Endarasha
is a dairy cattle area where milk is the cash crop since the colonial era when
it was part of the white highlands. A few centuries back, there was a big time
milk production plant that would export milk powdered milk and other milk products. But that and
pyrethrum is only for our history books now.
Having
dairy cattle as a business means we get up and think milk and before we go to sleep
the last though is, has the left over milk been boiled?
In between
the day, the most important utensils that should be clean and drying on the
rack are the strainer, the small
sufurias which the calves drink from, the buckets and the milk delivery
containers.
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| the most important equipment in a dairy farmer's life |
We
get up at 3.00a.m to tread in ankle deep mud to milk in time for the 4.00am
milk collecting truck and every so often we have to make a quick call to the
vet to come over and check out why Nyameni’s tongue is swelling.
But
that is all forgotten when a very special day arrives- The day of money for
milk-
When
we were growing up, there was no specific day for payment. We kept our ears
open each time we delivered the milk. The man that ticked off the cards would
not say anything to us. He would fill up the last card and get back into the front
of the lorry and just when the lorry was driving off he would shout.
Ũmũũthĩ
mũũhige! (become clever today)
We
went back home and told our mothers and fathers- mwerũo mũũhige.
At twelve the farmers milked the second time and
when we delivered it to the pick up point, the farmers would take a quick
shower and put on their cream overcoat, the women wore their pleated flower viscose
cotton skirts with a cream cut off blouse with a just a bit of detail around
the v-collar and head off kwa ngũkũ.
At
plot 65, we collected firewood enough to cook food for a whole week, we made up
songs and had a full bath even though it was just Friday and full baths were
left for Sundays.
Just before dark, granny would totter in her
basket full of all sorts of packages. Beef, of course, Oranges, fresh broadways
bread which I wonder how she carried it in the basket, it would still be firm
and in good shape.
Sometimes
a sweater for one of us. We ate the scones, sitting by her feet. She would ask
for tea to eat with hers. Then uncle would come and eat bread with tea. It was
like a small family picnic, really special.
I
came to relate the day of money for milk with beef. Any other time we ate
chicken, lamb or pork sausages when granny went to Rware, the other bigger town.
But once a month, there would be beef.
If
the day fell on a school day, granny sent a message to the market women. ‘if
you see my little girl, tell her to find me -ha nyina Kũi- Mother of Kũi had a
clothes boutique and also sold Omo, granny was a regular customer.
She
would ask me to choose a dress, or shoes, then we would go to a butchery where
she would have pre-ordered tumbukiza (Meat, potatoes, onions, nyanya and a bit
of pepper boiled together.)
I was
just a stupid adolescent who didn’t appreciate simple things, I would tell her
her I would have preferred tea and mandazi or something childish as such.
But
that was not the point really. It was not about eating what you liked or
preferred or thought was the high life. It was about getting us things that
would avoid bringing shame on ourselves.
My
theory is, she didn’t want us to feel deprived, or feel like somethings were
out of reach from us.
People around us had fathers and proper families and
their fathers brought home meat and took them out to eat nyama choma on
Christmas day. As we grew older, we mingled with people who were used to eating
sausage and buttered toast for breakfast. It was nothing alien. Equalise us, so
we’d never be greedy for things that we imagined were beyond our reach, especially food, and meat which
people seem to have an inordinate desire for, at least in the African set up.
- You
can lack anything else but don’t lack food, don’t talk about food- I once heard
someone say.
One
time, my little cousin was showing a great interest in bread. He was about six.
And granny says to him.
-If
you can finish one loaf I will let you eat another by yourself.-
And I
we laughed.
He was
done in a few minutes
-You
really have a big stomach- she exclaimed.-You will eat your own bread every day
until school opens.-
He
got bored eventually.
Our
parents and guardians, though not experts at parenting, somehow knew how to
make things special. I grew up and realized I didn’t know how to
make things special for me. Always in a bit of rush, cup of tea in one hand mop
in another. Or, phone in one hand, while eating the hot mandazi I just made.
I have been grasping myself in a firm grip,
making conscious effort to sit down , enjoy a cup of tea or orange juice
arranged proper with fresh flowers on the tray and no gadgets in sight. We’ll see how far
that goes.
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| Project; slow down sista Ciss |
The
day of money for milk was scrapped when the farmer’s society decided to register
their members at Taifa Sacco, where your monthly earnings reflect on your
account. If you ask me, that kind of stern business approach is good, to some
extent but the old fashioned cash payments had a human touch to them. If you
ask me too I also think the farmers co-operative takes advantage of its loyal customers, making decisions for them without enough consultation
and everyone should just sign up with Brookside. Don’t ask me, I’ve never owned
a cow.
kwa
ngũkũ- Our shopping centre is called kwa ngũkũ, after the white settler that
owned that land- His name was Cook.
