When my brother openly defied priest’s attempt to change his ungodly ways

By BENSON RIUNGU

KENYA: Our local shopping centre in Uturini Village is served by a single bar, Undecided Leisure Resort. As I have said before, the last two words of this lofty name are largely a figment of the owner’s imagination.

True, the rickety benches of old have been replaced with seats and tables that give it a passable appearance and which are not likely to deposit you on the dusty floor without notice.

Besides, the bar has been graced by the wonders of rural electrification and bulbs have taken the place of the old smoky paraffin lamps.

The combined effect of these developments have, however, had the unintended effect of discouraging the patronage of certain characters who were once the life and soul of the shopping centre. They include Mama Baby, a large gregarious woman who could drink almost anyone under the table.

The only exception was a pint-sized retired male teacher and the two enjoyed a keen rivalry. One day a dispute arose over who between them could send a jet of piss higher than the other. It was agreed that the matter be settled in a secluded area under the adjudication of two elders, one male and the other female.

Eventually the two contestants and the referees returned to the bar to announce that the contest had resulted in a draw, although the details, such as how a woman had manipulated anatomy and gravity to piss upwards, were kept confidential.

Philosophy

The other character who is keenly missed is my cousin Kiraithe, who went to meet his maker some years ago after waging a drawn out battle with cirrhosis of the liver. Kiraithe’s philosophy in life was that any time was drinking time, though not in the sense contemplated by the authors of Ketepa’s well known advert.

It is said that he had karubu, the local alcoholic beverage permanently brewing by the fire in a pot — kithiri — in his hut the way Britons of a certain age had a pot of tea permanently on the hob. Karubu is brewed either from sugarcane juice or sugar, and since the first requires considerable labour, Kiraithe favoured the instant-coffee alternative.

Thus, every morning he would be seen staggering home from the shopping centre, carrying a quarter kilo of sugar. It was well understood by his family that not even a teaspoonful of the precious commodity could be diverted. If his wife or children wanted sugar in their tea, they were free to buy their own.

Not surprisingly, the wife was none too happy with his arrangement. The local priest practiced a charismatic version of the Catholic faith, and was said to make people change their ungodly ways. Kiraithe’s wife sought his intervention.

When the priest arrived one Saturday morning, he found my cousin well in his cups, as usual. He proved to be quite receptive to the good word and proclaimed himself ready to change his ways so that he could inherit the heavenly kingdom.

Heavenly certificate

The priest was apparently well briefed and after conducting prayers for the whole family, he suggested that they proceed to the gaaru (elder’s hut) where the karubu bubbled merrily in a pot by the fire. As a first step in securing a heavenly certificate of good conduct, he told Kiraithe, he would be required to pour the evil brew on the ground. My cousin was aghast. Why waste good liquor? He had a better suggestion for the priest. How about first consuming the brew in the pot — at this juncture he dipped a cup in the brew and invited the man of God to also partake — and then repent thereafter.

That was a point on which the priest would not budge, inducements notwithstanding. Seeing his way to heaven implacably blocked unless he ceded ground, Kiraithe reluctantly poured the stuff.

He obviously did so on the understanding that it would only take a quarter kilo of sugar to replenish the pot once the obdurate priest took his leave.

But worse was yet to come. Once the kithiri was empty, the man of the cloth commanded that Kiraithe dash it to pieces on the ground. To my cousin, the priest had uttered a sacrilege and demanded the impossible.

“That I cannot do father,” he said. “My hands would shake.” The salvation ceremony was obviously at an end and Kiraithe staggered to the forerunner of Undecided Leisure Resort to steady his nerves and ponder the strange demands of some Catholic priests.