Man-Hood

It's early in the morning in Kiambu, the first rays of the sun paint the sky with hues of gold, a solemn setting unfolding along the banks of a cold, meandering river. Nestled within nature's embrace, we gathered in disciplined lines, our anticipation mingling with a touch of apprehension. The air carried a crisp freshness, and a gentle breeze rustle through the surrounding trees, adding a sense of serenity to the scene. The rhythmic sound of footsteps echoed softly, mingling with the distant songs of birds welcoming the new day. Our bodies were marked with this earthy combination, symbolizing purity, protection, and a connection to our ancestral roots. The ash and cow dung, carefully applied in intricate patterns, created a stark contrast against our skin, blending shades of gray and brown with the warm undertones of our black complexion. The mixture formed a protective layer, shielding us from negative energies and evil spirits, ensuring our safe passage into manhood.

Our faces mirror a duality of emotions, fear, and pride intermingled. Eyes wide with apprehension, revealing the natural trepidation that accompanies such a significant rite of passage. The weight of the unknown future etched lines of concern upon our youthful brows.

The tribal songs fill the air, intertwining with the rhythmic beats of drums and shaking of rattles. Among the performers are young girls, their torsos proudly exposed, donned in vibrant skirts, and ornate beaded jewellery that adorned their bodies. Their bare chests showcased symbols of womanhood, signalling their important role in the ceremonial proceedings.

My attention is suddenly caught by the melodious voices from the young ladies. Am stark naked. At this point my senses are heightened by the momentous occasion, I scan the crowd of young ladies swinging their voluptuous hips with a mixture of curiosity and surprise. I won't lie, but you should witness this before you die. Suddenly, my eyes catch a glimpse of my village girlfriend, Mumbi. Her voice harmonizing beautifully with the songs that filled the air.

I remember the first time I met her down the river, fetching water. That day shall forever be written in my heart. I waved at her and to my surprise, she just smiled. She then passed me swinging her behind and I stood there wishing, waiting, and praying. She was now here, seeing my nakedness. I looked like a clown without garments.

The elder, revered and respected, walked with measured steps, his every movement reflecting a lifetime of wisdom and guidance. The knife he carried, a symbol of tradition and transition, caught the sunlight, emphasizing its finely honed edge, capable of performing the ceremonial act with utmost precision. In disciplined lines, we followed behind the elder, our hearts pounding in unison, as we walked towards the river that held both cold water and profound significance. Each step forward represented a step towards adulthood, a rite of passage that would forever shape our identity.

The butcher elder, his name lives free in my mind, Kinyanjui had the main symbol of the tool used to guide us into adulthood. These knife, crafted with meticulous craftsmanship, gleamed in the morning light, the sharp edges serving as instruments for both physical transformation and spiritual awakening. I could not last the sight. My father had made it his call that I was to be number three on the ritual line.

The river, flowing steadily and cold against your skin, served as a conduit between the past and the future. The water, in its purity, mirrored the essence of the ritual, washing away the remnants of childhood and preparing you for the responsibilities of adulthood.

As Kahengeri approached the elder, his steps were steady, although a hint of nervousness lingered in his eyes. The elder, with practised hands and a solemn demeanour, performed the circumcision swiftly and skilfully. Kahengeri's initial reaction was one of brief discomfort, reflected in a momentary flinch and a deep inhale. I could feel my father's eyes on my back. This is not what I signed up for, I need to wake up.

I was next. A wave of fear coursed through me upon witnessing the pain etched on his face. The intensity of his experience struck a chord deep within my being, amplifying the reality of what awaited me. Oh, dear. The sight of Kahengeri's expression contorted by discomfort and anguish filled me with a mix of empathy and apprehension. It was a stark reminder of the physical and emotional challenges that lay ahead in my own circumcision. The fear intensified as I imagined myself in his position, anticipating the pain that would soon become my reality. I stepped up.