Chamomile tea. (Courtesy)

Word on the grapevine is that another outbreak is hurtling out of China at Usain Bolt speed. That is on top of the usual woes of Jaa-nuary — the official month of misfortune. Why does all hell have to break loose just as we’re shaking off the holiday hangover?

My uncle, a self-declared herbalist is already prepping for the oncoming apocalypse by stockpiling ancient herbal remedies. At the top of this is a curative herb called ‘kiruma’. Bitter than bile with an equally revolting smell, uncle swears that the herb can cure most maladies known to man. Back in the day, I noted that he gives the same herb to his cows when they show signs of sickness. I then asked him how a herb can treat cows and humans at the same time. “Blarry fool!” He spat angrily. “Diseases are all the same, the host doesn’t matter.”

For fun, I pushed my luck further. “So, why don’t you give your cows a shot of makali when they catch a cold, like you do for yourself?” Let’s just say, Mwenenyaga’s grace is the only reason I’m alive to share this with you.

Kamaley, my cousin, never inherited the herbal wizardry ways of his dad, though at some point he tried the trade with mixed results. Years ago, I was sauntering through a certain town when I picked a familiar voice in the streets. I inched closer, only to find Kamaley surrounded by a curious crowd. Around his feet were several questionable shrubs which he was explaining what they cured.

“This one cured my wife’s barrenness,” he declared, waving a leafy weed above him like a prophet with a vision. “Now, I’m a proud father of many sons — thanks to this medicinal shrub.” At this point, I almost burst out laughing since Kamaley was a bachelor then. Still is, with no record of a child that looks like him in the village.

Kamaley noticed me craning my neck from the crowd, trying to catch the esoteric herbal wisdom he was sharing in the dusty streets of Embu. Being the street smart hustler that he is, he figured out that I might blurt out that he has never convinced any girl to be his wife. Or that he has never trained in herbal medicine. So he winked at me in a way that said; kanyangia hio story.

Afterwards, I caught up with him in a noisy tavern where he was reducing the day’s earnings to a manageable level. When the spirits hit us proper, I asked him how he prepares those concoctions that he was selling to wananchi. “Ah! It’s simply a mixture of honey and some random herbs”. He shrugged like a man with zero conscience, gulping down a beer.

“Aren’t you afraid that they might harm the users?”  I prodded on. Kamaley gave me a shocked look then answered. “Relax! If goats can eat it, humans can survive it.” Secondly, he added, honey prevents the mixture from going bad. He then ordered beer that could flood a small village — and warned me not to ask him any more silly questions.

With herbal doctors like Kamaley running the streets, I solemnly swore to stick to Panadol and Aunty Jerusha’s prayers. Some risks just aren’t worth it, folks.