After
listening to a bonding session between journalists and scientists organized by
Internews Kenya on 25 June,2013, which session could as well be themed as
‘Demystifying Science and Understanding Journalism’, I could not help calling
to mind the story my grandmother once told me: a story of great famine called Gorogoro, translated as ‘tin of maize’.
The story goes that two old men leaving in different parts of South Nyanza were
the best of friends. Their friendship flourished in good and bad times; in
plenty and in scarcity. Othacha of Kagan Location and Oula of Kanam, despite
distance, were closer than brothers. The biblical story of David and Jonathan would
not do their loyalty justice.
A
prolonged drought hit the land. Green foliage withered and trees dried up leaving
livestock without pasture. Cattle and poultry died of starvation. The people
hit by this misfortune preserved meat (nay skeleton) by drying to feed children
during the prolonged disaster. A deafening eerie silence fell upon the land. No
bleating of sheep, mowing of cows, nor crowing of cockerels at dawn. The land
was dead. Children too stopped playing, laughing and spent day time cuddled
under empty granaries hoping that it rained each passing day.
It
is known that disasters do not affect their victims equally. Most natural
disasters discriminate geographically. Thanks
to the great lake, Nam Lolwe, Oula
could lay fish traps in the evening and harvest fish the following morning. The
lake never failed to bless him. Fishermen always perceived Nam Lolwe as one generous
water goddess who according to legend had in the past visited Nyamgondho son of Ombare. Perhaps, Oula
fell among the progeny of her favoured priest Anam. Othacha who lived in milambo, far from the lake bore the brunt of Gorogoro. He lost the sweat of his manhood to drought and famine. The
labour of his youth vanished before his eyes like clouds scattered by furious
Ogingo winds. His compound had stopped being a cattle boma and became a den of
misery and perpetual sorrow.
As
the sorrow of death by starvation danced before his gates, Othacha remembered
his good friend Oula with a sigh of relief. The following morning he sent his
elder son Oteku on kisuma, relief
food errand, to his best friend Oula of Kanam – the land bordering the abode of
generous water goddess. But Oteku arrived at Oula’s homestead on a bad day when
his father’s friend had attended funeral at his in-laws, leaving his family with
no food since he had not gone fishing for a week. So when evening meal came,
the family gathered around the fire and ate houseflies they gathered during the
day.
Oula
arrived the following day and found Oteku distraught and set to embark on a
return journey empty handed.
“Young
man, you just arrived yesterday and now you are leaving. How have we wronged
you?” Oula enquired. Upon which Oteku said that there was great famine in Kagan
but they had not eaten houseflies yet. He added that his father had sent him to
ask for relief food from his best friend only to find Oula’s family surviving
on houseflies.
Burning
with shame, Oula set for his traps in the lake which he had not inspected for a
week and returned with the biggest catch ever. His wife preserved the fish and
packed them in atonga (traditional
basket) for Oteku to coney to kagan. Before the young man left, Oula enquired
what he would tell his father.
“When
I arrived we ate houseflies. The following day your friend caught a lot of
fish. We ate some and the rest are in this bulging atonga”, Oteku replied.
But
Oula’s pride could not entertain the housefly story so he detained the young
man a day longer and slaughtered a goat. When they had feasted on the ruminant the
remaining was packed for the young man and Oula asked the earlier question.
The
young man replied, “When I arrived at your friend’s compound we ate houseflies,
the following day we ate fish, and the last day we feasted on a goat. The rest
are this big atonga.”
Incensed
that the young man could not forget the housefly story, Oula detained him and
slaughtered a bull and asked the begging question once more.
Oteku
replied and this time mentioned the houseflies rather pointedly, “When I
arrived at your friend’s compound we ate houseflies, lots of the insects, fish,
goat, and a bull on the last day. The rest are in this enormous atonga.”
On
realizing that the young man would not let go of the housefly story, he gave up
and instructed Oteku to tell his father that the houseflies were only eaten
when he was away at his in-laws. He did not ask Oteku to omit the housefly in
the story but to include all the other animals eaten during his stay after
adding that the flies were only eaten when the owner of the homestead was away.
Although
this story was told to me for instructions on the importance of first
encounter, in this context, Oteku represents a journalist itching to run a
juicy housefly-eating story while Oula, on the other hand, is the scientist who
wants every tiny detail included in proper chronology. The housefly part would sell;
all the other details do not matter in Oteku’s perspective, were he a
journalist.
Why
would I delve into drab parts of laying fish traps, removing fish scales,
drying or smoking them? What’s the importance of recounting how my father’s
friend was peeling off goatskins and bull hides? And what with the boiling
cauldron of bull meat when mentioning housefly would send everyone laughing
sore? I imagine that these were the thoughts running through Oteku’s mind if he
was a journalist covering Gorogoro
story.
Now,
all the laying and inspection of fish traps, slaughtering of goats and bulls,
drying and smoking of fish and meat have suddenly become smaller than
houseflies? Seriously this young man is a snobbish ingrate! What would his
father think of my folks? How will his relatives take this matter? Will I ever
visit them again? Oula was not at peace after the incident. His charity, hard
work, and loyalty to friendship were brought to ridicule by an excited narrator
–who was also an object of his charity.
When
a scientist is looking for a pin in the hay-stack, a journalist is waiting for
the pin to prick the searching hand in order to write a story that sells. The
report will not elaborate the process of turning every hay block but will
rather sensationally illustrate the incident of a bleeding finger tip. Alas!
The pin pricked him!
Shem
Sam!
