The Strongest man in the room

I was looking at him keenly, like I always have,when his zoomed into his grandparents compound in a small red Mazda which had seemingly seen better days if not woes.

The whole compound became alive at once.

There is something mysterious about the madness and uncontrollable excitement that comes with the sight of a car in our village .The mere sight of a car in a neighbor's compound scratches all the hidden layers of feelings expectations and assumptions in everyone especially the elders ,yes I had grown to see them run mad for a second or two over these things and as much as the made merry,I found nothing funny about it it was almost embarrassing like that feeling you get when you go to one of these prestigious hostels in Mombasa and fail to flash the toilet after using. I don't know I just know it makes me want to hide inside a deep hole.

George bathed himself in the awful glory ;elderly women cooing around him, each fully determined to win the position of" mother " .His age mates looking at him like he was the perfect example of success ;so flawless. They saw a god in him ; even when he opened the door of his ancient car to lead his grandmother out, they saw an elderly woman stepping out with a god ,so so superior .

And it was clearly written on old Nafuna's face .

The pride.

" she has been discharged now, I bought all the medication and drugs she needs. All you have to do,,,,,,,". He was explaining something to a woman who was supposed to be his cousin or something .She waited for him patiently to finish each sentence and nodded vigorously ,but everyone could swear she understood nothing.

Dawn found George caught up in the middle of what I would call a demonic financial attack. I was crouched up in a chair pretending not to listen to the uneasy conversation between him and his parents.Along the way ,I lost count of the demands that were being made with smiling faces and hearty laughter,oblivious of the insanity in the whole setting. Mama Grace ,Georges mother ,as always, had a list of endless ' merry go rounds' to attend to,two or three pastors

to either contribute for to fund the construction of a church and whatever nonsense the needed.

And then his younger siblings ,four of them

"They are resuming school next week",mama Grace said and laughed unnecessary, then slouched back in her seat comfortably ,having stated her budget to the financial manager.

Her husband said nothing. He almost always says nothing. Like me, he only looks,stares, observes. Only in a different way though. His eyes were way too blank to tell his feelings away ,but the way he did nothing about everything was enough evidence.

He was comfortable .Comfortable with whatever mama Grace will say. Not saying, demanding in an ironically good yet oppressing way. He saw greatness for he had brought a boy into this world and watched him grow into a man ,though he didn't know how.

" Wakalonga' thats how he referred to George. It meant 'the Builder' it was a name from a great grandfather who had been well known for constructing houses

An engineer he was.

His favorite phrase was; "you are a man now,you need to know things"

I was not hearing this statement for the first time. And I find it hard to forget because it tortures me so.The words are harmless, yet they cut through my flesh with untold rage and agony. The last time he said this word to George was twelve years ago,when he stood trembling at the banks of River Lusumu, soiled from head to toe.

The day of his circumcision.

George had clenched his fists tight, no sound came out of him. Yet I saw all his agony painted clearly on the pumping jugular vein on his neck, his red watery eyes and the dark vein on the side of his head. in

In my head, I heard him scream in excruciating pain when the sharp cold metal came into contact with his naked flesh. I saw his legs shaking and sweat dripping from him despite the cold chill morning. Now I know all the kinds of feelings in this world ;

That was pain.

The pain was lingering over him ever since .Yes

Even now when he sat inside their house looking at his parents eye to eye, it came again strongly with a gush, like an evil wind .I saw him clench his fists tight again ,the vein on his head came visible, his legs shaking nervously .

That's how he had been structured to survive pain .Silence. It was a taboo in the land to let out a sound, no matter how strong the pain. Any kind of pain. And George had not grown so strong against it, even after all those years. Because mama Grace noticed his sudden change in composure and mistook it for the cold wind.

She rose and closed the window.

His father looked at him in the way a milk farmer looks at a cow's udder before purchasing it .Expectations. Then excused himself and went to bed. Mama Grace, being the traditional submissive wife that she was ,followed shortly .

So typical of her. Only that she bid the goodbye with a crooked smile.George returned it too; not a crooked smile though,a forced smile ,straight from the deep trenches of pain, frustration, hopelessness.

I worked George down to his house that night ,or he walked me to my home ,either way. My house was almost three steps away from his

We rarely talked to each other,but there was so much of a conversation going on between us. I looked at him keenly ,again.At 25 years of age ,he was really growing a fast resemblance to his 50 year old father,only that his eyes were not blank .His was a shredded curtain that covered the bleeding walls of his heart, his shambled brain ,lifeless soul. Even in the dim moonlight, I saw how desperate his heart craved for peace, for freedom; In his eyes. And in the way he kept laughing at the stupid things he did in his childhood.

He was a young Soul caged in a trap of endless responsibility and postponed pain. And it was weighing down on him heavily .It showed on his dry skin ,his frequent and unnecessary sighing.The way he stayed into space absent-mindedly and spat hard on the soil .The soil .

Yes .

It was among the major participants That witnessed and partook the process that saw his freedom and happiness being thrown away along with his foreskin .

Pain.

We parted at the gate .I arrived in my small Simba In very low spirits. Fear .I dreaded the fact that I was born a male .As always, I couldn't make sense of the society glorifying manhood .The male species . It was a whole bunch of poisonous thorns in a rusted metal cup,c

coated with a thin layer of gold to disguise the whole evil. A little scratch and all hell breaks loose. A curse in disguise?? George was not my role model.Not in any way. He was just someone I observed with the keen interest a scientists had with their experiments. I chose to look at him closely because I realized everyone else was looking at him so differently.

Their eyes saw the thin layer of shining gold ,and it quenched their thirst because that was exactly what they wanted to see. But my eyes saw through the disguise : I saw what he was carrying ,It was not a golden trophy ,just agony veiled in glory .And it was eating his soul away day after day.

I dreaded when my turn will finally come .When the golden layer melts away ,and all I have in front of me is a path decorated with thorns disguised in responsibility and "being a man" And the people of my soil ,my own people ,will proudly watch me blred to death as I took one step after another On the sharp thorns ,but will still cheer me on .On to meet my end.They will say "Yes Remy, Now that's being a man!" And I will probably die .Yes ,I will die my weak soul .Probably never meant to fit in the male species .

A weakling indeed .

When I slept off I dreamed of dark winds. Long bushy paths filled with giant thorns. I saw myself in a crowd together with the other young men I knew and others I did not ,walking up in a single file heading towards the" Mukhebi" ,the circumciser. His hands struggled to firmly...