Debunking norms and customs, and folly of right hand knowing what the left does

I have been invited to a mbuzi ya wazee on Saturday in the village from whence I came. I have no idea what to expect, but there have been instances when I have been invited for mbuzi feasts, only to find greedy hosts have devoured everything, leaving rice and kavici for others.

Well, truth is, these days I eat more cabbage meat than meat because I have found the merits of stuffing your gut with more veg than meat, especially the red variety, that’s known to cause purines that cause gout, among other unhealthy outcomes.

But the mbuzi in question has larger cultural significance, other than feeding our bellies. It’s how menfolk in central Kenya are getting together and learning about their cultural past. I know a pretty urbane colleague who has taken this cultural route so seriously, he’s making roads into becoming a mundu mugo (medicineman) who can predict the future!

I always thought this art was inherited, but I suppose with a bit of plan, one can become anything in this great land. Anyhow, last weekend, I got a taste of what I should expect on Saturday, when I visited another mzee wa chama. He had muratina made at the cottage industry of another mzee wa chama.

A neighbour of his visited, sat politely, sipped his glass. On round three, slightly inebriated, he cleared his throat. He had plucked the courage to speak. You know, he started solemnly, it’s an abomination to place the glass on the floor. You hold it in your right hand…

Predictably, the rest of the evening was dominated by incorrigible arguments the superstition of placing the cup on the floor. Bure kabisa.