I was in this world when one of the most colourful and fast rising Nyagenkean in the name of Doktari Robert Oguku joined the angels for a dance.
The scent of Mama’s milk had vacated the mouth for 32 teeth to grow.
I’m talking of days when owning a black and white screen was a major achievement whose news reverberated within and without the length and width of Nyagenke.
The man whose name I introduce myself with had acquired his household such as a screen whose red stomach was at its back.
In the meat wrappers, Oguku Death Inquiry was big news, and it spread like rapid fire not only in Kinya but around the globe.
I could not make up why everyone seemed bothered and why in heaven’s sake, such a man with a decorated reputation was made to stop breathing.
Then came a shocker!
A pathologist said that Doktari Robert Oguku committed suicide!
How now? Many Kinyans had believed that he was murdered and only that the suspects had not been brought to book.
Now, here was a man who had forgotten that Lincoln was not influenced by nyasore when he said, “You can fool all the people some of the time, and some of the people all the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time.”
For years, the Nyagenkeans remained perplexed that Oguku managed to shoot himself in the head, baptise his body with petrol and then set himself ablaze.
We cannot really say that enough water has flown under the bridge since that time.
I have emptied quite a number of granaries, well aware that the death of Doktari Robert Oguku remains unresolved to this day.
I have said before and I can say yet again that being a Nyagenkean is a lifestyle.
My head has not grown cobwebs and I vividly recall the first day I saw how a Nyagenkean who refused to breath was lowered to rest with the Makombis, Ongisas, Okiaberas and Orwarus, the great Nyagenkeans who had left the stage to go grow and weed potatoes down there.
Once the body was lowered, a living Nyagenkean scaled down the four cornered mansion as wailing hit fever pitch.
Those were days when young Nyagenkeans were required to observe burial distancing and secretly use their eyes properly.
I got the temptation to move closer, but I remembered what that meant to my backside.🔥🔥🔥 and more 🔥🔥🔥
My ears were probably sharper than today and what missed the eyes had zero chance of missing the handles of my head.
That’s how I learnt that the breathing man who followed the dead one was the village’s celebrated and self-made pathologist.
Let me not eat words like a donkey.
I remembered these things after I saw ngavament pathologist Johansen Otwori giving testimony in court as to how Omwana Embombo Saron was made to stop breathing.
At the centre of the case unwrapping the truth in as far as the stoppage of Omwana Embombo Saron’s breathing is Ogoti Omato.
If there are guys who have seen it all then Johansen Otwori is topping the list.
When they leave the axes and scalpels and lock the doors behind them, they carry with them messages that send shivers down the spines of us.
The wheels of justice turn exceedingly slow.
Oftentimes, fewer stones are turned and the powers that be have capacity to dim the hopes of victims and their loved ones like a Nyagenkean dimming a tin lamp that has been emiting smoke like Akobo Peter’s tractor climbing Mount Nyamiranga.
This Nyagenkean is waiting to see how this sad tale pans out then conclude this story.
Na si tuonane? 🚶🏾♂️🚶🏾♂️🚶🏾♂️
- TheIdlerIsBack!
