By Wesonga Robert
Beni, my friend who you are now familiar with, does not tolerate anybody disturbing him. Anytime he feels his peace of mind has been interfered with, he will take the earliest opportunity to give you a piece of his mind. The reason for his intolerance to mediocrity, he says, is simple: working in Samburu, hundreds of kilometres from his home in Kisii, is a hardship unbearable enough, that adding another bother to it amounts to inviting mental breakdown. I have chosen to tell you this story because Beni is not on Facebook.
Beni and I have such a good understanding that can only be summed up by a sentence from Imbuga’s Man of Kafira: “Let no man put a sunder, what common problems have brought together.” The common problems actually are a common history. Both of us grew up in the village. While Beni sat on a log in class 4E in Nyagesore Primary, I was under a tree in class 5R in Esibembe Primary in Busia, waving to the only lorry in the village passing. But still, we passed all our exams. Our academic experiences did not however prepare us on how to approach an HIV test as an examination.
I remember myself the day of KCPE when I walked early in the morning in borrowed uniform, packed potatoes for lunch and lots of genuine wishes of success. I bet Beni remembers these things too. Examinations in the village are a communal affair. That is why Nakhero, the old lady in my village, left her hoe and moved to the path to greet me with both hands wishing me success. She then prayed that the computer could not throw away my papers like it had done to one of the boys in the village. Apparently, people in our village never failed exams. Those who did not pass came back and said: “The computer roughly folded my composition papers and threw in the dustbin.” Such things I am sure, Beni saw in his village.
That is why we are friends. We can almost brag because now we have some job. While I continuously flap my mouth in the nearest air, unsuccessfully telling reluctant students to use capital letters, dot the “i”s and cross the “t”s, Beni has been convincing the same surprised bunch that Arabs did not come to the coast to spread Christianity.
Yesterday, on the World HIV Day, Beni was in such high spirits. He called me to escort him to take the HIV test at Kisima Dispensary, near Maralal. Instead of asking him if he was serious, I moved near him to find out if there was any smell that indicated he was not sober. Indeed, the level of alcohol in his blood was zero. Beni then jokingly said:
“I have never failed in exam in my life. I don’t intend to start now. Look at that Sony 777 CD player radio; I bought that one after successfully doing KCSE for my cousin back home in Kisii.”
That last statement is true. Beni’s jokes are never one hundred percent. For my sake, these doubts you must never tell Beni.
At around ten in the morning yesterday, after I had failed to ignite the borrowed motorcycle, we started a stroll to the dispensary. It was not one of those calm mornings when the bees float upon acacia and cactus flowers. There was not the usual bright morning sunshine that invitingly reflects on the phenomenal waters of our only seasonal lake in Kisima. Only a gloomy cold, a result of an even gloomier cloud cover, stung my dark hardened skin. And that cold seemed to be stagnant. Even the lively goats in the neighbourhoods did not hold the usual bleating contests. With all these, Beni maintained a cheerful aspect.
When we were about 500 metres from the dispensary, I got a view of the queue. It occurred to me that it was not just Beni who was inspired to take the test. The gate had an illustrated poster urging people to take the test. At this point I remembered my own experience at a VCT centre at Githurai in 2002. Being a second year student Kenyatta University then, I could not swear upon any religious book that I was of the best character. That is why I decided to take the test.
I remembered how I heard the counselor, without listening, as she talked to me. I am now even surprised that I answered all her questions correctly without being conscious. Clearest of all the things I remember is that the 5 minutes of waiting for the results hold a record for being the longest in my life. I decided that I was not going to tell Beni this experience as we went through the gate.
We arrived when testing was just about to begin. Beni queued and waited. The first man entered and after about 15 minutes emerged and headed for the latrine. People must have been surprised but maybe they thought that going to the latrine was one of the stages. After a moment, the man emerged screaming, frantically searching in his pockets. He then went over the fence and raced towards town. Such a scene would have been bearable on any other day, but not on such a day.
The result of the incident was that people scattered from the queues. Beni, keen not to lose his respect among the hospital staff, stayed on the queue and got inside. I must say that I felt proud to have such a brave friend. Beni emerged from the room smiling with one of the nurses patting his back. I knew he had made it. That was until I asked as we went home. Then he revealed:
“I decided to take a typhoid test instead. I couldn’t go
through the HIV test after that man screamed like that.”
This morning after asking around, the man who startled everybody had actually dropped his phone into the latrine. He is now telling people that his test was negative and apologizes for what happened.
As a friend, I decided to send Beni an SMS. This is the reply I got:
TRAVELIN HOM. HEY MAN, I NEED TYM. HIV TEST AINT 1 OF THOZ FILOSOFI EXAMS TELIN US 2 DISCAZ WAKZ BY PLATO & SOCRATES. TIZ DIFREN. GDAY.
I hope Beni my boy gathers enough courage to go back. But is that possible even now as he has decided to unexpectedly leave? For now, I wish him a safe journey home and safe Christmas holiday.
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