MEAN MOM.

I had the meanest mother in the whole world. While other kids ate candy for breakfast, I had to have cereal, eggs or toast. When others had cokes and candy for lunch, I had to eat a sandwich. As you can guess, my supper was different than the other kids' also.

But at least, I wasn't alone in my sufferings. My sister and two brothers had the same mean mother as I did.

My mother insisted upon knowing where we were at all times. You'd think we were on a chain gang. She had to know who our friends were and where we were going. She insisted if we said we'd be gone an hour, that we be gone one hour or less--not one hour and one minute. I am nearly ashamed to admit it, but she actually beat us. Not once, but each time we had a mind of our own and did as we pleased. Can you imagine someone actually hitting a child just because he disobeyed? Now you can begin to see how mean she really was.

We had to wear clean clothes and take a bath. The other kids always wore their clothes for days. We reached the height of insults because she made our clothes herself, just to save money. Why, oh why, did we have to have a mother who made us feel different from our friends?

The worst is yet to come. We had to be in bed by ten each night and up at six the next morning. We couldn't sleep till noon like our friends. So while they slept-my mother actually had the nerve to break the child-labor law. She made us work. We had to wash dishes, make beds, learn to cook and all sorts of cruel things. I believe she laid awake at night thinking up mean things to do to us.

She always insisted upon us telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, even if it killed us- and it nearly did.
                                                                      
By the time we were teenagers, she was much wiser, and our life became even more unbearable. None of this tooting the horn of a car for us to come running.

NO dating and sleepovers with friends

Through the years, things didn't improve a bit. We could not lie in bed, "sick" like our friends did, and miss school. If our friends had a toe ache, a hang nail or serious ailment, they could stay home from school. Our marks in school had to be up to par. Our friends' report cards had beautiful colors on them, black for passing, red for failing. My mother being as different as she was, would settle for nothing less than ugly black marks.

As the years rolled by, first one and then the other of us was put to shame. We were graduated from high school. With our mother behind us, talking, hitting and demanding respect, none of us was allowed the pleasure of being a drop-out.

My mother was a complete failure as a mother. Out of four children, all of us attained higher education. None of us have ever been arrested, divorced or beaten his/her mate. Each of my brothers served his time in the service of this country. And whom do we have to blame for the terrible way we turned out? You're right, our mean mother. Look at the things we missed. We never got to march in a protest parade, nor to take part in a riot, burn draft cards, and a million and one other things that our friends did.

She forced us to grow up into God-fearing, educated, honest adults. Using this as a background, I am trying to raise my three children. I stand a little taller and I am filled with pride when my children call me mean.

Because, you see, I thank ALMIGHTY GOD
He gave me the meanest mother in the whole world.

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THROW BACK.

                  NJAAnuary is still on and as usual people are still walking in the valley of  the shadow of ``brokeness".This is the month where most Kenyans sit down and remember with nostalgia how they ``ate" money as if it was fried during DecemBAR.So as I joined fellow sufferers to reminiscence the `good old days'(holidays) my mind took a trip down memory lane and I remembered an incident which occurred in December 2013. Some random story.

                I will not start by taking the already beaten path of `once upon a time ',instead I  will go straight and hit the nail on the nail or the thumb on the nail whichever it is.Here we go.

                I respect snakes. Any creature that can kill you within minutes deserves out most respect e.g:lion,elephant,Nyeri women e.t.c.Snakes are scaly,scary and legless creatures.God knows what would happen if snakes had legs or wings(or could read blogs!).

                  When I see a snake out there minding its own business I usually feign nonchalance and I won`t even dare lift a finger(or a rock) unless I suspect it supports Manchester United Football Club or that it may be a private developer.

                  My beef with the private developer kind of snakes is for their disrespect and sheer notoriety.They invade your house and when you tried to chase them they bite and teargas you with spit.Due to this ,every time I see a private developer wannabe kind of a snake I immediately turn into Al Capone:``I want him DEAD!I want his family DEAD!I want his  house burned to the GROUND!I wanna go there in the middle of the night and I WANNA PISS ON HIS ASHES!"

                 Back to the story.So one Saturday morning in  December 2013 I killed a cobralet or whatever a small cobra is called.My brother and  I were waiting for my sister to come out of the house;we were going somewhere I think.Suddenly there was some commotion followed by loud screams from the house.We rushed inside to find my sister asking our now shaken mom questions like ``iko wapi?Umeumwa?"

                Our mom then pointed to a nearby shoe and claimed that she had felt some snake wiggle inside when she tried to put it on(#OccupyShoe)

                I inspected her leg for any signs of snake bite and found out that she was alright.Next I looked for a stone the size of Vincent Company`s head and then came and turned the `grabbed' shoe upside down.

              Out came a cobra.It immediately started swelling ready to teargas any `demonstrater'.What I can say is that the cobra went to snake heaven without knowing what had killed it.

              I then took the remaining pulp of a snake and hung it on a bush to serve as a warning to the other living members of the cobra fraternity that  I ain't the type of human being made for them to start messing with.

COBES.

In Moi University College of Health Sciences` offices COBES is an acronym for Community Based Education and Services.However in the hostels,COBES means something entirely different;it refers to the communal sharing of items among  neighbours.Nearly every guy knows and has participated in COBES(hostel version) at least once.I don`t know about the ladies.

The following are the most COBESed items:

                                                                 1.Utensils.
When a neighbour comes at midnight and asks ``mko na sufuria safi?",the standard response is to point towards the dish rack and the needy fella calmly shops for a clean sufuria.You are not troubled because sooner or later it will be your turn to visit and shop and you are sure you will execute it with unrelenting vengeance .

                                                                2.Food.
When caught devouring some rare meal by a neighbour or a  friend,you pray hard that the guy has  already eaten.Unfortunately in most cases the guy is usually hungrier than a Kenyan MCA and there is usually no happy ending to his visit.

 ``Hii nyama inakaa tamu.''...*Scoop*...``Na mbona umekatakata ugali hadi ikakaa exercise book ya hesabu?"...*Mother of all scoops*...And before you can scream `Kanyari',50%+1 of your food is gone.

             

                            
                                                         3.Sugar.
During the exams period,the amount of caffeine intake in most rooms is capable of killing a small mammal .Consequently the half life of a kilo of sugar in this period is around 24 hours.

When you go sugar shopping and your sugarless neighbours get wikileaks of it,hehe,you are so screwed!On your return you will find a crowd of excited neighbours at your door with large mugs.Of course you will try to act smart and give them a `health talk'  on how `sugar' causes `diabetes'  but your efforts will be as useless as letter `T' in the word tsetse.

                                                           4.Miscellaneous items.
When in need of a random item like shoe polish,shoe brush or even slippers(COBESing of slippers has reached alarming levels),you just get them from the nearest room.Therefore don`t get shocked if you pass by and hear somebody tell his neighbor something like ``buda niko na brush hapa ,uko na kiwi?"

Acceptable degree of COBES ain't that bad after all.I have witnessed COBES save lives especially when there is delayed disbursement of reading allowance(read HELB).Let he who has not benefited at all from COBES cast the first stone.

Have a COBES-free day.