When my father killed my brother

The long arm of the law. That was my father and mum. Mother dear was the arm. Dad, of course was the law. Mum was the arm of the law. The arm that instilled discipline. She would not tell you something twice before that arm of hers extended towards you. Canes, slippers , the mwiko (cooking stick) and anything else you can think of, could be used as a weapon. My father was the law, the court of Appeal, the Supreme court on the land. His ruling was final. It was a given that you would abide by the ruling. He rarely beat us, nay, he beat us,but, in a different manner. With his words. And he had the choiciest of them. You would be standing before him, in a courtroom of a kind, like a defendant in the dock; waiting for him to fetch those words. Before I knew of football hooligans, I had heard that word from him when it was flung at me. Can you believe it, that at one time my father thought I was a hooligan? He would call you a somnambulist or somniloquist and you wouldn't know what he had said until you looked it up in the dictionary. Generally there was a delay in your emotional response.

My brother Ben took after my father in many ways, or so people said. Thus dad had an inclination to favour him. He was named after both my maternal and paternal grandfathers. He received preferential treatment in the family. He was a lively guy and what I loved about him was that he was quick to make an apology, quick to see his mistakes. He was popular with almost everyone. Inspite of this he had a tumultuous adolescent period.. The family had relocated to our rural home in Bungoma while I was finalizing college. I was completing my final year at nursing school and was home for Christmas. My brother continued his education at a local school in our rural home. He must have been in Junior high school when this incident occurred.

It was the end of the day and I was in the kitchen. In most rural areas, often the kitchen is a small, mostly mud, house detached from the main house. Inside there's a designated cooking area. At one corner there'll be some clay pots with drinking water. On another end is a pile of dry firewood stacked up in a pendulum like fashion and ready for use as fuel. For those who are ingenious, a part of the kitchen is also the chicken coop. This is where we did our cooking, on the traditional three stone hearth. I was preparing supper. The rest of the family were in the main house, each preoccupied with their own thoughts. That evening my father had just arrived home from Nairobi, where he worked, for his annual leave. Whenever mum complained about my brother, dad would brush it off. My parents had their own curfew times for us. We were supposed to communicate wherever we would be going and be home before the sun went down. Undoubtedly, they censored where we could go.

"Don't come in with the chicken," Would be mom's soft warning as you left. She was alluding to the fact that we should never let the chicken

come home to roost before we were back. Of course we were the ones who would let the chicken in, guide them to their section of the kitchen and ensure they were not all over.

Incidentally, that evening dad arrives with the dusk of the day. My brother is nowhere to be seen. A little later, the legend himself swaggers in, thinking it is business as usual. He has no idea that the old man was around. As soon as he gets in, his eyes meet my father's angry ones. Obviously he cannot do a staring contest eyeball to eyeball with dad. So he drops his eyes. And then my father smells a whiff of alcohol on his breath. Mistake number one: Ben denies it! Oh lawd, come hear this! Hell hath no fury like what? Had those wahenga (sages ) ever heard about my father? He was furious. Dad gets off his seat and Ben tries to outrun him. Dad pulls him closer by his collar. Startled by the scuffle, my sister Sarah who was in our bedroom runs to the living room. We never had electricity back then. There's no light in the already darkening room. Sarah sees my brother splayed on the floor with some fluid next to him. In the darkness Sarah is not able to distinguish water from blood. Mum is pleading with dad but he gives a deaf ear. Sarah runs to the kitchen where I am. She's breathless

" Dad has killed Ben!"

I leave the food I was cooking. I stand up. My heart is running faster than Usain Bolt, my stomach is also threatening to join the sprint and my thoughts are heywire.

" No it can't be true!"

" I am the one who has seen him, believe me."

" No, dad cannot kill Ben !"

Sarah is already running back to the main house. The mwiko in my hand, I follow her into the main house. My brother is still lying down with ' blood' running across the floor. My dad, whip in hand is standing over him. Dad thinks I want to hit him with the mwiko. I kneel down to feel for a pulse,but don't feel it. I have panicked and I am already crying, mum and Sarah are wailing. I plead with dad to stop the beating. I tell him he has done enough. He stands there motionless and emotionless. In the negotiations with my father, the 'dead guy' does a Lazarus stunt, stands up and escapes from the lion's den.

The reality is that my father had given my brother a deafening hot slap, which had sent him sprawling over a basin of water that had been in the room. With some light we were able to see that the fluid was actually water and not blood. Dad had just taken out his belt and was yet to administer any justice to Ben.