The Moi street
At times in the Moi street, I met a group of fellow boys on my way home from the shop, where I was sent by my parents. As a stranger in the village, I saw it fair to have friends to hang around with. The boys were Jazzy, Moranda, and Ekellonzo, Ekellonzo seemed eldest of all but I later found that he was the youngest with big-bodied structure, followed by me, Jazzy and Moranda were two-years older.
They harassed my being in their village, threatened to rob whatever I was having in the bag, and steal my money if I could not buy them roasted maize one each. I was filled with fear and valued my life than that money I had despite that, it was not mine either, I decided to meet their needs, only to realize they were joking and testing my bravery and courage. They then gave me a green light and asked me to join them and become friends. I went back home feeling like fish out of the water but I smiled and loved the company as I ran back home.
Next morning, I went to look for them at their village yard, the boys showed a great sense of hospitality and love to my present, their words and facial expression made me feel special of all, as each one of them stretched his hand at least to get a “high five.” I was introduced to the game, they called it “lift game” which was known to occasionally happen during large-scale sugarcane harvest, which was the village`s commercial crop. They played the game and was enjoyable indeed.
Just like any other day of the week, Sunday morning known to be a church day in our local village, we arrived at home which looked too filthy for me to stay, from the city our country, where we had lived for a quite long period. The home we entered was bush, I wasn’t able to differentiate the back and the front of the house in terms of the compound. My mother opened a house, iron sheets were waving not firmly held on their proposed posts, sun rays passing through holes on iron sheets. I was terrified and almost screamed when I saw rats running all over trying to escape our spot. The whole environment was the bushy only thing that looked welcoming was the lying sugarcanes arranged in stacks ready to be taken by the sugar companies. After some minutes, everybody except me, was busy cleaning, trying to make the compound look like an active dwelling unit or humans, and I was sent to get some staff from the shop for home use, being strange in the village I was just given a mere direct direction.
“I have never played this game before,” I said to one of my friends. “This game is as easy as ABCD” he replied jokingly. But I was warned back home, about the game to be too dangerous and a death game in the final stage. I did my inquiry to well understand how the game is played, it was explained in a crowd, each person with his own sweet and convincing explanation that changed my mind not to believe the warnings I was given back home. They went ahead and demonstrated how it is done, a huge vehicle, tractor pulling an open trailer, came in a very horrifying speed that I could not even move any closer, but surprisingly, one of our friends jumped high and grabbed the hanging steel ropes and enjoyed a lift. It went all around and I was the next person, after Moranda. I tried but I failed, I was nearly stepped on.
“Keep on trying.” I was encouraged. I was told if I want to make it, not to think but to time and dive in, that is the courage of a man. Since I never wanted to become a black sheep, I tried the second, third, fourth, without giving up, I managed to lift at the fifth attempt, they rejoiced and called me the man of the day, say special I felt for the second time. This was a direct indication of a faster learner, I played it again and again until I perfected in doing so, we introduced lift competition to measure who climbs more trailers. And to show them that I am brave and courageous I emerged the leading in that competition, followed by Jazzy and then Moranda.
It was lunchtime about to go home for lunch, I was feeling hungry only thing I ate apart from breakfast was sugarcane. No sooner had we left for lunch than Ekellonzo arrived, with the new style of competition. He was wearing a black track with a pink t-shirt of the rounded neck, with a Nike nark on the left-hand side of his chest. In his hands was a manila rope with a hook at the far end, on the other hand a small container of oil black in color. He explained how the game goes, and when the trailer came, he demonstrated, this was different but seemed enjoyable than the previous. An elder who was passing, they called him uncle Deyet, echoed the warnings of my parents, but I gave him a deaf ear. The trailer came, I was ready to dive using the as demonstrated, I had to throw and hook the furthest end of the trail, while the other end firmly tied around my waist and dive with my arms freely in the air. I did follow instructions, but unfortunately, I did not put power enough to reach the hook at the furthest end, so the rope didn’t support me above the ground. I was caught, pulled on a rough marram road, full of small stones, muddy and some remains of sugarcanes, at this time, I was wailing, at least to make the track driver stop the track and save from this prolonged pain. The same uncle warned us is the same person who ran and cut foo the rope giving another chance to live. Thank God I was still able to see and talk, as they carried me back home, I was so terrified and afraid of what will I say to my parents.