Christmas season. Comes with overplayed carols, such that they become earworms. Decorations start as early as 20th December. Hedges are trimmed and compounds spotlessly cleaned. All this for the arrival of relatives from Rainobi. Relatives from Rainobi are treated like the season coming of Jesus, everything set aside for them. Soda is for Rainobi people, tea for the villagers. The villagers also go to the farm and harvest everything, from avocados, ripe bananas and matoke, sugarcane and corn to pack in their massive car boots. Oliver watched from a corner as cars started streaming into the compound. The air felt different, with the aura of importance.
Most of the relatives arrived in packs donning their cutest outfits. Some ever wore daring outfits that should never see the light of the day. Kids saw themselves as fashionistas with out of this world ding dongs ie shades, and outlandish hairstyles. The otherwise quiet compound turned into a Spanish bull fighting extravaganza, with kids putting each other in submission locks and screaming in delight. Grownups sprang up in hugging frenzies, catching up with relatives they had not seen in over a year. Oliver was excited to see his aunties and uncles and cousin he had not seen in a long while. He was impressed by the brown 05 jeans one of his cousins wore than had many pockets. Even the waist coat had a back pocket that could store a whole loaf of bread. He looked at his trousers that he had used rugoto as a belt. Rugoto is a string removed from banana stem. The trouser was in high waist as Oliver did not know his waistline.
The nostalgia of meeting relatives and socializing quickly died down. Oliver took a French leave and headed to his cousin' place. On the way down the murram road, he fell into a deep reverie. He pondered on everything that had happened during the year. The thinking process was a welcoming distraction because in no time he had arrived at the homestead. He started trekking the path, the house now just a stone throw distance away. He had not walked for long when he stuck his tongue out, then something unexpected happened, his tongue refused to go back in! Oliver was caught in a lot of panic. His feet froze. When his energy finally came back, he dragged his feet across the murram path and with all his might went back to the compound to his favorite aunt and tried to blubber about his plight but no word came out.
His mother, Rhoda, mouth agape with bewilderment called her brother, Tom, who was Oliver's favorite uncle and a reliable but humble figure in the family. Wilson, a kind-hearted man with a love for adventure, immediately agreed to drive Oliver and his grandfather, Jim, to the hospital for a check-up. The three generations of the family piled into Wilson's trusty old minivan, its interior filled with the reassuring scent of leather seats and faint traces of old family road trips. Tom sat behind the wheel, Oliver in the middle, and Grandpa Jim, a wise yet strict man, in the front passenger seat. The minivan's engine roared to life, and they embarked on the journey with the minivan speeding out of sight leaving behind a cloud of dust like a Ngong Safari Rally. The drive was chaotic they cruised along the familiar route, the van's radio softly playing classic tunes from a bygone era, trying to make it to hospital in time. The quietness and solemnness inside the vehicle was like a grave yard and you could hear a pin drop. The tension was as thick a butter and a butcher's knife could cut through it.
As they approached a bend in the road, Tom slowed down a bit, taking the curve cautiously but with the finesse of a GRAND THEFT AUTO PRO GAMER. The sun's rays danced through the leaves, casting flickering shadows on the road ahead. But as the bend unravelled, a perplexing sight emerged. A large truck was parked haphazardly across the road, competing blocking the tarmac road. Only way to manoeuver it was to veer off into the dirt terrain, but with the minivan's speed in account, that seemed like not an option.
Tom's instincts kicked in, and he slammed on the brakes like a madman, trying to avoid ramming into the truck like a battering ram. The van's tires screeched against the asphalt, its occupants' teeth clattering against each other and staring death in the eye. With a bone-rattling thud, the minivan collided with the truck. The sudden impact sent shockwaves through the vehicle, jostling its occupants, their foreheads kissing the windscreen and the windscreen shattering into a million pieces...
In the aftermath, Tom shook off the daze and quickly assessed the situation. Oliver was startled and scared but, thankfully, conscious. He had a minor cut on his forehead from a piece of flying debris, but the seatbelt had protected him from more serious injuries. Grandpa Jim, though shaken, also had blood dripping from his forehead. In unexplainable events, Oliver's tongue had gone back to place. The shock and sudden impact had engineered a cure for the hapless tongue.
Tom first concern was for Oliver's well-being. With gentle reassurance, he checked his nephew for any signs of serious injury while Grandpa Jim murmured comforting words under his heavy breath. Once satisfied that Oliver was relatively okay, Wilson turned his attention to their surroundings. The front of the minivan had taken the brunt of the impact. With reckless abandon, Tom put the truck in reverse gear, and manoeuvred the truck while hurling insults at the truck driver, and off, he sped to hospital, with everyone by the road watching in amazement as to how the minivan was being driven with its front in bad state.
The hospital attendants watched as the cartoonish minivan made its way inside. Even before the minivan had made a complete stop, Jim and Tom had come out with the teenager in their arms and demanded treatment in the general hospital with slow service and rude nurses. By luck, a kind nurse came to their rescue and helped Oliver get to a doctor. He received treatment and medication. The check-ups were thorough and even Oliver wondered if some of them were necessary, like the nurse who locked Oliver in a room and was carefully inspecting Oliver's manhood. Oliver hoped all this was part of the medication despite the nurse's grin and amused face. In the evening, it was time to go home as Oliver reflected what a holiday it had been in the still night air.
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It started subtly, with Oliver feeling a bit more tired than usual. His friends chalked it up to stress or a busy schedule. But as days turned into weeks, Oliver's fatigue deepened, accompanied by sporadic bouts of dizziness and nausea. His once radiant smile dimmed, and concern grew among those who knew him well. Oliver was a quiet boy but his face started looking grim. Doctors examined Oliver thoroughly, yet found no apparent cause for his symptoms. Blood tests, scans, and consultations with specialists all yielded the same frustrating result: no answers. As Oliver's health continued to decline, and Grandpa Jim took him to hospitals all over the country. Whoever was recommended, and they would book an appointment with them.
The mysterious illness was a sight to behold, not for the fainthearted. Oliver lost control of his stool and urine. What was a normal body occurrence now become a hard task. Stool would just come out on its own as well as urine. No matter the medication he took, the ghoul of infection ate at him every single day.
One evening, as Oliver sat in his dimly lit room, staring at the play of shadows on the walls, a sense of deep unease overcame him. He felt as if the room itself was watching him, its corners harbouring secrets. And then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—a dark figure, a silhouette, darting out of sight when he turned to look dire. Was he losing his mind? He withdrew from his friends and family, retreating into the confines of his own mind. His once- colourful world turned into shades of grey, and he longed for the days when life felt like the Caribbean Islands. Desperation led Oliver to delve into books about obscure illnesses and supernatural phenomena. He was determined to find an explanation for his condition, no matter how far- fetched it seemed. Late into the night, he stumbled upon an old journal, its pages filled with accounts of people who had experienced similar afflictions throughout history. It gave him some comfort and a base to work on.
In the period that followed, Oliver's primary school years were marked by a harsh and unforgiving reality. His illness was eventually noticed by students, for there was a stench that followed him everywhere he went. His nostrils had gone numb from the constant encounters with stool and urine. He would do the deed on himself and not realize. Oliver found himself caught in the clutches of unrelenting mockery and isolation from his classmates and other schoolmates too. Each day, as he stepped into the schoolyard, the taunts and jeers seemed to grow louder, forming a dark cloud that enveloped him in a bigger cloud of loneliness. As the years went by, the whispers turned into piercing laughter, and the occasional teasing morphed into a relentless barrage of mockery. Oliver's attempts to blend in or make friends were met with rejection, his loneliness becoming his only companion. In all this, loneliness became his dear friend.
Break times became the most agonizing periods for Oliver. The once vibrant playground turned into a battleground of hurtful words and cutting glances. While his classmates reveled in carefree laughter and playful games, Oliver sought refuge in the far corners of the yard, hidden from prying eyes beneath the shade of a tree. His heart ached with each rejection, and his spirit seemed to dim with every cruel remark.
His grandparents, Jim and Juliet were heartbroken by Oliver's experiences. They tirelessly advocated for him, occasionally meeting with teachers and the school administrators to address the emotional bullying he endured. However, despite their efforts, the situation only seemed to worsen, as some students became more creative in their cruelty. Despite the odds, Oliver's grandparents remained his unwavering pillars of support. Every ebening as Aston Villa head coach Unai Emery would say, they watched his sullen frame that told a thousand stories, offering reassurance and love amidst the darkness that clouded his world. They encouraged him to focus on his academic interests, and lit a fire underneath him to express his feelings through writing and art.
Oliver's sketches and stories became his sanctuary, a realm where he could escape the pain of reality and delve into a world of imagination and creativity. He poured his heart into his creations, weaving tales of Alibaba and the forty thieves, and tales right from DAVID JONES locker aye. He began drawing in his drawing book political figures that he would see in the newspaper and he would show to his uncle Charles and his grandfather. He learned to find solace in his art and writing, channelling his emotions into something beautiful and powerful. While the classroom remained a place of isolation, his world of imagination began to expand and sour into the sky.
However, amidst the storm, a glimmer of hope emerged. The school's principal, Mrs. Kiarie, noticed the growing severity of the situation and recognized the urgent need for intervention. She held assemblies to address the importance of empathy and kindness, emphasizing the impact that words and actions could have on a person's well-being. One day, during an emotional assembly, Mrs. Kiarie warned that there would be punishment for those who mocked young Oliver.
Her words struck a chord with the students, out of fear of punishment kids stopped mocking him but the damage had already been done, na maji yakimwagika, hayazoleki. This is a Swahili saying that means that when something happens it can't be undone. Once you go black there ain't never going back. Oliver had already undergone a psychotic breakdown that would span decades. The tide began to turn as the principal's warning message resonated, and some students started to reflect on their actions.
As time passed, the mockery did not entirely disappear, but there were subtle changes. A few classmates started to offer friendly smiles, while others chose to distance themselves from the taunts. The small gestures began to chip away at Oliver's isolation, planting seeds of hope in his heart. Oliver had planned to be a hermit with a house on a hill by the woods but these new developments were a nice welcome.
One day, as Oliver sat beneath his favourite tree during break, absorbed in a book, he noticed a group of classmates approaching. To his surprise, they weren't armed with mocking words, but rather with friendly conversation. They spoke about shared interests, books, and even the latest movies. Oliver hesitated at first, but as the days went by, he found himself engaged in conversations that went beyond his condition. The change was gradual but undeniable. Oliver's world expanded beyond the pages of his books, as he started to connect with classmates who saw him for who he truly was.
With time, the atmosphere in the school shifted. Oliver's journey wasn't miraculously transformed into an idyllic tale of complete acceptance, but it evolved into a story of courage and perseverance. The principal's intervention had created a ripple of change, with her commanding voice and menacing words that saved a boy from extinction into the darkness. As the moons rolled by, Oliver's friendship circle had grown, and while the dark looming past still cast a large shadow, it was no longer all-encompassing. The principal's efforts to stop the mockery had not only made a difference in Oliver's life but also left a lasting impact on the entire school community. The storm may have raged on, but within its midst, a beacon of hope had ignited, illuminating the path toward empathy and change.
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Growing up in the thriving community of Gathitii Oliver and his cousin Mumbii were inseparable. Their days were full with fun, mischief, and many adventures. They established an unshakable relationship while chasing butterflies and climbing trees. They were two peas in a pod and destined to be lifelong pals, according to frequent family jokes. Oliver and Mumbii spent most of their time in a secluded paradise on the outskirts of Gathitii. A little, trickling stream meandered through the center of the lovely, tree-lined meadow. They gave it the name "Gasirutuu" in reference to the tranquil sounds of the small river and the softly rustling leaves. They fashioned their own universe in this refuge.
Particularly over the extended holidays, Oliver's strange illness began to spread. The first feelings of tiredness and disorientation were accompanied by a peculiar odour, a scent that lingered no matter what he did. As the smell grew stronger, it stung Mumbii's nostrils vehemently. Oliver was always told, thie ugacenjie, meaning go and change your clothes by Mumbii. At first everything was alright, but soon it became a painful continuation of his condition. Their conversations became tense and his visits decreased. Mumbii noticed the alteration, but was perplexed by its cause. Their carefree childhood seemed like distant memories, and a sense of loss started to permeate their relationship.
One day, when the stench was extremely strong, they were relaxing by the brook. All control over Mumbii's discomfort was lost. Without realizing it, she let out a yell of frustration. It was a difficult moment for Oliver. She was angry and unsure as she talked vehemently, like a cocaine slurping mad vagabond. Oliver retreated even further after being offended by her remark, shattering their connection. Oliver and Mumbii's distance from one another grew as the years went by. Oliver was getting worse both emotionally and physically. He started living alone and avoiding social interaction in order to keep people safe from his disease. A remembrance of the companionship he had lost gave him a glimmer of hope, though, of the memories they shared.
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The Kenyattaa National Hospital, a magnificent institution of hope and healing, yet filled with rude nurses who would leave you to die in their care as they chewed ball gums loudly, stood in the busy centre of Nairobi. In the middle of the constant hum of life-saving equipment and the pervasive smell of antiseptic, the nurses went about their business Oliver was lying motionless in one of the private rooms, his once-bright eyes now dulled by illness. He had had a difficult, painful, and uncertain journey up to this point.
Oliver had been living in his room's sterile confines for days. His life was now surrounded by the repetitive beeping of machines and the continual jiggling of medical workers. He could still smell the medication on him, constantly reminding him of his weakness. But as the days went by, amazing things started to happen. Oliver regained strength gradually, inch by inch. The nurses who took care of him noted a gradual improvement in his condition and were motivated by his will to get better.
Oliver had been taken to Kenyattaa National Hospital for specialized by Grandpa Jim. A specialist had been referred and he was to undergo an operation and the consensus was to combat the illness once and for all. All in good faith. All in the name of God. Inshallah.
Oliver sat up in his bed one sunny morning while the birds sang outside the hospital window. This accomplishment seemed as significant as scaling Mount Kenya. He gazed around the room, enjoying the minor successes that had taken him to this point, and a warm smile spread across his face. Oliver watched the nurses who had taken care of him diligently work while he regained his vigor. They provided the human connection he so desperately needed during his most difficult times and he felt the urge to help other patients who were in worse situations than him.
And that is how he met Njoro, a chubby boy whose smile had disappeared as a lot of his sickness. He had just been operated on and tubes protruded from his stomach. He could not pee using his penis as his urethra was defective and so the tube would dispose of his urine into a transparent bag that the nurses emptied from time to time. He seemed he used to be happy in his before days…in his past life. Oliver stroke a friendship with him, encouraging him through the days.
Over time, a bond developed between Oliver and Njoro that went beyond the walls of the hospital. They conversed about life outside of the hospital, shared family lore, and even talked about their hopes and objectives. Oliver also drew courage and inspiration from Njoro's constant friendship and support, it was symbiotic relationship.
Oliver liked the hospital's entertainment days. During this time, nurses and other patients turned on television and movies to provide patients a chance to briefly escape the reality of their conditions. On those days, the aroma of popcorn overpowered the smell of medication, and laughter filled the hallways. During these days of enjoyment, Oliver and Njoro would frequently watch movies together, exchanging popcorn and stories as they momentarily forgot about the agony and pain all around them. These breaks from the journey's difficulties offered a sliver of happiness.
Oliver would assist the nurses with little jobs as his recovery progressed. He brought in supplies, helped with paperwork, and provided solace to other patients. It was nothing short of inspirational to see him go from being a helpless patient to being an active participant in the hospital's daily operations, helping out whenever he could, even without the badge as help was always needed.
Oliver and Njoro came across a little child named Kipruto who was facing a serious illness one day when they were out and about. Oliver could see the same terror that he had earlier experienced in Kip's eyes. Oliver extended a hand and a consoling smile to Kipruto while Njoro stood by his side. He realized then that he had a new mission: to encourage and support others as they pursue recovery.
Oliver was put on a strict bland diet by his doctors as he prepared for a vital surgery that was only two weeks away. Oliver ate nothing but simple rice and boiled potatoes for two weeks, without salt or tomatoes. To make sure Oliver's body was in the best possible shape for the approaching surgery, the physicians had advised following this food plan. Despite being regular ingredients in most meals, salt and tomatoes had been temporarily banned from his plate because of the risk that they posed to the procedure. Oliver experienced each day as a boring culinary adventure. The lack of flavour made eating seem more like a chore than something to look forward to. But he persisted, knowing that this sacrifice was a necessary step on the road to his recovery.
His family was there for him, offering unshakable encouragement and even sharing the same bland food with him as a show of support. Grandpa Jim, mastered the art of inventive cooking while adhering to the stringent guidelines of rice and potatoes Oliver's taste buds become acclimated to the blandness of his meals as the days went by.
The day of theatre came and Oliver was rushed in a trolley to the operation room. In the operation room, Oliver was given the option of passing out by syringe or bass. He had never been afraid of needles, but in this instance he chose the gas. Nothing happened for a few minutes but then the surrounding started fading to green as the surgeons talking started turning into murmurs. Oliver felt a deep pain in his nostrils as he started to pass out, and regretted choosing the gas.
Days after the operation and Oliver was already feeling better. He felt full of energy and hoped this surge of wave was healing cruising through his body and spine. He checked his body for incisions made by the surgeons by he couldn't find any.
Oliver was eager and hopeful as he prepared to return to school following his successful operation and a period of recuperation. He had missed the excitement of learning, the banter in the hallways, and his pals. Oliver experienced a mixed emotion on his first day back at school: nervousness and excitement. He entered the well-known gates, his heart racing with anticipation at the thought of seeing his pals again. Warm grins and passionate greetings from his classmates greeted him as he walked into his classroom.
In a nice surprise, he found that Njoro had moved to his school, as a new student, and that gave him joy. Njoro stood on the doorway of class and held the frame, his skin as white as snow. He then greeted him as he approached with a sparkle in his eyes.
"Hi, remember me? I'm Oliver, from Kenyattaa." With a stern and harsh gaze, Njoro turned to confront Oliver. He responded, his voice oozing with animosity, "I know
who you are. His tone was as bland as some of the rude nurses in Kenyattaa.
Oliver was astounded by his friend's transformation. Njoro, who was formerly renowned for his warmth and friendliness, suddenly seemed like an entirely different person. After his absence, Oliver had anticipated that things would change, but this went far beyond his wildest expectations. As he continued to scout Njoro he noticed that Njoro had become a bully, bullying young urns all through the school and wondered where the sweet boy went.