SIUKE exuded an aura of anxiety as he sat under his favourite raintree beside the road, watching the vehicles go past through unseeing eyes.
You noted his troubled atmosphere from afar because anybody vehicle-watching will occasionally let his vision follow the direction of the vehicle in sight out of curiosity, recognition or familiarity.
They say it’s a small world, so once in a while, there was bound to be a shout or a wave of acknowledgement from the passing vehicles. There was none of that for the six minutes or so it took for you to walk towards him.
He was in a rather pensive mood, that you had no doubt. You detected an air of dense introspective aura that seemed to warn you from afar to keep away from him. Some sixth sense was telling you that his troubles were waiting for you and they would encompass you the moment got within one yard from him.
A number of thoughts raced through your mind as you sauntered towards him; he had a quarrel with the house folks perhaps, something in the news must have upset him, he was broke, hence out of his buai and Spear; bad news from home – whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t good news, you surmised.
A couple of familiar faces walked past with a wave and muttered greetings – and you didn’t even notice. The greetings sounded far off and yet so close. You react only after recognition registered in your brain – like a bubble popping in your head. But then the guys had gone and you had started to feel like a heel, or rather, you had begun to wonder if the guys were in fact telling each other what a snob you were.
Crikes, Siuke’s situation was certainly catching. You were feeling the blues already. Perhaps, you could so something to cheer him up. If you succeeded, the better it would be both of you.
If Siuke was out of pocket, perhaps K2 worth of buai and two Spears, an ice-cold can of softdrink and a big fat juicy lamb flap were bound to put some hope into his soul and a smile back on his face.
No sooner thought than done and with the goodies in a plastic bag, you solemnly walked up to the guy. You’d decided that there would be no greetings, lest you infringed on something you might regret.
You decided to just sidle up to the guy, sit yourself down, and let nature take its course.
He’d already sensed your presence but had maintained his prosaic air. He hadn’t turned his attention towards you but kept it on the road … through those unseeing eyes.
You put the plastic in front of him, as quietly as you could. He didn’t touch it nor turned around to see whence it came. He just sat there.
It must have been a good three minutes of deafening silence before you noticed a change in his attitude. There was the shoosh of a long drawn inhalation of air and then a deep sigh that came bubbling out of his gullet as he exhaled.
He reached for the plastic, drew out the softdrink can, popped it and swigged his fill, belched and swigged again.
“You know ...” he began, more to himself but basically intended for my ears. His attention was still on the road and the half-drunk softdrink can in hand; he went on “... we are a month from Christmas, a time for good cheers and celebrations. The way I see it, good cheers and celebrations are for those with money …” he tapered off.
You did not interrupt, feeling that since he had begun talking, he would have to continue until he finished. You had no inkling of what he was talking about but somehow, you were certain that the gist of his argument will come out sooner or later.
“I was born one day, perhaps under a tree, somewhere in this country many years ago. I can’t remember the date, or the exact place or the year. When I was old enough, a young girl was arranged by my parents in consultation with her parents for us to marry. Prior to the wedding, it was my responsibility to make a big garden. I laboured for many weeks, sleeping in the bush, making the garden and once everything was planted and growing, I returned to the village and married the girl. We’d spent our honeymoon at the garden, consummating our marriage and tending the garden. My children were born, my garden sustained us and as a family unit we sustained the garden.
“And you know, the happiest times in our lives was the harvest time; there’d be plenty of staples, fruits, betelnuts, enough for everybody for many weeks or moons and more ...
“It was a time that every family, if they had been successful with their gardening, to be happy with nature’s offerings. The whole villages would come together and sing and dance to celebrate the occasion. This usually happened about once or twice a year. Nobody was exempt from celebrating the occasion ... the wives, the children, the grandparents, the maimed, everybody, even the village pigs and dogs and other pets had reason to celebrate because the harvest time gave them their fill of everything that was harvested. It was a time that Mother Nature rewarded you for your hard work and persistence in nurturing her seeds.”
He sat there reminiscing for a while, reliving the moments of yore. Then he broke into a smile as if remembering a memorable event.
He turned around and with a big grin on his face, he said: “Our celebration of events years ago came because nature dictated it. It wasn’t our birthdays, wedding anniversaries, Christmas, Valentine’s Day or any other day for that matter that needed celebrating. Just a day or two in the year during our lives that we had reason to be happy in heart and soul. Everything we needed was provided for by Mother Nature at a cost of hard work ... nothing more, nothing less. Who would not have reason to jump up and down with joy and laughter and a smug, contended heart ... at least once in a year?” he tapered off.
“It’s different today; everything is commercialised,” he began again after a thought. “You are sacrificing a large portion of your income from your hard work, of course, in order to pursue Western interests and passions … and they don’t confine that to once or twice a year thing. Sure, they have a name for it only once a year but the occasion crops up under different guises and names all year around and the gist of the matter is to get you to spend, spend and spend.
“A lot of people in my situation do not have the resources to worry about birthdays, Valentine’s Day, wedding anniversaries, Father’s Day, Mother’s Day and all the other days that the Western society has dictated to us in the Third World and primitive societies …
“By the way,” he paused, “what brings you here, old friend?”
“Um, nothing really, just a social call ...”
By and by, you excused yourself from his company to return to work. On your way to the bus stop, you stop by the trash bin near the market, reached into your pocket, took out an envelop with Siuke’s name on it, squeeze it into a ball and drop it into the bin.
That was one invitation Siuke would miss but then he was certainly not in a mood to celebrate your birthday anyway.
Perhaps, he would have said what was there to celebrate?
You’ve known him to say that ‘if you celebrated one birthday, you’ve celebrated them all ...”
Perhaps, you’ll invite him over for Christmas at your place and put a little cheer in his face.
As your vision seeks out the appropriate PMV bus to catch, the Wise Counsellor’s words resonates in your brain: “If you want the future to be different from the present, study the past …”

 

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