back to the bride. Yes, it would be hard; but that is what I finally resolved to do.

Along the way, there was a warm session of chatting. I shared with her how the wedding preparations were greatly involving my time and effort. She, in turn, encouraged me to move on so as to make the ceremony a success. She also did not hesitate to talk about what she had been doing in the far North Coast since taking leave of her village for months.

Kirrrrr… kirrrrr… kirrrrr… She stopped, opened her handbag and took out the ringing phone. Our dialogue paused for a moment as she answered her call. We had already covered almost half of the distance. I don’t normally eavesdrop whenever someone is talking to another, especially over the phone, but the nature of her replies forced me to be a little keen. She was mentioning the exact place where we had reached and the fact that she was on foot. I later understood that it was her brothers calling from home, asking for where she was. According to their estimates, which were correct anyway, she was expected to have arrived home by then. That was not my problem. I did not even know that the family knew she was coming. I said ‘fine’ and revived our previous dialogue.

Just a few minutes before 8pm, we took the second-last corner, almost close to her destination. Our walking speed had been extremely sluggish, right from the beginning and had never been steady. Sometimes it decelerated to almost zero, especially as the journey was slowly coming to an end. We had reached the climax of storytelling and it seemed that we would soon be forced to suspend some issues until some other time. She could now smell her family members, who had all along been awaiting her arrival.

Suddenly, something strange befell us, almost uncalled for. “What the hell is biting me?” That was not supposed to be the next sentence expected from her mouth. In fact it was my turn to speak, not hers. She just chose to interrupt. What stunned me most is the fact that she shouted while jumping a few strides away, as if avoiding some pieces of burning charcoal.

The moon was now brightly shining, but you still needed an alternative source of light to be able to see the finer details of anything. I wanted to know what was biting my caller. The broad shade cast from the huge cashewnut tree adjacent to her local church made it almost impossible to see what could possibly bite someone from the ground. I quickly took out my phone, pressed any button and lowered it down towards where the biting-object probably was, where she had jumped away from.

That is the point when I wished the whole thing was a dream so that I can wake up and smile. Behold it was a snake! Yes, the biting-object was a snake. Upon seeing it, she made another important statement, “so that snake has bitten me!” I said, “Yes, it has bitten you,” as I confirmed from the small quantity of blood that had already formed a drop-like structure on her right foot. She had surely been bitten in my presence; bitten with me!