Chelel The Village Queen by Mwalimu Kipkoech Tembur

 

Back to my village, Chepyoset in Meyat-Kutit constituency where a new day comes with fresh ideas and definitely a new lease of life and even better prospects for courtships among the village youngsters.

At the waist of this great village, Oloolmasani River trickles ceaselessly cleaning the village dirt while quenching her thirst all in the same stride. It starts weakly at the point where Kaptamason Hill greets Gelegele ridge then it stretches southwards towards Olchobosei centre-Etiyet, Lelterit and Kapkiyai before finally vomiting its waters to Mogor River which in turn empties her waters to Mara River and finally to Lake Victoria on the side of Tanzania. All a long her banks children, women and men bathe but at some specific points known to them.
Now, back to the sweet old days, we the village senior boys too had strategically chosen our bathing point, with some considerations of course. It was inside some baregeyoniik trees, with rocks to sit on along the river banks. We usually took our time scratching our bodies in an attempt to rid off the cracks on our feet, basking and finally oiling ourselves with a bar soap foam. Those days, we bragged of our bamboo sticks, our science teacher called it the pendulum, and our capabilities to use it, it was normal among ng’etiik back then to do so. Those who had big ones were looked with awe.
Unfortunately the women folks were not amused by our strategic bathing point. They complained that it was too close and overlooking the point where they too bathed. To be frank, we chose this point specifically because of one girl; Chelel, a village bombshell of substance by any diction. She was slightly tall and thin with heavy bosom and the twin anthills on her small chest looked succulent and delicate like banana shoots. We went to the same primary school with her but she was way ahead of us; she was in class seven when we were in class three. By the way, in class three we were big enough to confront hyenas and defend our goats.
Chelel always took her time to peel off her clothes (I don’t want to go to the salacious details which was the acme of our hide) before plunging herself into the water as we watched from inside baregeyoniik trees.
Sadly, Chelel dropped out of school that same year to willingly undergo the cut into womanhood. During her ceremony, she stirred the village youths to unnecessary fights each demanding to be her suitor.
She later married Marindany, the village cattle rustler. It was not her will but Marindany out ran her and wrapped Segutiet (a type of grass that once wrapped on freshly circumcised woman to mark her as one’s wife) around her hand wrist and left.
I met her couple of months ago and tears kissed my cheeks. The once village queen is a total drunkard with all her front teeth missing, her worn out dirty dress showed her pillowy breasts that have suckled her nine children.
After the casual village greetings, I engaged her in a dialogue and I learnt that Marindany succumbed to the injuries he sustained in a cattle rustling beyond the Kaptamason hill. Not that her husband was providing enough for her, but feeding the nine children has sapped her energy completely hence resorting to alcoholism for solace.
This is the woman might have become Miss Kenya if that opportunity to contest had been availed to her but things have conspired to torture her soul and made her their footstool. She is now hopeless as all her male children are not attending school.
At that point Chinua Achebe’s words floated in my mind; “When suffering knocks at your door and you say there is no seat for him, he tells you not to worry because he has brought his own stool.”

 

Back to my village, Chepyoset in Meyat-Kutit constituency where a new day comes with fresh ideas and definitely a new lease of life and even better prospects for courtships among the village youngsters.

At the waist of this great village, Oloolmasani River trickles ceaselessly cleaning the village dirt while quenching her thirst all in the same stride. It starts weakly at the point where Kaptamason Hill greets Gelegele ridge then it stretches southwards towards Olchobosei centre-Etiyet, Lelterit and Kapkiyai before finally vomiting its waters to Mogor River which in turn empties her waters to Mara River and finally to Lake Victoria on the side of Tanzania. All a long her banks children, women and men bathe but at some specific points known to them.
Now, back to the sweet old days, we the village senior boys too had strategically chosen our bathing point, with some considerations of course. It was inside some baregeyoniik trees, with rocks to sit on along the river banks. We usually took our time scratching our bodies in an attempt to rid off the cracks on our feet, basking and finally oiling ourselves with a bar soap foam. Those days, we bragged of our bamboo sticks, our science teacher called it the pendulum, and our capabilities to use it, it was normal among ng’etiik back then to do so. Those who had big ones were looked with awe.
Unfortunately the women folks were not amused by our strategic bathing point. They complained that it was too close and overlooking the point where they too bathed. To be frank, we chose this point specifically because of one girl; Chelel, a village bombshell of substance by any diction. She was slightly tall and thin with heavy bosom and the twin anthills on her small chest looked succulent and delicate like banana shoots. We went to the same primary school with her but she was way ahead of us; she was in class seven when we were in class three. By the way, in class three we were big enough to confront hyenas and defend our goats.
Chelel always took her time to peel off her clothes (I don’t want to go to the salacious details which was the acme of our hide) before plunging herself into the water as we watched from inside baregeyoniik trees.
Sadly, Chelel dropped out of school that same year to willingly undergo the cut into womanhood. During her ceremony, she stirred the village youths to unnecessary fights each demanding to be her suitor.
She later married Marindany, the village cattle rustler. It was not her will but Marindany out ran her and wrapped Segutiet (a type of grass that once wrapped on freshly circumcised woman to mark her as one’s wife) around her hand wrist and left.
I met her couple of months ago and tears kissed my cheeks. The once village queen is a total drunkard with all her front teeth missing, her worn out dirty dress showed her pillowy breasts that have suckled her nine children.
After the casual village greetings, I engaged her in a dialogue and I learnt that Marindany succumbed to the injuries he sustained in a cattle rustling beyond the Kaptamason hill. Not that her husband was providing enough for her, but feeding the nine children has sapped her energy completely hence resorting to alcoholism for solace.
This is the woman might have become Miss Kenya if that opportunity to contest had been availed to her but things have conspired to torture her soul and made her their footstool. She is now hopeless as all her male children are not attending school.
At that point Chinua Achebe’s words floated in my mind; “When suffering knocks at your door and you say there is no seat for him, he tells you not to worry because he has brought his own stool.”