Villagers finally repatriate their prodigal son

Kariuki, a father of five, could not have gone back to his rural home from Mombasa had concerned neighbours, who also reside in the coastal town, not contrived to a sly plot to deport him.

Born and bred in Kiviuvi, a dusty township deep in Runyenjes, Embu County, Kariuki, nicknamed Mbocwa, left for Mombasa a decade ago to look for a job and never returned.

Ever since he vanished, none of his village mates heard from him or about him until last weekend. According to his wife, he only communicated once through a letter upon his arrival in Mombasa to say he was alright. And that was it.

Time went by. His children even became accustomed to his absence, accepting that he would return some day. His wife, meanwhile, would make enquiries about his whereabouts from relatives who work in Mombasa whenever they came to the village for significant functions such as funerals, annual leave or holidays.

“It was difficult. Sometimes I could be told that he was spotted at a particular place working as a cobbler. Others said he was a porter,” she reminisces.

The little money he earned from doing small time jobs never wound up with rural family because he often drunk himself silly. Fed up with him and the kind of treatment he was subjecting his family to, his village mates who also reside in Mombasa, decided to take him home. This was to be done in style; while drunk, since it was something he could never dream about when sober.

 “Instead of him roaming in Mombasa and not benefiting his family in any way, we felt he should go back home. Enough was enough,” says Nyaga, a relative.

Alcohol

On the day they had selected, they picked him up and headed to a local pub. The idea was to flood him in alcohol and then deport him.

“Tucelebrate bana, tatu hazina mkojo (let’s celebrate brother, three bottles won’t send you to the urinal)”, they cheered him on.

It was a great evening for Mbocwa. He quaffed liquor like he had harboured an old grudge against it. Within a short while, he was completely wasted.

 Pretending they were taking him to his place, they boarded a bus to Meru thanks to a bus ticket they had gotten beforehand.

While on the way, they kept on ‘topping up’ to ensure that he didn’t sober up halfway though the long journey. He reportedly snored most of the way.

Interestingly, as they arrived, he even confused Runyenjes for a place in Mombasa and began excitedly shouting ‘Kisauni, Kisauni! Kisauni!’ where he lived.

“Hapa ni gishagi, Runyenjes (we are in the village, Runyenjes),” he was told.

Stunned, Mbocwa couldn’t talk for a moment. The unceremonious deportation back to a home he had deserted eleven years back felt like punch in his belly.

Word spread around that he had come at last. In due course, curious villagers flooded his homestead to see him. Young mothers and children marvelled to see a man they had only heard of. His youngest daughter, whom he had left as tiny one-year-old, had grown into a big girl. He didn’t recognise her.

He is ashamed of walking around the village as people start speaking in hushed tones when they see him.