Man overboard!

“Captain that’s the second in one week.” I say sadly to the captain.

He puts his father-like hand on my shoulder. He has lost many men and since I have been with him all along he expects that I have gotten over it.

He then looks me straight in the eye, and just like all good captains, he says,

“Get the f**k back to your station. And by the way, when are you going “overboard” yourself? You’ve been here too damn long. Jeez!”

I am shocked. But truth be told I indeed have been here too long. A little too long.

I remember the day I “cast off”…

It’s a day like any other. The sun rises. The officious cock crows. The smell of breakfast wafts deliciously into my bedroom. I stretch. I rub my eyes…I’ve been doing this for the last 19 years.

And just as usual I expect to walk down to a table overflowing with breakfast. Black tea and toasted bread. We are a family of many, and we always expect to have a family breakfast on a dinner table that sits four. As always, he/she that wakes up last makes good use of his/her lap.

But today, it would be different.

The table is set for three and two are already seated.

“Good morning, son?”

That’s my mum. My dad, a man of few stinging words, just looks my way, nods his head, sinks his teeth into margarine-less toast and buries his head in the news-full newspaper.

But not for long.

Mum clears her throat. It must have been a threatening gesture because my dad without looking at her quickly puts away the paper.

Something's not right.

I cautiously take my seat wondering why the rest of the house isn’t coming down for breakfast. My mum walks to the door and locks it.

“(censored) modoathii (censored) (censored) (censored),”

When my parents call me by all my names I know things indeed are thick. Thicker than the porridge my mum used to make.

I begin to sweat. I shift in my seat. Do they know about the weed? Or maybe, the neighbour’s smashed car? Perhaps it’s the missing video deck? The missing thao? Or what I did to Ndirangu’s sister? Maybe what I did to Ndirangu himself when he caught me with his sister? The list is endless and so, it seems, would the pain.

“It’s time.”

Much to my relief, I discover the lecture isn’t for what I did but for what I am meant to do from now on.

In a nutshell, I’m told, informed rather, there would be a “ship” passing by our house loaded with many of my friends. Friends who have also gotten the same lecture from their parents. Friends who are in it for the same thing. Fishing. And it would be a good, great idea, if I got on it.

Our parents are sending us on a 'fishing' expedition. But get this, they don’t want nets filled with fish. No. They want us to bring back one fish.

Parents.

One fish!

What kind of fish, anyway?

(I’m beginning to sound like those Japanese movies/stories ama Samurai Jack where some Kumamoto kid is sent to hunt for the mysterious and magical Nokosodi that will set him free, etc)

Life on this ship proves to be fun from the word go. Parties upon parties. No worries. No duties. Plus, lots of fishing.

Some days the waters would be calm and all aboard would be merry. The other days we would be in turbulent waters.

Nothing extraordinary happened the first couple of years. But one day, we lost our first mate.

This day is a stormy one and we are drifting close to some “sirens”. To me these so called ‘sirens’ are just some bunch of noisy meddlesome creatures. But to my buddy Sam what they are singing is melody he has never heard before.

Shortly, before we can say “superkalifajalisticexpialidocioustrypanosomiasis” (sp)…

MAN OVERBOARD!

We try calling him back but to no avail. He swims like crazy to this one siren who ‘swallows’ him whole.

We on deck look across at him helplessly. He waves at us gleefully. We wave back and lift our champagne-filled glasses and give a toast. Then the party begins.

Before the party can really take off we hear…

MAN OVERBOARD!

Another. As we were celebrating no one noticed Denno eyeing the ‘siren’ next to Sam’s siren.

The party doesn’t stop. There’s no need to. It’s now a double celebration. Beers are flowing like we are being paid.

As the years and the journey wear on, we lose many good men. Johnny, Ero, Jere, Paul, Peter. Some try to get back to the ship but it’s not the same again. Once you’ve taste the ‘murky’ waters you never get to be treated the same. You get kitchen duty and you are never seen on deck or at any party again. Even if it’s a “man overboard” party, as we now call them.

But our “ship” is loosing men at a tremendous and worrying rate. Just last week, we lost Brian. This week, Sammy. Next week, I know I’ll lose two more.

I can see it in their eyes already. Once someone listens to the song of the ‘sirens’, something happens to him. And I can’t stop them. If anything, I’m helping them overboard. Yet, I am busy trying, unsuccessfully, to traumatize my captain into changing course.

I approach the captain. I ask him if he will ever go overboard.

“Dude,” he says, “I’m going down with this ship.”

Sure enough this ship will go down eventually. It’s old, worn down and with a skeletal staff. What he says next scares me.

“Kijana, listen. I tell this to you and anyone who dares listen. I’ll go overboard eight months after you go overboard.”

It’s then that I realize that this ‘ship for singles’ still has many cruising years ahead.