| Return to the Gachango Home Page This is the first chapter from Robert Gachnago's book, Real Men Don't Cry. Preface Sonachi Roiteme is a fifteen-year-old herdsboy. No grasslands in sight and he opts to graze their cattle in an ancestral graveyard. Never did he imagine the shocking secrets he would find. Nor the dangerous adventure into his manhood. ROBERT Gachango REAL MEN DON'T CRY ONE No one spoke. They all seemed to hold their breath forever. Across the ridge acres of sun-rimmed corn swayed magically in the evening breeze. Dotting the pastures, a carpet of cows stretched into the horizon. This was their paradise. For every inch had a song to sing. Great health and great wealth, they silently gave thanks. In every way it had been a good year. They sat outside their huge dung-plastered hut. Sonachi, with the love of a grateful son, glanced to his right. Naisare Roiteme, as homely as any mother could be, smiled back with pride and continued chucking corn. By her side Sonachi's love snored. Her sweet calf-like eyes warmed his heart. Just as exploding fireworks did during the New Year. He bloated in satisfaction and leaned to his left. Pertet's untiring finger mastery rapidly milked one row of cattle. Beside him a dark stranger commanded another row. Under the churning volumes of buttermilk, they chirped in a weird tongue. Suddenly a baby wailed. Instinctively, all eyes swept to him as he did to his love. She turned her back and ground her teeth miserably. Naisare frowned as his pale face rushed the semi-circular den. She shook her head and mumbled. ‘Strange times we live in.’ Without warning, a violent earthquake tossed him about unsteadily. Spat from the mantle, his precious glass trophies crashed into smithereens on the calfskin floor. By the crushed mess and out of his reach, a cradle rocked violently. He dived with outstretched fingers. A split second late, it overturned and slammed the ground with a thud. Pouring its wrapped contents by the fireplace's feet. ‘Oh my God!’ He screamed. His heart ablaze and thumping like a warmed drum, he rushed to the still bundle. He squatted on the floor and picked her up. She remained limp. Tightly embraced against his chest: nothing. He rocked her back and forth repeatedly: still nothing. The fire automatically snuffed out. From its bowels, a raging cyclone of hot ash picked and curled around his crouched body. Desperate and fearful of the worst, he parted the shawl’s mouth. A pale-yellowed skull stared back. He tried to yell but his lips froze shut. His mind rooted to its evil gaze. 'SONACHI,’ it shouted through its dark, bottomless eye sockets, ‘YOU WILL PAY DEARLY!' Sonachi's startled eyes screamed lividly. Astride over his chest, his younger brother sat. His hand clamped over Sonachi's mouth. Around them branches, grit, leaves and rocks showered endlessly. 'PERTET, YOU…ARE…KILLING…ME!' He stammered through his suffocating prison. Pertet jerked his hand and Sonachi brutally heaved him away. He landed face first, against the parched ground. Sonachi swallowed repeatedly and shouted. 'What’s going on?' Lacerated, his nose bled from the fall. Pertet silently glared at him. He stretched and grabbed a large pastel green marble rock. It had sat at the base of a nearby termite mould. He tossed it aside. From the hole he removed a bull’s skull with two beautifully engraved horns. He crossed his legs with a pearl needle in hand. Carefully with a master's touch he darned on glass beads. Over its hollow eye sockets he proceeded. His calm behavior seemed oblivious of the chaos. Still dazed Sonachi dusted his clothes. He then stared at the southern peak of the Ngong hills. On its highest peak a purple vehicle sparkled. Distantly, by it, he picked two figures. And instantly understood his inspiration. Severally Sonachi had witnessed his time consuming art. Months before Pertet had painstakingly polished the skulls with hot sand. Skulls, he slaughtered from the carcasses they had left behind. Over this particular skull he had glued on a black material. Next he would knit on hundreds of beads. After which he would create breathtaking patterns. Hidden underneath he would fix a solar battery. Position deftly too would be an electric bulb. At night when lit, it would cast an amazing glow. A unique lampshade, it was highly treasured in their roadside markets. This was the depth of Pertet’s mind. His weird art always found their harsh life's silver lining. Four years their villagers studied the sky. The feathery clouds never gathered. Four years they hoped for rain. Not a drop cooled their blistered tongues. Shades of desert brown wrinkled their empty riverbeds. Over the forgotten landscape the sun and the shadows danced. Each shy of their unfulfilled promises. On the windward side, dark crowns and tiled roofs littered everywhere. Stretching proudly to the glittering city at the horizon. He knew they should have sought their virgin pastures. Those treasured pastures in their golf courses and leisure parks. Especially those watered by large cattle dips called swimming pools. A sweep of hot desert air parched his brooding face. Tens of miles away he could still feel its draining heat. He remembered their five-month march to Nakuru. Full of enthusiasm Pertet then had sworn to the greenery that lay ahead. 'PERTET AND HIS DAMNED HUNCHES! HE HAD COST THEM TWO THIRDS OF THEIR HERD!' Their remaining herd scarecrow thin, they dared their ancestors' wrath. Now he was not sure. When in trouble, their villagers called him Sonachi. That's why the nightmare completely unnerved him. He thought to tell his brother. Then shied against it. Now and again Pertet's sensitive eyes rolled to the safety of the desert. His grazed lips ballooned like two lemon rinds Pertet bubbled. 'I intended to wake you up. Then you shrieked horribly. Seconds later the forest exploded.' He pointed by skewing his trembling tongue. ‘Sonachi, I don't like it. It is almost as if we are being warned.' 'Nonsense, the cemetery borders our farm. Furthermore we haven’t paid our respects to father. With God on our side, who can be against us? ' Sonachi emphasized. Two cows raced up and softened his hard face into a smile. Matching gray streaks on their white rumps, they came. Kuwang his favorite zebu cow and Gilgil its young bull. Gratefully they rubbed their heads against his chest. He kissed Kuwang’s forehead and scratched the bull’s under chin. He could tell they loved his attention. Enormous for its age Gilgil held promise. It was a miraculous cross between a Hereford and a Zebu. Only two months young, it strode with majestic steps. Delivered over the New Year, it had remained his only joy. He could hardly wait to return home. And reveal to his mother the source of their future stock. Playfully he slapped their hindquarters. Then he gleefully watched them raced down the slope. To the rest of their herd that spread on the meadow’s feet. 'Sonachi, nothing here augers well.’ Pertet grumbled and hurriedly gathered his things. ‘But if you ignore my warning, I will not be held responsible.' 'A coward is always a coward. No matter what he claims to be.' He muttered sarcastically and peered into the eerie forest. Under some nearby bushes he dug some rotten leaves. He then quickly smeared his head, armpits and his body. Satisfied, he strode to forest’s fringe and melted into the darkness. To order a copy of the book, send a check for $25 to S. McCrea, Box 030555, Fort Lauderdale, FL 33303 Make the cheque payable to "S. McCrea Marketing" Expect delivery after October 1, 2004 Return to the Gachango Home Page |