My landlady in the windy township of Habaswein,Wajir,we one Mama Jiko.
Now, Mama Jiko was those mamas who never went to school, but everyone from the area DC to NGO program managers consulted her on thorny community matters.Her English was typically a mishmash of five Somali words and two English words- the rest was yours to decode.
So during Eid in 2012,she sent her daughters with a mountain of pilau, arosto, boiled goat meat and other virojorojo for us non locals to enjoy.
It was mid month and we were broke- so we gobbled the finger licking dishes then lay sprawled on a makeka, bulging tummies facing upwards.
My friend, a teacher from Habaswein Boys Secondary dialled Maluki the local barman and told him to send us some drinks to teremsha the goat meat with.God sent fella.
Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.As the boda guy rolled into the compound laden with spirits enough to float a small boat,Mama Jiko sauntered in to pick her utensils.
“Haiye! Wewe iblis gani analeta haram kwa dash yangu?”
Mama Jiko raised a ruckus, her shrill voice ringing all the way to Kismayu.She enquired whether we knew the young man and who owned the haram stuff he was bearing.
We vehemently denied knowing him and his haram goodies, adding that we were halal abiding Christians who had abhorred alcohol and its relatives.Mama Jiko then ordered the young hapless chap to offload his contraband and ride all the way to jehanam where iblis like him belonged.
In a jiffy, Mama Jiko then mobilized some local youths who took the offending spirits and lit a bonfire with them.
To demonstrate our distaste for anything alcoholic, we helped the boys burn the haram spirits- and gleefully danced around the bonfire.
Thats the first day I saw Macharia-my teacher friend who had footed the bill for the drinks- shed tears.
