Who was he?

“Wa Ndirangu is dead.” whispered villagers in fearfulness. Talk about his death was rife at the local shop, by the roadside and some people were even murmuring inside the church during the Sunday morning service. You could see small cliques of local women standing at the road junctions talking in low voices. One villager, an old illiterate man even bought a copy of Taifa Leo and asked his grandson to read and tell him if there was any mention of wa Ndirangu’s death. The main question in everyone’s mind was who would burry the old man.

Wa Ndirangu he was not an ordinary villager.
His story was known by all. He came to the area around the time when the Mau Mau war was ranging. Outsiders were viewed with suspicion but he had managed to charm the villagers. He was what the people needed most, a humorous story teller who told things that one could only know by reading newspapers from Nairobi. He kept everyone entertained with his wild stories of what was going on in Ngong’, Nairobi, Shimo la Tewa, Kapenguria and even Lodwar. He made up stories about Kenyatta who was then in prison, about the way the war was going that made everyone amazed. How did he know so much? Where did he get the information from? He did not even own a radio yet his wild stories always sounded so real.
Most villagers took the then young man for a lazy vagabond with a strange talent to make up stories and telling them in the most amazing way. That changed one day when he told that all the men from the village who were in detention camp were coming back and the same afternoon they did. Suddenly, his status was elevated from that of a talkative loafer to a clairvoyant.
Many started to take him a bit more seriously. Villagers would secretly approach the young man; buy him a drink and inquire about their own future from wa Ndirangu. Sometimes he would tell things that later were proven by time to be true but political events that he was able to predict and narrate most vividly.
His background was sketchy and elusive. He never told his life story in full to anyone. He had indicated that he was a cook for the Governor Evelyn Baring in Nairobi but was expelled from Nairobi because the governor’s wife was madly in love with him. He had told the villagers that though the governor forbid him from coming back to Nairobi ever again, the governor’s wife had managed to write him a cheque before he left and gave it to him in secret. This story sounded too fancy for anyone to believe.
Many doubted him because by there was nothing in his appearance that was extraordinary or special, they thought that no mzungu’s wife would fall in love with him leave alone the governor’s. However, all doubts disappeared when he constructed a stone house on the land that clan allocated to him. All the villagers knew that wa Ndirangu must have been telling the truth otherwise he would not have the money for such a building. In addition, the stone house that he planned for himself looked very much like the governor’s residence. It was whitewashed, huge French windows and a roof of red bricks tiles that gave it a very distinguished appearance in a village of grass-thatched huts.In spite of his not so modest residence, wa Ndirangu never found love. He showed no interest in the hinting eyes of the local beauties. It was then assumed that maybe he was so heart-broken after losing the love of his life, the governor’s wife.
It was wa Ndirangu who informed the villagers that Kenyatta had been released, that a deal had been reached in Lancaster on the Independence constitution and that KANU had won the elections. The village got used to the VOK radio confirming his far fetched stories.  
It was during the years after independent when rumours of oath taking were rife in the village that things changed between wa Ndirangu and the village he now called home changed. A school girl, Muthoni, a teen-age daughter of a local Anglican vicar had confessed to a congregation how she had been abducted on her way home and taken to wa Ndirangu’s house. The teenager had told in gross details how she had been forced to take oath. The process had included drinking warm goat blood and swearing never to betray the house of Mumbi and the fruits of independence. Muthoni had said in her vivid narratives that it was wa Ndirangu himself who had presided over the oath ceremony. Those who disclosed the oath in public we threatened with death. All waited who heard Muthoni that day were shocked and waited to see what would happen to her now that she had spoken openly.
It came to pass that Muthoni contracted a fever and few weeks later got paralysed on both legs. Many saw the polio that affected Muthoni as a punishment for talking openly about the oath. Since then, Muthoni became a cripple and never married. She rarely left her father’s compound. Though no one directly blamed wa Ndirangu, many simply shunned him like a leper.
wa Ndirangu was now a very isolated man. After the oath taking was declared over by Kenyatta’s men, wa Ndirangu increased his sugar subscription. He was now a full time brewer and his homestead and drank most of it himself. He never missed an opportunity to tell the shopkeeper how good his drink was. He one confessed that busaa was his only love since he had lost governor’s wife. One rainy Sunday morning, a stranger with a nice car stopped by the shop to ask for directions to the church. He said that he was a government minister going to a harambee function that he had been invited to. He seemed friendly and before he left he said to the shop keeper in kikuyu, “where can I get some medicine, I get sick sitting in meetings?” before the shopkeeper could introduce her range of painkillers, the stranger quickly added in a whisper, “I mean a drink”. There was no beer place open at that time of the morning so the shopkeeper suggested that the stranger check wa Ndirangu’s place and the minister drove off towards that direction.  
The black Mercedes Benz was seen parked at wa Ndirangu’s place that morning. That same day, a government minister did preside over a harambee the same day and was driven in a similar car.Every weekend after that incidence, big cars were seen parked at wa Ndirangu’s. It was assumed that big men from Nairobi were streaming in to wet their throats with wa Ndirangu’s busaa. Over the years, he became an enigma that all villagers held in both respect and fear. It was assumed that he had contacts with the rich and mighty judging but the pool of cars that pull into his compound every Friday evening, Saturday and Sunday. He never discussed with the villagers any details of his patrons or even mention. Ever since the Muthoni incidence and subsequent sickness, he never told stories about distant lands to the villagers like he used to.
It became a village norm that among them lived a man who they did not know his family background or even clan, and who hosted strange men with big cars every weekend. The villagers assumed that wa Ndirangu’s guests were political leaders though rumours has it that other senior personalities like judges, bishops, police commissioners, army generals and business moguls were also his clients.
 Though Kenyatta died and political power changed hands and the oath that had cost Muthoni her legs did not stop the presidency from passing on to someone outside the house of Mumbi, wa Ndirangu’s the weekend visitors kept on coming. Even in the time when the government spies knew everyone’s bedroom secrets, wa Ndirangu seemed untouchable. There was the time when a notorious chief nicknamed Museveni ordered his askaris to invade any home known to brew busaa and confiscate all illicit drink they would find but not once did he dare approach wa Ndirangu’s homestead though it was open secret that he was a veteran brewer. During the days of the Mwakenya movement, Museveni had ordered all villagers to be home by 9.00PM, an order obeyed by all to the letter. Wa Ndirangu was the only one who would venture outside his home and nothing would happen to him.
After President Kenyatta’s death, the house of Mumbi had slowly fallen out favour with the new government. Their fate resembled the fate of the Hebrews in ancient Egypt after Joseph’s death. There were less of the members of the house in senior positions and all seemed to work against them. The failed military coup, though not organised or supported by members of the house saw many purged from government positions. The only member of the house of Mumbi who seemed to still be in favour with the big men in Nairobi was wa Ndirangu.
It was bewildering to all villagers when the president, a church going teetotaller, stopped his car convoy at wa Ndirangu’s. “Why”, everyone asked, “would he stop there, and was this his first time?” The visit by the head of State left everyone confused even scared.
Everyone wanted to know, what did they talk about, did the President drink and was he coming back? Because of years of isolating him, no one had the courage to approach him so they all did what they had been doing for years now, speculate.
After the Presidents visit, wa Ndirangu did not cut his greying hair. His hair grew into grey strong dreadlocks; he looked like an ex-Mau Mau fighter. Again, like many curious events in this most enigmatic life, it was forgotten that he had hosted the president for a whole afternoon at his home. It was also forgotten that he used to shave his hair, all got used to wa Ndirangu, the strange man with dreadlocks.Museveni the chief had been jailed for robbery with violence and in his place a new chief had been appointed. He was more draconian than Museveni so the villagers nicknamed him Rambo after a Hollywood Movie character. Rambo was notorious for his merciless pursuit of an underground religious movement that was urging its members to return to the traditional ways. The group had publicly beaten and stripped women who dressed in trousers or short skirts. These young men sniffed glue and talked in a language that only Kikuyu song lyric writers were known to use. Though wa Ndirangu could be mistaken for a follower of this religious group, he was too old and he had sported his hairstyle long before anyone had heard of the group.
Another change in government saw no change in frequency or amount of traffic to wa Ndirangu during the weekends. Some of the cars had diplomatic registration number plates. He no longer was seen buying sugar for his busaa so it was assumed that his guests brought him sugar and other ingredients since he had no car and he never used taxi services.
The religious group that Rambo had fought so hard had only grown bigger. It was no longer just a “back to the roots” movement; it was a money extortion mafia-like ring that controlled business life in huge part of the country. Rambo had lost the fight and had been killed in one of the night raid be had attempted against the group.
Many villagers were afraid of the group. They were brutal and were forcing oath on young school leavers. Muthoni was a constant reminder to the villagers of the curse of taking oath or even talking about it. The old Ndirangu never talked about Mutton’s fate but it was assumed that he was no longer keen on such indulges that had isolated him so much from his neighbours.
One calm morning, three school boys found wa Ndirangu by the roadside holding his chest struggling to breath. They run into the nearest home shouting that wa Ndirangu was sick by the road. They shouted and run to just about every house they could before their curiosity made them run back to the site of the sick man.
The old wa Ndirangu had died surrounded by the silent staring villagers he had learnt to know. The silence at his death and the empty stares crystallised the relationship wa Ndirangu had with his neighbours. That evening, though the body of the old wa Ndirangu had been taken to the local mortuary, none of his usual visitors came. It was the first Friday since the first visit by the minister, that cars were not seen driving to his home. How did they know not to come? Who informed them? Did they know that the old man was going to die? The mysteries that surrounded his life seemed to follow him even after his death.
A mixture of fear and indifference amongst the villagers kept them away from approaching his home or making any funeral arrangements. Though wa Ndirangu had lived among them, he was not part of them. He lived in a different world.
Thirteen days after his death, some youngsters spotted some movement in wa Ndirangu’s compound. In a matter of minutes, curious villagers were standing across the road near his home watching like one would watch a Chelsea-Manchester United game on a wide screen TV. The youth in the compound were strangers to the village who had arrived at dawn in a bus that was still parked in the compound.
Many quickly concluded they were followers of the religious extortion group because they all had long dreadlocks and were dressed in white robes. They were seen preparing a grave for wa Ndirangu. They worked in silence and they all seemed to know what to do. Each had their role and everything they did seemed religious. They were seen rubbing soil from the gravesite on their faces. When they were done digging a hole big enough for a grave, they all boarded the bus, in silence and drove off. They paid no notice to the onlookers. By 8 o’clock, the whole incidence was over. At exactly noon, two Lorries full of soldiers in red ceremonious uniform came to the compound and as if to keep the onlookers away, they surrounded the home creating a human fence. Seven minutes past noon the villagers saw two helicopters descend into the compound. Due to the clouds of dust caused by the landing aircrafts and the human fence made by the military men, the now terrified villagers could not see what was happening in the homestead of the once jovial story teller wa Ndirangu. Whatever was happening, took place very fast because in a quarter of an hour, there was no one in the compound, it was as if there had been no one there in the first place. Now from a distance, one could see a tombstone at the site where the dreadlocked men in white robes had dug a brave.No one was ever seen in wa Ndirangu’s compound after that day and none of the villagers ever dared to approach his burial site, till this day, none of them can tell you what is written on his tombstone. End of part one. “Mzee Kinyua is back!”  “He was the only friend wa Ndirangu had in the village.” Word had spread like a bush fire about his return. Women, men and even children gathered at his front yard. They refused to accept what Mzee Kinyua’s wife was telling them, they asked why a healthy man would sleep during the day. When he heard voices of people, he came out of his housed only to be amazed that almost the whole village was there. “I will tell you about America tomorrow” he said politely.  The crowd did not move.  

 

An air of excitement filled the village. Mzee Kinyua had returned from the United States of America where he had attended the wedding ceremony of his daughter. Jet lagged, he had gone straight from the taxi that had picked him from Jomo Kenyatta International Airport to take a nap. “I could not sleep in the plane” he had told his wife, “I was looking out of the window to see if I could see God through the clouds.” 

One man raised his voice saying,  “These people are not here to hear about America, they are here to know who wa Ndirangu was.”

 “Why are you here then, you said these people?” asked Mzee Kinyua facing the man who had spoken first. Everybody laughed out loud.  “Ok, I am a bit tired now, come back after milking your cows and feeding your children this evening and I will tell you what I know.”Villagers milked their cows early that day. Children refused to go to bed. They all wanted to look good so many combed their hair, put on something nice and locked their doors as they left to Mzee Kinyua’s. It felt like Christmas Eve only that this time they were not headed to the church and the story was not about a baby in a manger but about a man who had lived among them for other fifty years.Kamande was the village’s loud mouth. He made everyone sit quietly. He also made some rules on the sitting order. He asked the old men and women to come sit in the front; children were grouped on the side and the youth at the back. He appointed two secondary school boys to stand by the gate and watch out for any signs of strangers and appointed one man asked questions on behalf of the others. He said that it would be tiring and disorderly if everyone asked questions at random. He caused loud prolonged laughter when he asked if there was anyone from the Daily Nation Newspaper or Kameme FM radio. Though Kamande had dropped out of school before completing primary education, everyone acknowledged that he had good organisational skills and readily accepted him performing that role. After everyone sat comfortably on the grass, Kamande knocked Mzee Kinyua’s front door. Mzee Kinyua came out wearing a t-shirt written “I love New York City” and a cap with American stars and stripes. It was now getting dark. Mzee Kinyua asked Kamande to get some volunteers to make and maintain a fire for light and warmth.The meeting chairman that Kamande had appointed spoke first. He narrated how the villagers had been saddened by the sudden death of the “youthful” wa Ndirangu, how they tried everything to save him and how God desired for his company in heaven. He told of the events that followed the death and before the crowd got impatient with his narrative, he concluded by asking the chairlady of the mother’s union to open with a prayer. After the pray which criss-crossed on issues affecting the village like insecurity and lack of rain, she prayed that the story they were about to hear would be a lesson to all “like the stories Moses told the Israelites in the desert”.

 

Kinyua opened his throat in a manner of asserting his authority, as if to remind everyone why they had gathered there. He then looked from his left to right as if to check who was present and who wasn’t. Then he looked thoughtful for a brief moment as if to recollect his memory. Then he spoke. “I received the news of my friend’s death in American with great sadness. My mind went back to the time when we were young, when he was knew in our village. I was about Kamande’s age” The whole gathering chuckled. “He came here from Nairobi and charmed all of us with his wild tales of Nairobi, London, Mombassa, everywhere.” He then went on to recount who wa Ndirangu had told him about his childhood adventures, the dramatic entry into Nairobi and the spine-tingling tales that followed. 

“Wa Ndirangu was born Eloto somewhere in Eastern Equatoria between Kapoeta and Kangen river in the then Anglo-Egyptian Sudan into the Lotuko tribe. The young Eloto’s childhood was disrupted when neighbouring clan raided their village killing his parents. Eloto and two other boys hid in a bush as they watched their home go up in flames. All the other members of the village had died in the raid. The three boys cried and vowed to revenge for the deaths of their loved ones. The following night they sneaked into the village the raiders had returned to lighting every hut. They hid nearby to see if the fires they had started were going to destroy the houses.”

At this point, all villagers knew that the story they were going to hear was a thriller.

“The fire did burn down the village but the men of the village shouted war cries and ran all over the place searching for the arsonists. The boys knew they had to run and hide. As they run away, the men saw them and run after them. The three boys run into different directions and Eloto never saw the other boys again.” 

“He ran faster than a spear. He kept running for days.” 

“He arrived at a Lake Rudolf one evening. He saw some fishermen on rafts. He was afraid to approach them so he watched from a distance. After the fishermen were done fishing, they made a camp fire, grilled some fish, ate and left. Eloto went to the camp site only to find fish bones and it seemed that one of the men had forgotten a small knife. He picked the knife and sat there wondering what he could hunt for dinner.” 

 “Eloto sat on a rock by the shores of Lake Rudolf staring at the horizon. He was hungry and thirsty.  He wondered if he had come to the end of his road. As he sat and contemplated, a crocodile came up to him with the intentions of making dinner on him.”

 “Are you still following or should I stop here?” inquired Mzee Kinyua. 

“What happened?” 

 “Did the crocodile eat him?” 

“Yes, it ate him!” Replied Mzee Kinyua as the crowd broke into a prolonged laughter. 

When the crowd calmed again, he continued narrating how Eloto had struggled with the reptile for hours and eventually striking it with the knife he had collected from the fishermen’s camp site. As he rested and planned how he would make a meal from the dead reptile, a group of white men and a woman appeared from the nearby bushes. They had watched Eloto epic encounter with the reptile. A woman who was with them made Eloto lie on the ground as she dressed his wounds. One of the men made a fire while the other two prepared meat from the crocodile Eloto had killed.

 “One of the men drove a car that had been hidden behind the bushes nearer to the camp. It was the first time Eloto or wa Ndirangu saw a car. The woman got a table and two benches from the car, spread a table cloth and set the cutlery. She poured red wine into the glasses.” 

“After they had grilled the crocodile meat, they all sat at the table and ate. Though Eloto did not know what they were talking about, he was sure they were happy to get crocodile meat. After the meal, they continued drinking wine and one of men took a guitar from the car. They played and sang, dancing and laughing. They took Eloto to dance with them.” 

“That night, Eloto did not sleep under the sky but in a tent with snoring white men.” 

“White men snore like us?” asked someone in the crowd. 

“Sure they do, just louder and better melody than us,” replied Mzee Kinyua jokingly. 

“The following morning, they had tea and biscuits. The most delicious thing Eloto had ever tasted in his life so far. After breakfast, Eloto realised that his new friends were packing to leave. It dawned on him that it will be him, the lake and crocodiles again. That was a fate he was not willing to accept. He was also afraid that the fishermen would probably return and accuse him of stealing their knife. He decided to act fast. The hunters shook his hand and said things he did not understand but he nodded anyway. They smiled and the woman who had treated his wounds looked at him sympathetically. They waved cheerfully as they walked into their car. Eloto walked towards a nearby bush. Just as the car was about to start, Eloto jumped into the back falling on the luggage. Nobody noticed him. He hid between the bundles of tents and clothes. He coiled so tightly that he could fit into a school bag, he had told me.” 

“The cars drove for days without end. The sun was hotter than ever before and the road as bumpy as fighting a crocodile with bare fists. In all this heat, Eloto fell asleep.” 

“When he woke up, he was in a clean bed in a big building. The woman who had treated his wounds sat on a chair next to him as if waiting for him to wake up.” 

“She called in a servant and gave her instructions to clean and dress Eloto. The servant even shaved Eloto’s hair. He was then taken to another room that was full of people. When he walked in, they all clapped at him as though they had been expecting him to address them. He recognised the men who had eaten, drunk and danced with him at the shores of the distant lake. H was showed where to sit and he followed what others were doing. All he could think about was if the men were intending to return him to the land of crocodiles and knife carrying fishermen. He also wondered if the men were angry that he had hitch hiked without permission” 

 “They did not return him to the land by the lake of crocodiles.” 

“He stayed with the m. He learned speaking English from speaking with the son of the woman had taken care of him, Edward. Within a couple of months, he was able to communicate basic things in English. Edward was about the same age with Eloto. Edward’s teacher took time to teach Eloto and was amused by how quickly he learnt things. Eloto never forgot what he had learnt and was very enthusiastic to learn new things. He learnt reading, writing and numbers in record time. The teacher told Edward’s father that Eloto, or Elliott as they now called him, was the brightest pupil she had ever met. In the evenings, Edward’s mother and father would gather by the fire place and ask Elliott to read for them. Elliott was now like a member of the family.” 

“Elliott and Edward were driven to school together. Elliott was the only black boy at that school. At first the other boys teased him because he was different but that soon stopped when they realised that he was faster, smarter and stronger than any of them. He ruled in the classroom and in the field. All the teachers were amazed by his wit. There were still a few bullies who found it hard not to call him the crocodile boy”.

 “A time came for Edward’s family to return to London. Edward’s father Sir David Cecil had to take up his seat in the House of Lords after an adventurous leave of absence. They thought of what to do with the boy. None of the settlers wanted to adopt him, the governor of Anglo-Egyptian Sudan said it had no Elliott in its records and the Authorities in Nairobi were non-committal. A solution had to be found and quickly. Sir David Cecil decided to adopt him after endless pleas from his wife who had liked Elliott from the first time she had dressed his crocodile wounds at the shores of Lake Rudolf.” 

“Eloto now became Elliott Cecil.” 

“Elliott and Edward went to a school in London called The King’s College of Our Lady of Eton beside Windsor or simply Eton. At Eton, Elliott was at the top of his class. He also enjoyed playing rugby in his free time. The two boys were each other best friends. After Eton, Elliott joined Royal Military Academy Sandhurst.” 

“His achievements at the Military academy were legendary. He wrote books on principles of military strategy that are still used as text books at that college. They are considered too valuable to be shared with the general public lest enemies of Britain get hold on them.” 

“You may remember that wa Ndirangu, Eloto or Elliott was a man of the people, it was the same in London. He was popular in parties because he was great company. He amused others with tales of Africa and no party was complete without Elliott telling the story of how he encountered the crocodile. The story had no resemblance with the original one, only the hero remained constant.” 

“He fell in love with a girl by the name of Margarita, a royal princess. By now the crocodile fighter had grown into a young man. He was handsome, strong and smart. His achievements in the Royal Military Academy were well documented and being the adopted son of a lord gave him access to all social gatherings of the elite aristocracy. His contributions were honoured by the head of state with The Royal Victorian Order GCVO” 

“His passions, and they were many, were dwarfed by his passionate love for Margarita. She was a princess in every way, stunning and elegant. She was also madly in love with Captain Elliott Cecil. They spent a lot of time together and they almost never appeared separately unless it was a must. Princess Margarita was twelfth in the order of succession to the British throne. Though the chances of the princess ascending to the throne were very narrow, the royal family was recovering from a crisis caused by the heir apparent marrying a divorced catholic and abdicating his claim to the throne. The British public had reacted angrily towards the King the House of Windsor was very keen to create and maintain calm. This meant that the relationship between the duchess of Cambridge princess Margarita was courting trouble by seeing and being seen with Captain Elliott Cecil. Captain Cecil was black and that was potential trouble for the Monarchy.” 

“The King was concerned that little was known about the Captain’s background. Who were his people, why was he running and would his pursuers finally demand compensations for damages caused by his acts of arson. Though Elliott had always maintained that he was born somewhere near Kangen River, he was found in Kenya and Kenya was experiencing political unease with the black populations agitating for self rule. Would the Captain fight for the empire against his people?” 

“When news reached the Buckingham Palace that Captain Elliott Cecil and Princess Margarita had entered the holy matrimony in a chapel in Scotland, all were enraged. The King issued orders that the couple report to him first thing the following day.” 

“That night the most powerful man in the planet did not sleep. He was wondering what actions to take. He tried to understand why a promising princess would elope with an army captain. He concluded in his mind that the couple was expecting a child and that they had entered the holy matrimony so that their baby would not be born out of wedlock.” 

“A child born into the royal family must have a title. So the King decided to make Captain Cecil Earl of Cambridge. The King could not figure out a way of dealing with the situation without causing yet another scandal.” “When the newly wed appeared before the King the following morning, they thought that the king wanted to personally congratulate them. Instead a brief ceremony was conducted declaring Elliott the Earl of Cambridge after which the couple had audience with the King. The king inquired of the cause for hasty wedding and couple replied that they both had dreamt of a small surprise wedding. The King then inquired of their immediate plans and the couple replied that they had not thought that far. Then the King realised that the couple was not expecting a child and making Elliott an Earl was uncalled for but irrevocable.” 

“As the couple was leaving, the King asked if Earl Elliott Cecil would mind coming to the palace alone later that evening to be formally introduced to other male members of the house of Windsor. He added that it was a strictly males only and Princess Margarita agreed.” 

“That evening when Elliott arrived at the gates of the Buckingham Palace, he was taken to the King who was in a chamber accompanied by the princes and the King’s mother. Their faces were sombre. The King spoke first after the butler had ushered him in. He remembered the words of the king vividly. The King had told him that he had shamed the royal household by eloping with a princess a crime that just a century before would have cost him his life. He then told him that as the head of the royal household and the protector of the British Empire, he was bashing Elliott from ever stepping foot in Europe again and that he was never to see the princess again. He told him that he would be escorted to Nairobi where the governor would arrange for him accommodation. That is how wa Ndirangu or Elliott returned to Africa.”

 “And so he came to our village” exclaimed someone in the crowd. 

“Who is telling the story here, me or you” asked Mzee Kinyua 

“You Mzee, you” Chorused the crowd. 

“So, where was I…?”

 “In Africa” Replied Kamande as he added firewood to keep the fire burning and the story flowing. “Before you go on, Mzee Kinyua, I would like to say something” Interjected Kamande.

 “Ok” 

“All those who are sleeping should be awoken and asked to retire to bed; it is rude to sleep when someone is talking.” Few school children were caught with their eyes closed and were told to go to bed. Mzee Kinyua’s wife also left, she said she had not heard anything that she did not already know so far and saw no reason to wait any longer. 

Mzee Kinyua continued, “wa Ndirangu arrived in Nairobi where he was asked by the governor where he would like to live and he said here in our village.” 

Everybody shook their heads in disagreement and amusement, why, they wondered, would anyone pick their village out of all the places in the country? 

“I asked him the very same question, his answer was, our village is 200km from Nairobi towards the village where he was born, and in addition, he spoke some Kikuyu.” 

“Ok, that makes sense” said the chairman of the meeting that Kamande had appointed, he continued, “tell us about the oath taking, the strange weekend visitors and the very strange funeral.”

“You want me to tell you about a funeral that took place here when I was in America? You should tell me” Replied Mzee Kinyua in defiance. 

“Tell us what you know and make up what you don’t” 

“Ok, so now he has picked our village and we’ve welcomed him, given him land and acceptance”

 “Yes we have!” replied the crowd.

 “No you haven’t!” most of you were not even born, “just let me tell you the story. 

“Tell us Mzee, don’t ask us” 

“The governor helped Wa Ndirangu to settle here, they build the house for him. They also installed a telegram receiver in his house which he was to use to correspond with the outside world. That is how he knew what was going on in the world, his Eton friends always kept in touch.” 

 “When Kenya became independent, the new cabinet was informed of the very important citizen, Earl Elliott Cecil, the absent Earl of Cambridge and were asked to provide for him, a request they honoured.”

 “The ministers were curious to meet the Earl of Cambridge and that is why one of then came here once to look for him. When they met, they became friends. This is how those people with black cars found about wa Ndirangu. They came to chat about life in Europe, about the ways of the British aristocracy and so on.” 

“Wa Ndirangu’s place became an important meeting place for all sorts of people. Wa Ndirangu would listen to his guests, arbitrate those who quarrelled and advised those who sort for his opinion. As time went by, they began to appreciate these services that he offered. Whenever the government needed someone to lobby the British government, they came to wa Ndirangu”

 “What about Muthoni and the curse?” asked one old woman who had been following the story very attentively. 

“Muthoni was having a fever that time when she spoke in the church and the things she said were mere hallucinations. Wa Ndirangu was not even a Kikuyu so there was no way he could have presided over the oath taking ceremonies.” 

“Wa Ndirangu never remarried because he was never divorced from his first wife Margarita. They kept in touch through letters, telegram and later phone. They were forbidden from talking about their marital status to any third party outside the royal family. When she told him that she was terminally ill, he was so saddened that he vowed not to cut his hair again. They had lived hoping that one day the queen would pardon their mistake and allow them to live as man and wife. She wrote to him daily and he replied daily. I have never seen a love like that!”

 “The Morning he received the news of the death of his beloved estranged wife, he went for a walk in sorrow where he had a heart attack and died. The Archbishop of Canterbury and his vicars came to bury him. The Helicopter must have brought some members of the royal family to pay their last respects to one of their own.”

The fire Kamande had struggled to keep burning was now just some white ashes with red glows. Mzee Kinyua was tired and he asked the crowd to go home and come later if they wanted to hear more stories. 

As word spread from the village about the true identity of Mzee wa Ndirangu, reporters streamed to the village seeking for anyone one who would tell about him. Kamande made a mini fortune playing the guide to important sites that wa Ndirangu used to visit when he lived in the village.

Mzee Kinyua told his story tens of times as reporters streamed in from all directions. 

Headlines screamed to the world in all languages. The New York Times headline read “A Banished British Royal Laid to Rest in Africa”, The Sun tabloid read “Secret Love of the Century”, Herald Tribune read “Earl of Cambridge dies lonely in Africa” and The Daily Nation of Kenya featured the story under the headlines, “The Lonely Villager was a Banished Royal”. As they struggled to crystallise the life wa Ndirangu had lived, from the young arson avenging for his family to the Lake Rudolf boy who fought the crocodile, to the British aristocrat, brief moments as the member of the British Royal Family at the height of the British Empire and the lonely villager in central Kenya. That was a life, and love like no other. The End