After the birds had eaten their share of the wheat, it was time to bring in the Kigethi. Kigethi was intimidatingly huge. It was such a sight when it entered the compound with a roar of engine that rattled the doors and windows of our house, belching thick plumes of smoke from its exhaust pipe, the smell of heavy motor oil filling the air, its driver perched in a cabin high up on the Kigethi. Our father who was a tall strongly built man looked like a toothpick as he leaned on the side of this gigantic machine giving instructions to the driver. We curiously inspected every corner of this monster machine which we only got to see up close once a year during wheat harvest.
Our younger siblings who were ages 3 and 5 at the time, hid behind closed doors, crying their eyes out as they checked out the Kigethi through the cracks in the door. Legend had it that Kigethi drivers fed on ears of young children. With that clear and present danger, my baby brother and sister hid their precious ears behind closed doors until the Kigethi driver with his monster machine cleared from the compound. The scared teary eyed young ones emerged slowly, cautiously scoping the compound first, to be sure it was safe to venture outside again.
My baby sister had lots of other things that spooked her, not just the Kigethi. Like I mentioned earlier, there were no old people in OlKalou, but that changed for my sister when in the late 1970s a family we knew brought their elderly father from Gikuyu to live with them. He was a jolly old man who helped his son’s family with the care of their livestock. This man did not have a single tooth in his mouth but that never stopped him from laughing out loud, ear to ear. My sister had never seen a toothless person in her tender life and she believed the toothless man who came to our home once in a while must be of a different species from outer space or something. The moment Mr. Kiago stepped into our home and joyfully greeted my mother, my sister took off screaming, you would think the aliens had landed. Kiago took it in stride and started making light of the whole embarrassing situation. On entering our home, he always declared that he had come to take his “bride” (my sister) away, which made my sister scream even louder as she ran behind the house, as Kiago and my mother laughed their heads off. My sister feared the Kigethi and Kiago in equal measure.
My baby sister and baby brother are now fearless adults. Now, when we see them all grown up and commanding respect in their jobs and families, we cannot help but have flashbacks of those embarrassing episodes of their lives, not in the very distant past. That is why the saying goes that a prophet has no honor in his own home. Our baby brother and sister can rise so high up in society, even become president, but to us their older siblings who saw them growing up, they will always be the spooked, screaming and crying duo. That is what keeps us humble.
