Job Kimani Nganga

Dreams Across Kirinyaga: A Journey from Gatundu to Kiserian By Job Ng’ang’a A Short Story Submitted as a test for acceptance into academia-research.com Kimani bent back up from his hoe, face streaked in sweat. He frowned slightly. He had been digging since cock crow and had made considerable progress on his shamba. But he was not happy with his family's land in Gatundu. It felt like every planting season, the soil got… less fertile. More begging, and more cajoling needed to be done every year to get the same kilos of yams, nduma, and maize. Ignoring the singing and bantering noises of his fellows, he momentarily got lost in a reverie. He remembered a vivid dream that kept recurring every night he lay his head down to rest after a busy day of sleep or work at the market… he dreamt of fresh, virgin land, down south… he dreamt of Kiserian. Gatundu was getting too crowded. Nestled deep in Kikuyu land, on the slopes of Mount Kirinyaga, Gatundu is a hilly country, with a beautiful chill in the morning that brought about goosebumps when Kimani rose from his thing’ira to come plant the family farm. At barely 23 years old, Kimani had ambitions far above his station. He frowned again. He felt unable to continue, so decided to take a short break and sit beneath the big fig tree in the middle of Father’s, their shamba, for a few minutes. Kiserian… a few months previous, Kimani had been part of a trading expedition down south into Masai land, way past Ondire Swamp, in a place they called Matasia. He had accompanied his elder brothers and uncles to go buy goats and sheep from the Masai. The trip down south had been fun, the roads were well-worn, but in some places, they had to use their pangas to cut down paths. From Gatundu to Kiserian is a journey of 120 kilometers, and it takes them three days to go, sell their ndumas and ngwaci (arrowroots and sweet potatoes) to the Masai, get choice mbuzi and goats from the wily Masai, and chart their way back. The land was beautiful…beautiful! Virgin, green land that stretched from Ndeiya to Ngong Hills, chilly weather, virgin streams that were clear, sweet to the tongue. The land felt untouched, unlike the tired shambas in Gatundu that had belonged to his father’s father, and heaven knows how many fathers were before him. Kimani felt he had to move down south… to Kiserian, where he could easily own a couple of dozens of acres, easy. But who would move with him? Where would he get goats to buy the land? Masais were notorious for being difficult customers, and the land was hundreds of kilometers from family. Ah! He saw Muhia, his elder brother, approach him with a knowing smile. Muhia stopped a few feet away and squinted into the shadow. “Still dreaming of Kiserian?” “Brother, I must move. This land is spent.” “Tell you what. Father could give you your inheritance if you convinced him that your future lies south of Ondire. But you must convince him that you are not a lazy dreamer, eh?” Muhia smiled knowingly. “Let’s get back to work. Two days from now, on Jumamothi, the village elders will sit at the kiama, the elder’s weekly meeting. Father will be there. We can talk to him; I'll support your claim. Several young men feel like you do. It’s time to look for more land, this piece isn’t enough.” “But you must prove you are an industrious worker, man. Not just a dreamer who enjoys the stories of the old men and empty philosophizing” “Ni tucuke werra. Let's get back to work. Father needs to trust you. Kiserian will need way more work and guile than here, and you need to prove your salt.” They rose up in comradely spirit, laughing. Kimani took his hoe and went back to his spot with renewed vigor.