The Day My Father Ate A Lizard!

This is not my story. The handwriting is however mine! And the words too! This story is also not a once-upon-a-time folklore. This story is a once! It is upon! And it is a time! In case you are wondering what that means, I also don’t know! Let’s just get on with the narrative, shall we?

I must also issue a disclaimer beforehand. The Chinese are legendary for their wild dietary disposition. You would therefore expect a Chinese to dine on the reptilian diet of a lizard. My father however is not Chinese! He may be a little brief vertically speaking; but his eyes are not anywhere near squinted. His eyes are a quarter-to-gololi. And he is dark. Make that charcoal dark. Or dark like Churchill, if you please!

Now you know the origin of my dark skin! Let’s not however get carried away with my silky-smooth, flawless model-like skin tone; this story is not about me! Or my skin! Or its color!

Now! My father has never been scared of chicken, sorry kitchen affairs. Most men his age thonk (past tense of think!) stepping into the food factory would turn them into women (Is being a woman that bad? I don’t know; but I love boobs – and it must feel erotic having them all the time, donge?) Such men dared not turn into women (that’s not venturing into the kitchen). Not my father though. He was brave (he still is)! Brave enough to never mind being turned into my mother by the kitchen! His way of clobbering her with love.

Just so you know; it is from him that my brothers and I inherited this love affair with food and kitchen. Except we don’t keep count of the meat pieces, you know! My elder brother, the first-born – is the master ugali cooker (don’t correct my cooker!). That’s his specialty. His mastery of ugali cooking is so accomplished that you can eat it, alone, unaccompanied by anything and it will still be satisfying! The second-born- is the bakery maestro. Words are never enough to describe his skill in making pancakes or the now extinct soft, multi-layered chapat (pronounce with a Luo accent). I am the third-born; but like I said, this story is not about me! Sorry! I’m not an elephant to blow my own horn. Ask Happiness if you itch to know my culinary prowess.

Once. Upon. A time! When my chest was narrow and my legs spindly (my chest is still narrow and my legs tooth-picky!!), my father was in the kitchen making lunch in our not-permanent-or-semi-permanent hut. I don’t know where my mother was, so don't ask! Back then, gas burners were alien and kerosene stoves were a preserve of teachers – the village well off. My father was not a teacher. He didn’t even know what he was. So the ubiquitous three-stone fireplace at the corner of a house was our thing. Ugali was not cooked in sufuria. Karaya (I don’t know the name in English) was the in thing!

So as usual, karaya was atop the three stones as fire blazed furiously underneath. The water inside begun to boil; he gave it time to boil well well. Then he started the gradual process of adding flour while stirring with oluthkuon (what’s the name in English?) to even the mixture.

Mud-walled and grass-thatched huts are notorious for harboring an assortment of crawling reptiles, including lizards. As the mixture begun to form paste, suddenly one horny and probably sex-starved lizard that was frantically chasing a mate along the wall, slipped. And fell. Right into the hot paste of ugali! Dry-spells are recipes for disaster – as the lizard would find out – albeit rather late! Now you know! Don’t be the cause of dry-spells in your relationship. Otherwise!

My father, being my father – and probably spurred on by the pangs of hunger rumbling in his belly – did the illogical thing. He picked the now dead and scaled reptile from the ugali paste – cursed under his breath and threw it aside while saying "dhina kucho jachien madhako"! (Well he didn’t actually say that. I made it up; it seems fitting). He then removed pieces of the lizard skin that had peeled off and as if nothing had happened, he nonchalantly finished cooking his ugali – ceremoniously served it alongside the traditional aliya and brought it to the table for munching.

At least that’s what he told me! And where were we during this lizard eating saga? Did we eat the ugali? Well, shame on you for thinking such repulsive thoughts!