Halfway through this pleasant journey of story. Taking in more than sights and sounds. A tiny village gripped with famine, Loyar granting us interaction with her place, time and space. What more does she hold for us? Is there hope for her village and her? Want to know? Join me in the last stretch of the journey, as Head tall shoulders high concludes.
“His eyes search to and fro the earth, looking for one through whom he can show Himself mighty.”
Back in the capital, the business community in partnership with the fourth estate were making numerous calls for relief. Dubbed, ‘Kenya Yetu.’ Calls for monetary and food donations were echoed in the entire nation. People of all races, tribe and colour rallied together towards this goal. Both young and old. The President joining in the famine relief appeals. Most of the relief failing to reach the intended party. Poor road infrastructure and food storage highly affecting the process in the negative.
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Soft roars could be heard from afar. Dust billows drawing closer to the village. The strong helping the weak out of their akayis. Soon the village was engulfed in a cloud of dust. The villagers simply closing their eyes, the best they could do to shield themselves. Dust settled. A black helicopter with a yellow strip on both sides of its tail, revealed. Military trucks driving into the village adding to the spectacle. All watched in silent amazement. Offloaded supplies slowly growing into a heap. Greatest surprise of all, black and white men working side by side! A black man speaking their language then a strange language to the white man.
Intrigued, Loyar volunteered to help the strange, but kind and loving visitors. Milk, processed milk, blankets, canned fruits and vegetables. And many more. Gifts that were spread abroad. Loyar mistakenly acknowledged as the chief’s wife. She stood out. Her family getting most of the aid. The visitors camped in the village for a month. They had given them fish; they now taught them how to fish. Knowledge was passed on. An irrigation scheme initiated. Dates, pawpaw, sweet potatoes, water melons and green peas; the crops they were taught to cultivate. Loyar soon turning into a teacher too in the trade. As the visitors exited, Loyar earned her position as chieftess. Among her people, her name would be mentioned in the same breath as Kenya’s own Mekatilili wa Menza. And Queen Ann Nzingha of pre-colonial Angola.
1990 was ushered in with rain. The visitors gone, life resumed its beautiful flow. Suitors in their numbers gracing Loyar’s akayi. Loyar turning them all down. She was moving out to live alone. Making room for her sisters in law who slowly filled her father’s homestead. Her decision was no surprise. She and her family well known to offer surprises. She was now living her aspirations. Her family well provided for. Her community grown into civilisation. The how and when answered.
Her parents peacefully laid to rest. Loyar passed on the leadership baton to the youngest of her brothers. A wind of change was blowing through the country, Loyar’s village (Lekuro) feeling the breeze. Women rising to leadership. The girl child empowered. A new age dawning. The sun set to rise.
THE END.
It has been a pleasure accompanying you through this short story installment. Hope you did enjoy. Thank you to all that have liked the story and all other publications by En route. Baraka Ajab to you all. Looking forward to honouring your readership with another short story series. Until then, let us remain on life’s journey together.
En Route 