Yes, let’s bury a kiuk.

Let me point out first that indeed bikozulu (He insists both names are in small letters) is a great writer, very great writer  that a small mortal woman like me has no business replying to his very article, Now…let’s bury a Kikuyu-(http://bikozulu.co.ke/lets-bury-a-kikuyu/). But nonetheless, I choose to. My condolences to Mr. Kimani (RIP) family.

 

Am a pure bred Kikuyu. Though my mother hails from a very far off town called Londiani- about 60 kilometers from Nakuru. We are not aware of whether our descendants at one point intermarried with other tribes. My great grandmother passed on before I was born. I never got to ask her more about our heritage. And by the way, our family is not homogenous in colour. I have some very brown relatives and other very dark ones and the same applies for height.

 

As for Kiuks and food, let me explain to you like I have done to many people before. Kikuyu women are extremely tough, hard working hustlers. We ordinarily have no time to think through our meals. Of utmost importance is that our children have to sleep on a full stomach with a balanced diet. The balanced diet depends on the season though. To be honest, having grown up in my grandmother’s home for many years, bikozulu would faint if he ate some of the food we had for our meals. You see, Kiuks are generally farmers; we ordinarily eat what we grow. And if something is in season we cosume double portions of it. For example if ngwaci (sweet potatoes) were on season we ate them for breakfast, lunch and supper. So early in the morning at about 6.00 a.m my grandmother would put a kiruri(big sufuria) of tea and then sweet potatoes and bring them to a boil. It was the same for maize, nduma, waru and of course cabbage( You don’t like kabich so I will not mention it much). The season for potatoes was the most interesting. In the morning we ate mukimo from the previous night, during lunch we ate githeri which had been fried with only onions and then at supper we ate githeri with potatoes. Sometimes my grandmother would roast the potatoes in the ash. For taste, I really quite don’t remember the taste of food when growing up. It really didn’t matter since I was really full most of the time. And as a treat once in awhile, my grandmother made guja gutu loosely translated to fold your ears. This is a sort of ugali that come complete with potatoes, carrots, banana’s and everything else that was available. Believe it or not this one had taste.

 

When my great cook grandmother (RIP) passed on, I experienced close handed grief. My maternal grandmother had passed on many years before. I didn’t mourn much- I didn’t know her too well. The distance and school had beaten me to it. But when my paternal granny passed on my heart broke. For the first time I wailed- in the office-. It was terrible. Death is surely cold while harvesting. He took the best.

 

And yes bikozulu, can you believe only my mother, my granny’s best friend and my siblings and I cried openly during the funeral. As if she were no one- and don’t be deceived the lady was an old cookie in the society in her own right. It was not for nothing she was in Kamiti maximum prison for being a freedom fighter. And so the funeral went on and the pictures were taken. The MC had about 23 pictures or so lined up. I have never seen them again so I can’t lie and say I know what people do with them. Imagine there were paparazzi selling photos after the funeral! In the evening our home was quiet as the burial ended at about 4.00 p.m. The women finished cleaning the dishes, the tent was put down as well as PA disconnected. Villagers went back to feed their cows. And the next day everyone who slept over left. And poof that was it, we were left to find our footing.

 

Yes, we do not like to keep dead bodies for long. Our men do not cry at funerals. They do it later perhaps in bed or in the bar or during confessions I can’t quiet tell. I think Kiuks are taught early that they must be tough; emotions are displayed only in private. That’s our uniqueness, it’s who we are. After racking my brain to explain why we like hats- I thought of something-. You know the buchori? The one your people call monkey face? Most of us wore them when growing up; hence our ears have never acclimatized to the cold. Hence the need to cover our heads with hats all the time.

 

Nonetheless, we are glad to make part of the larger Kenyan community. It would be dull without us.

 

Happy 2015.

Sojourner.

And that is indeed how we bury a kiuk.