By Wesonga Robert
“Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that just can’t fly.” These are words from a renowned African American poet, Langston Hughes. Dreaming has been the mother of many an achievement in the course of human history. However, dreams sometimes provide windows into sweet, yet unreal places that should be best left unexplored. If anyone has any doubts as to the danger of choosing to dream while still wide awake, then the story of Beni, my friend, would most probably be the most instructive thing needed by the doubter.
Beni, like me, came to this side of the world to fulfil the requirements of his career. So together, we spend our days bathing in the bright hope of Samburu mornings moving from our areas of residence to our workplace, and in the evenings, we drag ourselves through the tiring daylight towards the insecurities of our houses. And not only that, we also quicken the passage of time here. This we do by shuttling between the sweetness of our dreams and the not-so-sweet reality of the present.
After some time in Samburu, we stopped imagining that we would get a transfer to some other place every next weekend. Avoiding such dangerous hope was the beginning of falling in love with this district. Following that, we decided that a young man needed some relaxing to do on Friday evenings. That is how we made our rendezvous with miraa chewing, an experience that would months later become a source of humiliation to Beni and I.
On one of the Friday evening outs, a friend intimated to us the power of miraa. He said miraa made one come up with big plans. Beni, an adventurous man who valued dreaming, served himself a stick of miraa and asked:
“Kwani how does it happen?”
“Miraa is powerful. When I want to get a big idea, I just buy miraa and come to this corner. Halafu tena, miraa doesn’t carry you off kama alcohol. If you must take a drink with miraa, let it be a Pilsner, but never alcohol,” Lobash replied.
This was not the first time I was hearing this. I had earlier been told of how some people specialised in building state-of-the-art skyscrapers in their minds each time they chewed the drug. To me therefore, it had already appeared that miraa chewing provided some welcome window; a window through which those desirous enough to take a little dash from reality to dreamland found their exit. With the promise of experiencing the miraa fantasy beckoning, who was I to reject Beni’s suggestion?
He was of the view that we buy miraa and experiment the following weekend. After my first experience, I changed my mind because I had neither dreamt, nor found the substance interesting of taste. That however, is not the main motivation behind my quitting. For three days following the overnight chewing, I could not eat comfortably. My mouth was an absurdity filled with self-inflicted wounds.
Beni on the other hand would go on until it happened. Contrary to his usual practice, he one Saturday decided to engage in his pass time as from morning. I kept my friend company, taking only Pilsner and never alcohol as Lobash had advised. Several hours later, Beni fell completely silent. Njoro said, “Leo Beni amepasukiwa” (Today Beni is absolutely intoxicated). Even when he rose and walked out of the pub, no one asked. I looked around at the faces of the people who were chewing miraa. The attitude on their faces told me that I did not need to be reminded that it was time I minded my own business.
The situation soon changed when Beni reappeared at the door. The smell that preceded him was so concrete that it could be sliced with a knife. He also had not very few flies trailing his movements. Without warning, the gathering ended unceremoniously. It would later emerge from Beni’s own mouth how his zip had played a trick on him. He said:
“When I got into the toilet, I unzipped. I was convinced I heard the sound of the zip. After the call, I rose to zip up my trousers but I realised that they were still on, complete with the belt. Then I felt the weight behind.”
Instead of unzipping his trousers, the intoxicated Beni had unzipped his jacket. The sound of the zip convinced him that they were his trousers he was taking off. After taking off his jacket instead of the trousers, he then unknowingly proceeded to perform the infamous activity in his clothes.
Looking at how changed Beni’s life is, perhaps I should go back to serious miraa chewing. Beni is now a practising SDA follower. He attends evening prayers on Fridays instead of joining me in Jere’s bar. On Saturday, as I nurse my hangovers, he spends the whole day in church.
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