There is something about Mashujaa Day that makes it special. Mashujaa is the tipping point of the year.[โฆ]CLICK HERE TO READ THE FULL ARTICLEโถ
Itโs the unofficial reminder that if you set a goal for this year and havenโt moved an inch, just wait for January. If you swore you would get married this year but are still single, just tell your mum to calm down โ maybe next year. If you wanted to build that dream home but are still living in Plot 10, my friend, go ahead and spend that money. 2025 will figure itself out.
For yours truly, Mashujaa Day kicks off an active season of my illustrious side hustle: dowry negotiations. From now until late December, Iโll be decked out in my rusty godfather hat and brown leather jacket every Saturday, officiatingruracionegotiations. Itโs not bad for extra income, especially in a year thatโs been particularly tough.
Also, during this period, boys will be lining up in hospitals for a brief surgical procedure that will transform them into men. But before they face the cut, our tradition demands they visit their eldest maternal uncle to seek permission. Why the maternal uncle, you ask? Simple. Itโs a nod to our ancestral past, where maternal uncles played a crucial role in a childโs life. Nowadays, of course, dads rule, but we let this treasured tradition live on.
My experience back in the day, when I went to seek permission to become a man, can be summed up in one word: chaos. It was an election year, and the heady feel of freedom hung in the air. My mum, being the efficient woman she was, sent me to Nairobi on a bus to get that all-important permission from my uncle, squeezed between sacks ofwaru(potatoes). After I arrived in the city of many lights, I was passed from one trusted relative to the next until I finally reached my uncleโs place.
My city cousins hadnโt seen their dad for days, and when he finally staggered home, he was singing militant anti-KANU songs. Then, he disappeared again. Days turned into weeks. One night, he reappeared with several men. They talked excitedly in the sitting room, warming their tummies with a bottle of Popov Vodka. Their voices rumbled like deep political earthquakes, frequently mentioning Matiba, Rubia, and Ford.
Once again, I didnโt see my elusive uncle for days. I reconciled myself to the fate of spending another year as a boy.
After two full weeks of my uncleโs disappearing acts, Iโd had enough. One morning, I approached my aunt. โCan I just get permission from you?โ I pleaded. She must have found my desperation amusing because that very evening, she whispered something to my uncle, and just like that, I got the coveted permission. The next morning, I found myself in Murangโa town at the hands of Dr. Poppat, a dexterousmhindisurgeon who turned boys into men in 30 minutes flat.
If youโre an uncle out there tasked with giving your nephews this sacred permission, be kind. Donโt put them through a month-long game of hide-and-seek like my uncle did to me.
Happy Mashujaa to all of youโฆCLICK HERE TO READ MORE ARTICLES>>>
