Baby Drago’s diary: Baby discovers where the husband ‘of the window’ lives

It’s now been exactly eight weeks since me, Baby Drago, came with my mummy to ushago for Easter holiday. That time I was two years old, now I’m three!

When we are here, Press Dent Kenyanya he do to Lock Town, so I stuck in ushago with kina Shosh.

My mummy she finally manage to get back Nairobi on two Saturdays ago.

Now she call me in the morning when I am drinking uji to say ‘love you, Baby Drago.’

I say ‘love you, mummy,’ then I give phone to my cousin Laila to talk to my mummy.

After uji, I always wear my gum-boot and go to the ‘mogondo’ with my ntagu (grandad).

Over there, near the mirrors that people in Somalia like, it is becoming my work to pick weedies, and wheel them.

Later, Ntagu lights the matches and gives me to put on weedies, they go ‘waaahhhh,’ fire fire.

I laugh and me I run so I cannot get burn. Wah!

Then we go with Ntagu to kill a chicken every day.

I give him knife, he cut it ‘kwahhh’ kwa shingo, red colour it is coming out of it is neck.

Then he give it to Shosho to put in fridge.

After that, we only eat minji and ndegu and ‘poo poo’ at lunch time with a lot of drink water.

After siesta, we go with ‘Big Boys’ from jirani, Saul and Nathan, to new farm Aunt Faye nunuad.

During Covid-19, a window was selling it, so Aunt Faye she borrow a million money from bank, and she buy it in May.

I go myself with wheelbarrow and I find some weeds on a stone written names, so I plucked them.

Auntie Faye she find me, and scream: ‘Oh Baby Drago, those are flowers of the window’s husband!’ Later she explain that the window had a husband who now live under the ground.

It makes Baby Drago to wonder if the door’s wife she live in the sky, with Jesus!

Aunt Philo her she bought a bike for exercise, but when she given me a ride, we falled down.

Now Baby Drago has a bandaged on his left hand, woije!

Supper in ushago these days is the kuku that me and Ntagu we killed every day after farm kazi.

Shosho she always give me and Laila the soft softest pieces and say ‘hii ni ya wajukuu wangu ...’

Before I sleep, always with Auntie Emmie, it is time for her to call my Daddy in Nairobi.

‘Nisomee bedtime story ya kustua, Papa,’ I say.

And he always read me a scary one of trolls or dragon, until I pretend I am asleep.

‘Toto amelala,’ Auntie Emmie tell Daddy.

But, after a while, I open my eye and stare outside at the dark — imagining of dragons in the sky (with Jesus and wives of doors).

And trolls outside the window — and the husband of the window, sleeping below the ground.