Weep Not Child (9 page)

‘Yes. Boro was strange.’

‘He was often angry.’

‘With Father?’

‘And all the old generation. And yet they tried.’

‘To get the land?’

‘Yes. Father said that people began pressing for their rights a long while back. Some went in a procession to Nairobi soon after the end of the first war to demand the release of their leader who had been arrested. People were shot and three of them died. You see, people had thought that the young leader was the one who would make the white man go.’

‘Father said this?’

‘Yes. I found him telling Boro. You know Father sort of fears Boro.’

‘What did Boro say?’

‘Nothing. He just sat there thinking or brooding over something. Boro is queer. Our elder mother says that it was the war that changed him. Some people say however that it is something to do with our other brother, the dead one.’

‘Mwangi?’

‘Yes. They say it is the British who killed him. But whether it was the British or not, it was a white man who did it.’

‘Yes.’

They still peered through the darkness to the city that now held Boro and Kori. Kamau and Njoroge feared that the other two might be lost there. This would end the evening gathering of young men and women. But Kori had clearly said that they would be coming home from time to time.

‘I too would like to leave this place!’

‘Why?’ Njoroge quickly asked. Njoroge’s train of thought of what he would do for his family when he had money and learning was interrupted.

‘Just a feeling. But first I must stop working for Nganga.’

‘You have not finished the course.’

‘I think I know enough carpentry to keep me going. I can now make a chair, a bed, and things like that.’

‘And where will you go?’

‘To the settled area. Or to Nairobi.’

Njoroge felt a strong desire to detain Kamau. He would miss him greatly.

‘You may not get a job.’

‘I will.’

‘But have you forgotten about the strike?’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes. You know the intended strike that Father is always talking about.’

‘I don’t know. I think strikes are for people like my father.’

‘But Father says that the strike is for all people who want the freedom of the black people.’

‘Maybe. I cannot tell.’

They heard Njeri calling. They went down the ‘hill’. As they went along, Njoroge remembered something he had wanted to ask about land.

‘Do you think it’s true what Father says, that all the land belongs to black people?’

‘Yes. Black people have their land in the country of black people. White men have their land in their own country. It is simple. I think it was God’s plan.’

‘Are there black people in England?’

‘No. England is for white people only.’

‘And they all left their country to come and rob us of acres of what we have?’

‘Yes. They are robbers.’

‘All of them?’

‘Yes. Even Mr Howlands.’

‘Mr Howlands…I don’t like him. I did not like the way his son followed me once.’

‘A lamb takes after its mother.’

Something occurred to him.

‘Jacobo is a bad man. Do you think Mwi–’ He stopped. Then he quickly changed the subject and asked, ‘Who is Jomo?’

‘Boro called him the black Moses.’

‘In the Bible?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I think I’ve heard about that in the Bible.’

Njeri’s voice rang through the darkness. There was no more talk.

That night Njoroge stayed in bed for a little while before sleeping.

Njoroge did not want to be like his father working for a white man or, worse, for an Indian. Father had said that the work was hard and had asked him to escape from the same conditions. Yes, he would. He would be different. And he would help all his brothers. Before he went to sleep he prayed, ‘Lord, let me get learning. I want to help my father and mothers. And Kamau and all my other brothers. I ask you all this through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.’

He remembered something else.

‘…And help me God so that Mwihaki may not beat me in class. And God…’

He fell asleep and dreamed of education in England.

Mwihaki was always pleased with Njoroge. She felt more secure with him than she felt with her brothers who did not care much about her. She confided in him and liked walking home with him. She was quite clever and held her own even among boys. And now that Njoroge was in her class she could ask him questions about classwork. It was in Standard IV that they began to learn English.

Lucia, Mwihaki’s sister, taught them. They all sat expectantly at their desk with eyes on the board. A knowledge of English was the criterion of a man’s learning.

He stood up. Learning English was all right but not when he stood up for all eyes to watch and maybe make faces at him.

Njoroge was very confused. Hands were raised up all around him. He felt more and more foolish so that in the end he gave up the very attempt to answer.

The class giggled.

With this sharply delivered threat, she walked out. Njoroge, annoyed with himself at his poor showing, could now be heard trying to reestablish himself by telling them what they ought to have answered. ‘She is standing up.’ But one boy (the most
stupid in the class) rebuked him. ‘Why didn’t you speak up when she was here, if you’re so clever?’

After some more weeks of anger and threats the children managed to learn something of which they were very proud. Njoroge could now sing,

When a teacher came into the class, he greeted them in English.

One day a European woman came to the school. As she was expected, the school had been cleaned up and put in good order. The children had been told and shown how to behave. Njoroge had not seen many Europeans at very close quarters. He was now quite overawed by the whiteness and tenderness of this woman’s skin. He wondered, what would I feel if I touched her skin? When she entered, the whole class stood up at attention. Some had already opened their mouths to answer the expected greeting.

‘Good afternoon, children.’

‘Good morning, Sir.’

Lucia felt like crying. Had she not taught them the correct thing over and over again? She had been let down. The visitor was explaining that since it was after lunch, after twelve
o’clock, they should talk of ‘afternoon’, and since she was a woman they should call her ‘Madam’.

‘All right?’

‘Yes, Sir!’

‘Madam!’ shouted Lucia almost hysterically. She could have killed someone.

‘Yes, Madam.’

‘Good afternoon.’

‘Good afternoon, Madam.’

But some still clung to ‘Sir’. It had come to be part of their way of greeting. Even when one pupil greeted another, ‘Sir’ accompanied the answer.

When the European went away, the children regretted the incident. Lucia beat them to cool her rage and shame. In the future they were to know the difference between ‘a morning’ and ‘an afternoon’ and that between ‘a Sir’ and ‘a Madam’.

‘Yes, Madam.’

As they went home, Njoroge said to Mwihaki, ‘You know, I had a feeling that I’ve seen that woman somewhere.’

‘Have you? Where?’

‘I don’t know. It was just a feeling.’

They came to the place where Ngotho worked. She said, ‘Do you still see the boy?’

‘No! I think he has gone to school.’

‘Did he ever try to speak to you again?’

‘No. I’ve always avoided him. But he is always so alone.’

‘Perhaps he has no brothers and sisters.’

‘He can go and play with other children.’

‘Where?’

They had gone only a few yards when Njoroge exclaimed, ‘I know.’

‘What?’

‘Where I have seen that woman. I have seen her once or twice in Mr Howlands’ place. I think it’s their daughter. Father says she is a mission woman.’

‘Oh, yes. I’ve heard Father say the same thing.’

‘I wonder why she turned missionary. She is a settler’s daughter.’

‘Perhaps she’s different.’

‘A lamb takes after its mother.’ Kamau’s proverb had just come into his mind. He felt clever.

Kamau left Nganga and took a job with another carpenter at the African shops. He did not go to Nairobi or the settled area as he had intimated. Njoroge had won. But he saw that Kamau was growing into a big
Kihii
, now ready for circumcision. Njoroge watched him with fear. When Kamau was initiated, he would probably walk with men of his
Rika
. But this was not just what he feared. After all, even now they were not very much together. What he feared was that one day Kamau might be drawn into the city. The other brothers had been called. Though they came home quite regularly, they were changing. This was especially true of Kori. Kamau’s going would lead to a final family breakup and ruin the cosy security that one felt in thinking of home. Kamau was the man of home. He seemed to carry the family dumbly on his shoulders. Njoroge sometimes went to the African shops to see him. The place was always the same; men of all sorts hanging around the tea shops and slaughterhouses, idling away the hours. The drudgery of such a life made him fear a future that held in store such purposeless living and weariness. He clung to books and whatever the school had to offer. Njoroge was now fairly tall, black-haired, and brown-skinned, with clear large eyes. His features were clear and well defined – but perhaps too set for a boy of his age.

Education for him, as for many boys of his generation, held the key to the future. As he could not find companionship with Jacobo’s children (except Mwihaki), for these belonged to the middle class that was rising and beginning to be conscious of itself as such, he turned to reading. He read anything that came his way. The Bible was his favourite book. He liked the stories in the Old Testament. He loved and admired David,
often identifying himself with this hero. The Book of Job attracted him though it often gave rise to a painful stirring in his heart. In the New Testament, he liked the story of the young Jesus and the Sermon on the Mount.