At the beginning of this year, I came up with about nine New Year resolutions, which I did not want to share with everyone — lest I became like other Kenyans who come up with New Year resolutions just to brag about them to others, but do nothing to implement them. But after listening to our President several times, and falling in love with his obsession with The Big Four, I also summarised my aspirations into The Big Four. My Big Four are: Go to Mombasa, Own a Car, Complete my University Degree and finally; Get Promoted.
Friends of development who have been with me will agree that I am doing much better than the Government on my Big 4! I went to Mombasa in such a great style, much better than I had planned for.
I believe that owning a car will enable me meet the other two. You know having a car will most likely influence someone at TSC to promote me, and also, any lecturer seeing me with a top of the range car — which is much better than what most lecturers own — will be intimidated into ensuring I pass the exams, so that I can finally graduate.
But first, I must own the car. I have been making great progress on Agenda 2: owning a car, a good car. When we last talked about it, some two weeks ago, I had, that Sunday, scheduled for prayers for the car, presided over by Apostle Overseer Elkana, the Spiritual Superintendent of THOAG (The Holiest of All Ghosts) Tabernacle Assembly; and later on that night, a special session to exorcise evil spirits, led by Nandwa, my father’s cousin.
Apostle Elkana’s event went on well, with the only disagreement being on the payment. Apostle Elkana showed me his payment schedule; which had different amounts for prayers for bicycles, motorcycles, posho mills, power saws, and cars. “Car” had been added into the list that morning. He had wanted Sh7,500 for praying for the car, which was too ambitious. In the end, he only got Sh400, with a promise of another Sh400 when I got hold of the car. We parted ways, as I started preparing for the night event.
Nandwa arrived at 7.30pm, as darkness set in. “And where is the car?” he asked upon arrival, for he said he could not enter the house. “The powers I am carrying are so powerful they can bring down a house if I get in.”
We told him the car was in Milimani Estate.
“Why can’t you just pray from here?” I asked.
“How will the spirits know which car you want?” he asked. It was about 9pm when we started walking to Milimani — Nandwa, his assistant, my father and I. His assistant carried the ram on his back. We were lucky the moon was up, lighting our way. When we got to where the car was, I went to tell Bensouda that we were around seeing the car. She was not in.
We proceeded with prayers, which involved me holding the car as Nandwa said many things, most of which I can’t remember, and poured herbs and other libations on me. I was supposed to touch the car throughout the event.
“Do you have a cousin who has married a very brown wife?” he asked. I could not remember any. Then it hit me that Kizito’s wife, Nimo, is very brown.
“Yes, Kizito,” I said. “His wife is Wairimu, but we call her Nimo.”
“I see,” he said. “Kizito ni rafiki yako?” I told him he was just a relative.
“Be careful with him and his family,” he said. “He is the one who doesn’t want you to have a car, he is jealous of you and your developments. Avoid him,” he instructed.
It was time to offer the sacrifice. The boy Nandwa had travelled with was an expert in slaughtering animals. He killed and skinned the ram in a matter of minutes. As he did this, Nandwa lit a fire. My father and I were not to do anything. The head of the ram was put under the car, on the driver’s side, as Nandwa muttered things only he understood. The two picked and packed the choicest parts. We then started roasting the other parts and ate as we went around the car in circles.
We were so engrossed we didn’t realise when several people came by and lit torches towards us.
“Piga magoti kila mtu!” said the leader, whom I recognised to be the assistant chief. With him were several youths who moved forward and wanted to assault us; but I quickly identified myself. Bensouda was right behind them.
“What are you doing to my car?” she asked.
“Hawa ni wezi,” said one of the youth wingers.
“Sisi sio wezi,” I said. Then I explained that we had come to pray for the car. Didn’t everyone in the village know that I was buying the car?
“But it is still my car until you finish paying for it,” said Bensouda. “I need an explanation why you are here.
I thank God for the sweet tongue that He blessed me with. I put it into action, and within minutes I had managed to negotiate myself out of the situation — only parting with Sh300.
Once they were gone, we concluded the prayers and left.
The next morning Bensouda called to say she was unwell, and she did not come for the rest of the week.
Last Monday, she asked to see me. We met at Kasuku Hotel.
“I have had a serious headache since that night you were praying next to the car,” she started.
“I was wondering what was causing it until yesterday when I saw the head of a sheep next to the car.”
I could not say anything. “Why did you people want to kill me?I still had no answer. “How much money do you have? Get me whatever little you have and come and take that vehicle today,” she said. “Sitaki mazingaombwe.”That day I got her Sh70,000, and we agreed that I would take the car on Tuesday. Nyayo told me that he knew how to drive and I went with him. He tried several things but the car wouldn’t move. We had bought enough petrol. Mr Maina connected me to a mechanic who came on Wednesday, and said that the car needed a major overhaul, and gave me a budget of about Sh60,000 to have the car moving.
I had no money but Bensouda did not want the car near her as she said that seeing it caused her headaches. We used Maina’s pick-up to tow the car to my home, as I look for money to overhaul it. We covered it with nylon papers.
There are many people who are laughing that I have a car in my home that can’t move; but if anyone were to ask how many people in Mwisho wa Lami have ever owned a car, my name would come up!
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