The Student Bride
by Rozier K. Mutinda
SMASHWORDS EDITION
published by Rozier K. Mutinda
The Student Bride
Copyright 2011 Rozier K. Mutinda
Smashwords Edition License Notes
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Table of Contents
A rooster’s piercing crowing yanked Mwikali from her morning dreams under a threadbare blanket. The metal springs of her bed protested her attempts at burrowing in trying to snatch back a few clouds of sleep. Even as she welded her eyelids shut, she could feel tiny pin pricks of light streaming from the patchy wattle and mud walls. An acrid smell tickled her nostrils, forcing her into full wakefulness while her fingers found the wet urine stain even as the offender, her little brother Mutuku slept on blissfully.
The bed creaked indignantly as she leapt off; annoyed that she would have to postpone her morning chores for a quick dip. She picked up her khaki tunic, stuffing a tattered towel and a bar of Lifebouy into a bucket. She paused at the entrance of the hut to watch the dawn chorus as the sun rose over Mount Kirinyaga and drenched the compound buildings in a wash of riotous colors.
A column of smoke billowing from the kitchen shack on her left signaled the presence of her mother. Walking through the courtyard, she glanced over to her right; there was no movement from the main house, as she imagined her father’s loud snores filling the squat brick building. She quickened her steps as she passed by the livestock enclosure to avoid the baleful stares of un-milked cows.
Cool grass caressed her feet as she skittered across the field leading to the stream. The scent of blooming jacarandas and morning glory eased her irritation as she scanned clumps of banana trees, looking for shy song birds. Bracing for chilly water, Mwikali shrugged off her cotton sleeping shirt and waded into a rusty and precarious lean-to at the bank.
“Oh I hate this!” she thought, teeth chattering as she soaped herself quickly. Just as she was rinsing off, she heard her mother’s voice calling for her.
“I’ll be right there, Mama!” she yelled back as she waded back to the rocky banks and reached for the towel. As she dried off, she heard some rustling from the bushes behind her.
“The day I catch that peeping fool!” She muttered as she pulled the tunic over her head. Gathering her things she started back on the path.
“I’ll break your neck, if I ever catch you! You hairy donkey!” she yelled. The bushes rustled again in reply and grew silent. She hurried back into the compound towards the wattle and mud kitchen where her mother was still trying to get a fire started.
“There you are girl,” her mother scowled in greeting. “I have been wasting my breath calling you and trying to get the fire going at the same time!” she continued scolding her daughter who was trying to pat down her wet hair.
“I’m sorry Mama but your son wet the bed again; I think there is something wrong with his plumbing. Besides, I can’t go to school stinking like a choo.” Mwikali retorted as she crouched down on the earthen floor to fan the flickering flames into life. Her mother clicked her tongue in annoyance as she bent over to get a pot from a corner shelf.
“That mouth of yours will get you into hot water soon. Anyway I’m glad school is finally over. I don’t know where you think that mzungu education is going to get you in life.” she commented as she filled the pot with water from a jerry can. Mwikali poked the twigs savagely, trying to build up the fire as she seethed silently.
“Make sure you put the lunch beans to boil before you leave for school.” Her mother ordered, gathering her ankle-length shuka about her. Mwikali made a face after her mother’s receding back and turned her attention to the fire that was now roaring merrily.
As she placed the pot of water on top of the three cooking stones, her mind turned to Mrs. Robinson. She had been nine when her Sunday school teacher had begged her father to send his eldest daughter to formal school along with her older brothers. The missionary was relentless and eventually wore her hapless father down.
“You won’t regret this, Mr. Kilonzo. Mwikali shows so much promise and Sunday school can no longer provide the challenge her mind needs.” Mwikali recalled a triumphant Mrs. Robinson telling her father who just wanted to chew his tobacco in peace.
Six years later and Mwikali planned to stage the same fight. She had noticed a strange look in his eyes lately whenever she was around him, as if he was mentally counting off the head of cattle from the dowry he expected to get after marrying her off.
“Kali, I’m hungry.” A sleep voice cut through her reverie. At the door stood Mutuku rubbing his sleepy eyes as he tried to focus on his sister. She noticed he was still dressed in his soiled clothes.
“You smell like an old hyena, fuuuufu!” she teased him, pouring millet flour into the now boiling water. His bottom lip started quivering and he was about to burst into tears, when their mother walked into the hut. He flung himself into her full green skirts and buried his face. Mrs. Kilonzo wagged her finger at Mwikali sternly.
“You shouldn’t tease him so. I remember a time when you, Miss High and Mighty were worse.” She said. Mwikali rolled her eyes and turned to vigorously stir the thickening liquid. After a few minutes, she poured in a splash of sour milk from a calabash as she listened to the little boy regale their mother with details of his latest vivid dreams.
“I’m sorry Mutuku, let me pour you some porridge, okay?” he nodded, pouting as she handed him a bowl. He walked out of the hut slurping his breakfast loudly to the amusement of his sister.
“There is no better time like the present.”Mwikali thought as she took a deep breath and decided to broach the subject that had been gnawing the back of her mind like a hungry child searching for the last bits of marrow off a bone.
“Mama, I’ve been thinking about continuing on to secondary school.” She began timidly. Her mother, who had in the process of measuring out some beans from a sack against the wall, stood up abruptly.
“How could you even imagine something like that?” Mrs. Kilonzo spat out harshly looking intently at her daughter. Mwikali sighed loudly, rolling her eyes again in frustration.
“Mama, maybe you and Papa may have other plans for me, but please hear me out. Mrs Robin…”
“What has that foolish mzungu been telling you now? That there is more in life beyond being somebody’s wife and mother?” her mother snapped, cutting her off.
“I don’t want to end up like you! Look at yourself! You are hardly forty yet you are bent over like an old woman, Mama! We are entering a new age; Kamau said that the Mau Mau will force all the whites to leave and Kenya will be…” This time, a stinging slap from her mother’s callused palm silenced her.
“Don’t you ever mention those heathens in this house again! Do you understand?” Mwikali nodded meekly, tearing up as she rubbed her cheek. Her mother stormed off into the direction of the main house.
Sensing trouble, Mwikali quickly took the beans her mother had measured out and put them into the boiling water. Running out of the compound with a book bag flying behind her, she heard her father’s deep voice calling for her. The sound of his angry words spurred her to faster speeds as she made her way to school.
The students of Kiambu Mission Primary School assembled silently before a flagpole bearing a limp Union Jack. The children formed neat rows that gradually increased in height from the youngest standard ones to the standard sevens. Their teachers stood in various states of boredom on the verandah of the white washed administration building facing them as the headmaster Mr. Njogu prepared to address them. He was a short man dressed in an old black shiny suit whose buttons heroically strained to hold his fat belly in.
“My dear children, I have some very exciting news. As you know, three weeks ago we had the Certificate of Primary Examinations or as we all call them “CeePeeEees”, where all the standard seven pupils in Kenya take the same test to assess how well they have assimilated their education.”
He paused dramatically, peering out to the children. The deputy headmaster picking up on the hint started clapping loudly, triggering scattered applause that rippled through the audience. The headmaster motioned for silence and continued.
“One of our standard seven students did very well in her exams. She scored the highest in the whole district of Kirinyaga. Would Mwikali Kilonzo please step forward?”
Mwikali stood stunned amid thunderous applause, her eyes widening in shock while her jaw dropped open. This was a moment beyond her usually wild dreams. Heart pounding like a drum, she shakily made her way to the front where the headmaster stood flashing his tobacco stained teeth in an attempt to smile. His huge hands pumped her tiny palms as he vigorously congratulated her before the wildly cheering student body.
“Do you know what this means, you can go to the big Missionary boarding school for your entire secondary education. Your parents do not have to pay a single shilling. Who knows, you might even go on to the University College in Nairobi.” Mr. Njogu pontificated later that morning in his office, as he handed Mwikali her results slip. His fat fingers lingered over hers, a second too long, forcing her to snatch the envelope. He snorted nonchalantly as she took a sudden interest at her bare feet when her face flushed with embarrassment.
“Tell your father I will be calling on him later tonight to help him get started on your registration for school. He is very lucky to have such a beautiful and gifted daughter,” he leered. Mwikali threw him a dirty look, biting back a retort. Thank God I don’t have to put up with that horny goat anymore. She thought as she run out of the room.
As she made her way home, Mwikali thoughts turned to the morning exchange with her mother. She winced, dreading the postponed dressing down awaiting her at the end of the dusty path. Slowing down to a snail’s pace would not help escape the inevitable confrontation with her parents.
Happy shouts of her brother Mutuku greeted her as he came bounding out of the compound towards her.
“Kakai and Toni are home!” he sang as he skipped merrily around her. Mwikali’s heart sank ever further. Her older brothers were home from a trade school they attended in Thika, the nearest town from their home.