How my grandmother saved us from hanging
Growing up, my mum was a god- omnipresent, omniscient and omnipotent. Whenever any of us erred, it didn’t matter where, whether you did it while hiding in the depths of the sea or on the highest mountain- she would find out about it. You made noise in church during a service she wasn’t even attending? She would know. Snickered at the Sunday School teacher who made you repeat a memory verse one too many times? Walked out and banged the door behind you at that teacher? She would find out and give you a generous lashing.
My mum had a catchphrase that would leave us chilled in fear- “maitho makwa ni ta durumeni, monaga kudu guothe- my eyes are like a pair of binoculars, they see everywhere”. We had no idea what ‘durumeni’ was, but we believed it must have been a very powerful weapon that gave her super powers. It wasn’t until we were much older that the myth of an all-powerful woman capable of meting out the most painful beatings was shattered; my aunt is the one who used to tell on us. But until then, the myth continued for years.
A rope, a mango tree and my grandmother
There is one day that my sisters and I will never forget, and that’s the day my grandmother saved us from hanging..
Let me explain- if there was one thing that would undoubtedly earn you a beating, it was going to any of neighbor’s house to play. I still can’t for the life of me remember why she was dead set against it, but this is how we found ourselves at the foot of our mango tree with a rope tied around our necks.
This is how it started. My sisters and I were tired of playing by ourselves so we devised an ingenious plan- we would go to our neighbor’s in turns while one of us was left behind standing guard. If the lookout spotted my mum, she would alert us speedily so we could sneak back in. The look-out, inadvertently, was my youngest sister- a living embodiment of the term “tattletale”. She was also the girl who cried wolf “Shiku, Sarah, mum is coming!” She would shout. We would crawl back under the fence only to find out she was lying, so we stopped listening to her. Until one day she wasn’t lying, and we crawled back home to find my mum under the mango tree breathing fire and brimstone.
She began the whipping . Now if you were raised by a Kenyan parent, you know that there is nothing methodical about the way the beating is carried out. A lashing on the butt is quickly followed by another on the back, the next one on bare legs that leaves your skin stinging. You cry to your mother and beg your deity to bring the madness to an end. You make promises of never doing anything wrong ever gain, of living like a saint and turning into an angel. My sister and I did all of those while the lashes kept coming. Then without a warning, she stopped abruptly and walked into the house.
The next thing we saw was our very own mother bursting out of the house holding a rope. “I’m hanging you two on this mango tree today,” she said menacingly.
Now whether it was fear or shock that kept us rooted to the ground as she used the rope to tie a noose around our neck, I can’t say. But we didn’t try to run away, we only cried and asked her not to hang us from the mango tree. We really loved the mangoes that fell from that tree. She wasn’t hearing any of it, we were to learn our lesson that day. We didn’t stop to ask ourselves how she would get us up the tree, all we knew was that we were going to die.
Then we heard a voice interceding for our behalf, it was shushu. Now you must know that my shushu was all about good behavior, always correcting us. “Wanjiku don’t sit with your legs spread apart like a boy. Wanjiku put your tongue back into your mouth.” She would admonish.
On that day, my shushu, good behaviour be damned, knew we had learnt our lesson- and that we had committed no crime henious enough to deserve a hanging- or the threat of it. I remember the way she pleaded with my mum, begging her to let us go. “Ici ni ciana jega nyina wa Shiku- these are good kids Mama Shiku,” I don’t remember how long it took until my mum untied the rope, but she did.
Obviously, if you have a sense of humor, you know she had no intention of doing any hanging. But like most African parents, the whole act was intended to instill the fear of God in us.
That was shushu for you, always watching out for us. Once, one of her grandkids developed severe constipation for several days. One night, when it got so bad, we had to ask her for help. You know what shushu did? Shoved a piece of bar soap up the blocked tunnel without hesitation- a home made enema that worked wonders.
She was a bold woman, that one. No scary mother or constipated bowel made her flinch. May her courage live through us into future generations.
