Tell The Nations 5 : My autobiography I worked on for over 15 years, came off the press last July. Here, I write of my background and my world view.
Tell The Nations
Tell The Nations (5)
WHERE I WAS BORN
I was born, as I was told: Not around doctors or nurses. My mother delivered me in a thatched roof and muddy walls African hut. At my village at that time, all homes were nothing but simply made shelters. I Please! Don’t ever ask me of my date of birth. I have no idea. Nevertheless, I am convinced that I was born one day out of, 395-6 days, of the year: during one of the twelve months, in a certain year. Who cares of the specific dates of births or deaths? Both of my parents didn’t. What bothered them was to raise me with proper parenthood. They imparted to me ethics and integrity of their ethnicity.
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My parents were pagans, but decent people. The day I decided to join the church, my father offered me his blessings. Both of my parents were humanized humans.
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Shakaiya or Malive: My father was born and raised in Akeri, Meru. He was young half-brother to Man’na. His father Selembo who happened to be my grandfather was born in Akeri: Son of Munri known as Ujeka or Issangya. Munri was brother to Lengowa, Meeko and Nana. Munri my great-grandfather, was son of Lekeshua known as Sauni or Swai who left his brother Mwesa in Machame and emigrated in Nsorongo: Meru.
Nkasiyoi or Nawasari: My mother, daughter of Kumari Kaaya was born in Akeri, Meru. My memory of my mother is meager. She passed away when I was six years old. But I recall memorable memories about her. She was the third of four wives of my father and she raised five of her children. We were three boys and two girls. Her first daughter passed away as an infant, so we remained four of us. As far as I can remember, my mother was motherly kind of a lady. She loved children, whether hers or not. To pinpoint, I will highlight how she wanted me to treat my fellow kids. One day I walked home together with my fellow child, from our childish trips. At the moment I was extremely hungry. At my arrival my mother welcomed both of us. She served us delicious Meru dish, nswa
She handed to me a wooden bowl filled of meal, expecting me to share my food with my fellow child. I received, but my plan was to consume my mother’s food by myself. I took one time to my mouth and before I repeated my mother suggested to me “Pass to the other child.” “No.” I replied as I shook my small head. “Why?” My mother demanded. “He refused to share with me his food previously.” I stood by an excuse. “He is hungry,” she stated while disagreeing with me. She insisted that I should share my food, but I protested, and finally one of us won. I don’t recall who did.
To Be Continued