I have always had a funny relationship with bread: I think I want to call this relationship toxic. At one point, we (bread and I) come out hurt then we reconcile and it is a vicious cycle once again.
Today we are throwing it back:
Scenario 1: It was a sunny 7am in 1997 and we had just closed school for holidays. Breakfast was always bread and tea for me unless mom had gone to ushago and come back with some nduma.
I wake up and these instructions are given: "Msoh, enda kwa baba X ukuje na mkate na utembee pole pole tuonane." A mini Kipchoge runs to the shop and buys the bread.
Since I ran on my way to the shop, I decided I will catwalk back home as I swing the bread side to side. "Check me out people. One day I will be a famous model." I walk up the stairs and open the door and then hand my mum the bread.
Alar! Only 5 slices remain. I died and was resurrected on the spot by the Umoja slippers she was wearing. "Hiyo mkate ingine iko wapi??? Naitaka hapa saa hii!" All this amidst ass whopping. I walk back to the gate crying and as I try to retrace my steps, slices of bread from the shop to our gate.
Let's just say breakfast was just tea and more tears!
Scenario 2: The year 2000 when my uncle and I disagreed on who would finish a whole loaf of bread on their own. Mom bought us each a loaf and the competition began.
😂 A moment of silence for this lady here who got full halfway but kept stuffing herself to prove a point. 😂😂😂. The rest of the story is embarrassing and to date it is a conversation starter in the family.
Family: "Unakumbuka mkishindana kukula mkate mzima na uncle yako?"
Me: "Imagine sikumbuki 😣😣."
Scenario 3: Kangubiri Girls' High school, Form 1.It was a tough school this one. Even a patco was illegal (but we later learnt to survive 😇)
On this day, the bread supplier came and some girls bought bread. I remember Rosemary because she was seated behind me.
I was busy bargaining on how much she would sell me a few slices but she was firm and resolute about not selling. I got tired of persuasion and was like f*ck this isht! Mkate tu! I have to admit, it hurt my feelings and I internally marked Rosemary as my arch enemy. Oh bread! See what you made me do.
Fast forward and the bread buyers names were called out and asked to see Mrs. Githinji. She was ruthless maze! She had no time for young girls who lacked discipline. I almost twerked while thanking God for saving me from the snares of the devil. I was sad for the juveniles but deep down my heart somersaulted.
This is where it gets funny. During night preps, the whole class was looking for the snitch. Snitches get stiches and we were out to cut that snitch up and send them to the school nurse.
Nobody was willing to come forward so one of us suggested that we use the Bible to swear that we did not do it. 🙆🙆. This memory gives me chwest pains!
It was a court of law affair, place your left hand on the Bible and raise your right one and swear that the evidence you shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
Everybody was sure it was Caroline because she had joined our class M even when she was meant to go to K or H. It had to be the outsider but we still had to swear.
"I, Elizabeth Muthoni, swear that it was not me who sent the names to Mrs. Githinji. If it was me may God strike me dead."
"I, Margaret, swear that it was not me.."
Then the remaining 48 swore it was not them. One even licked the soil to show how serious and innocent they were. If I am not wrong only one did not swear.
The delinquents were punished but we never found our snitch. I still wonder who it was and if they were found I seem to have forgotten.
I still love me some nicely baked bread. Even how I choose my bread in the supermarket is with skill. But our relationship is slowly dying because weight and monotony are not my thing but the memories still remain.
All this drama and imagine mkate ni ngano tu! SMH!