The Frènch Bible

At times in the homestead, a man should just walk around with a hammer or a pair of pliers. What if you find a loose nail or anything similar ? So my old man saw me walking around with a hammer one evening and called me. Maybe in his head he was like, my son is growing into a responsible man. He then told me, "you know now you're a big person" I mean 'grown up' 

I didn't say yes because that's pretty obvious. I'm big. Look at me, I'm  big. I sat on the wooden seat  and his stories came down on me like the walls of Jericho on the 7th day of trumpet blowing. 

Boyie, a middle-aged man, back then a CRE teacher at a boys school located in the suburbs of Homa Bay. Many years ago, like in early 80s. A tall chocolate man with a bald head. A reserved man of few words. 

Hold on, what age in point of fact defines middle age? I’m yet to see 30 but already feels like I should  be called a middle-aged man. This life has shown me things.

In his mid 40s, a family man with a wife and four children. Three boys and a last-born girl. The perfect family a middle-aged man should have. A girl should always be the last born. They perform the duties of a last born best. 

Twenty years ago he got married to one beautiful lady. They met and just clicked like all she'd been looking for was a CRE teacher. A girl nice like rice, submissive and outlined in the ultimate shape of an African woman. A woman you would take to your parents even in the next life. 

A woman whose smile would secure you a loan at the bank. He was 28 when he married. The lady was barely 22. They exchanged saccharine vows in their traditional wedding. Friends and family gathered to witness the doing of the Lord, a people that the Lord had brought together.

Boyie’s parents were the typical religious African parents. Those who were lucky to be learned back in the days. In their newly built semi permanent house, an old shelve rested against the wall with old books and bibles in different versions. His father having been to France after the end of WWIII had returned with a French bible that was a piece of treasure to him. 

There is a way he would tilt his head and lower his pince-nez when describing the holy book. He would say in his hoarse voice, “Boyie this is not just a bible, in French we call it La Bible du rabbinat français” and he would prolong the ‘s’ on Francais while looking at you straight in the eye. You would stare at him and wonder if the lengthy intricate name was really necessary, but he’s your dad.

He didn’t keep it at the shelf with the other bibles and history books. He kept it at the small drawer beside his bed where it always spent the nights with the wooden radio. Surprisingly he would read it fluently you'd think he had spent all his lifetime in France.

I suppose they persuaded Boyie to wed because looking at his face, he doesn’t look like he would choose a wedding when asked to. Few months after his wedding, he decided to go and make things clear for his parents. After his last lesson on Friday afternoon he found his way to Kisumu. The custodian of the French Bible was seated outside his house, and this time too with his bible ofcourse. His mom was away on women's errands and arrived soon after. Later in the night he sat them down and told them - you know what parents, we don't have to hide this anymore. 

There must have been a long silence, a lot of throat clearing and a deep breath before he could utter a word - because, how do you tell your parents that the 22 years old girl you married the other month had two children already. After clearing his voice for the nineteenth time, he manned up and said, " I'm sorry I didn't mention this earlier but my wife has two children that are not mine. I thought it wise to make it clear to you"

They didn’t take it lightly, more so his dad, he almost left the sitting in protest. His mom didn't say a thing but was clearly disappointed. He asked him what he knew about the father of the two children. At that time the information he had was that one day she woke up and he was long gone. He convinced them that it is the love that really matters. The dust settled and they made peace with the decision of their son. 

The story got into my nerves, I took the hammer and the nails from my laps and dropped them down besides my feet. My dad adjusted on his seat and took a deep sip of the tea that was now getting cold...

Mr. Boyie went for his Friday afternoon lesson looking unkempt and demented - dull and dreary. A middle aged man now, in his mid 40s. He didn’t have his famous French bible. He didn't carry any books or files. This was not his modus operandi, he always had the bible for his CRE lessons.

He went straight to the board and enshrouded his head. The class stayed calm waiting for what Mr. Boyie was trying to insinuate this time. He was probably initiating something he wanted to teach about. Something like how Jesus raised Jairus' daughter who knows? 

His head stayed on the board.  For a minute, then two, then ten and it was almost after thirty minutes that he turned to the class and said, "boys you can make any mistake in life but don't make a marital mistake." He put back his hands in his pockets and went for the door. 

The class rose into a sudden hoopla and everyone was yelling "don't make a marital mistake." In a blink, the whole school was literally singing marital mistake.  

The next Saturday morning there was a lory Infront of Mr. Boyie's house at the teachers quarters. A white lorry and men in blue overalls. No one knew what marital mistake did to Mr. Boyie, what was sure was that something must kill a man and this time a CRE teacher was the man. 

Turns out he was not leaving the school but rather dealing with the biggest loss a man can ever deal with. The woman he married, threw a lavish traditional wedding with and called a wife reunited with the father of her first two children. The man who had left mysteriously twenty years ago to seek better life in Munich, Germany. And he surely came back with the better life he went to seek. His sons now grown, were fully raised by another man (a CRE teacher) who didn't hesitate to give them his best as a father.  

This is something the CRE teacher had dealt with for sometime since he realized there was a secrete insider in their bedroom. Someone that his missus gave an equal chance if not better. He fought the war gruesomely but still lost. And he surely lost it all when the court ordered that their wealth be split into half after she chose to go back to the man from Munich. 

That is not even the whole story, because all the four children leaving with their mother is another complete chapter. He felt oddly elated that his father passed on not to see things that the eyes shouldn't see. Betrayal was written all over his face. By his wife and even worse by his children. He didn't throw a hissy fit at them, the love was stronger. He would accept them back any hour of the day or night. 

Left with us is a wounded man, wounded ego, wounded esteem, a failure, one who can't protect what's his. A completely broken heart is all he had to brag about. Who goes around bragging with a broken heart ?

He was left with an empty house. An empty house and peace of mind was not too little in his basket to start with over again. Among the few things he could count was his father's French Bible. The one he used to call with a long name while lowering his pince nez.