The Real Deal Makers of Migori Town

I have never loved Migori Town. It’s a town that reminds me of my epic failure. And for a half cast Luo between a pure Luo father and a purer Luo mother, failure isn’t one of the things that you like thrown at your face.

River Kuja particularly is a scene that evokes funny sadness in me. You know that sad thing that you just can’t stop laughing at? The year was 2008- my final year in the Bakora Hockey Team. We had cruised to the semifinals of the Provincial Hockey Championships thumping teams ungodly scores in the process.  One particular team, Kiabonyuru, (I can’t forget the name) were bulldozed over a dozen goals in the first half by a well oiled Vultures Machine. They refused to take to the Migori TTC Hockey pitch for another half of humiliation. 

Yours truly was on the form of his life galloping through that left half of the pitch like a veteran gladiator. The teammates christened him Okusi, in recognition of that combative heavyweight champion.

Abnery Pajero (I’ve never understood which parent in their right mind calls their kid Pajero, failed dream perhaps?), Baby J Mogz, Byudeh and Odhys (the ‘gode’ seller) were particularly in scintillating form as well. There was talk that that was the most complete squad assembled of all time. Mr Apaka, the de facto coach was quite pleased with himself. That was a big thing. If there was a man difficult to please it was Apaka Rangita. Especially if you wore trousers and didn’t have the all-important XX gametes. 

The morning before that fateful day, we went through our usual morning ritual. You know, running around and singing those profane songs your mother would have a heart attack if she had you sang.

We had new kits but we saved them for the finals. I mean why dirty them yet we still had a final to cruise through? We were ready for the photo session that comes with the glory and good attire was one of those things that completes a good photo moment.

We lost that match.

The heavily assembled gallactico saw defeat for the first time that season. A promising season was cut in the bud and with that immortality and legendary status. 

Baby J Mogz was particularly disappointed in exiting the championship in such a way that he threatened to commit suicide by jumping into the fast flowing River Kuja.  We begged and cajoled, pleaded and threatened, hissed in a bondman’s key and shouted almost to his ears. We unleashed all of our limited therapist skills. And when all failed, we proceeded to restrain him firmly.

What happened next was as ‘tragicomical’ as it gets.

Mr. Apaka, who had given us the cold treatment since we caught the bronze instead of the gold got up from his seat hurriedly as if noticing the commotion for the first time. Like a man possessed he grabbed J Mogz by his trouser. You know how it is when cops grabs you from your rear and suddenly your balls can’t breathe? 

He then hauled Mogz towards the open window as if thrusting him into the ravaging waters below.

You should have seen the heavily built horse of war shrink and plead for his life.

You’re itching to break into a roar of laughter yet you stifle it with all your strength coz you never know what a disappointed coach can do.

I was in Migori some time back and the unexpected reunion was haunted by the dark flashes from the past.

This time though I experienced another side of the town.

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I saw them hurdled together in small groups having intimate conversations. Their voices were low as if they were conspiring against somebody or something. The voices would go up and one person would walk away from the table after throwing their hands in the air. You would know there was no deal.

Migori town is a town of deal breakers. It’s a town of brokers and middlemen. They are like a pack of marauding starved bulldogs. They can sniff a stranger from way off and suddenly there’s something they wanna sell to you. 

So let’s call him John. He probably earns more per day than the average Nairobi guy takes home after sweating their ass off for an entire month. He earns it by looking executive and saying the right things.

John understands that in this kind of business, looks are everything. So he spots tight shirts and leather belts. He doesn’t do the last button on his shirt so as to allow his gold/gold coated necklace to dangle and catch your eye. And just so that you know he is a busy man, and more probably to complete the all mighty façade he’ll keep on checking his watch as if he’s in a hurry for golf with the governor. Perhaps he cancelled on the governor just to help your ungrateful ass. 

By the way does the Migori governor indulge in this excesses for the exclusive? 

He probably sells gold, or knows somebody who sells gold.

He is a power baron. He’s the guy you go to if you want to set up a meeting with the county governor. The governor probably owes him a huge favour. Perhaps he pumped a lot of money into the gubernatorial race or talked with baba to do a ‘Tosha’.  

John is the guy you go to when you are doing a thesis on The State of Governance In Kenya, Pre-independence, At Independence and Today. He knows the political intrigues that bedeviled the grand coalition government as if he was in the Serena team that brokered the deal.

John is quite the lady’s man. If his gift of garb can fleece your pockets of a few shillings then it can definitely invite your girlfriend for a bottle of ethanol. 

The dark of the night finds him watering his beak in an exclusive joint in the town’s exclusive joints. The Creadex and the Calabsh of the County. He’s a lavish spender, Dear John.  After all, as long as the sun rises there’s always a deal to cut.

Bwana, this is the Migori and you should know people.

DISCLAIMER: 

The persons and places mentioned in this blog post maybe fictional and may not represent people or places in real life. Or maybe they do.

..........just in case John is friends with Mutunga.