Bottomline: Every family has a black sheep no matter how holy,outspoken or straight forward their upbringing may be ; they may be you,a sibling,aunt or uncle, but there has to be a member of a family who is different from the others often bringing shame and disgrace.
The guy, probably in his mid forties clearly showcased his might throughout his youthful life any meagre chance he got. Every family has a black sheep no matter how holy,outspoken or straight forward their upbringing may be ; they may be a sibling,aunt or uncle, but there has to be a member of a family who is different from the others often bringing shame and disgrace.
So he was known by the entire suburb of Mtwapa as “Man Chuga” – loosely translated to insinuate “Alert Man”. What I can amicably attest to is that my uncle really was alert – a symbol of resistance more so to the corrupt. He also was unimaginably violent. Something that comes out naturally.
KARIM MODY DIAZ, as his national identification records would have otherwise, alias Rafael (Spanish pronunciation); a name the whole locale used on him. The guy is currently hovering behind prison walls out of shear family misunderstanding, exacerbated anger capitulating to threats and constant disturbance to family members – his own family members. My family members.
Fast forward,Wednesday 6th July 2018. Inebriated to oblivion in these wee hours of the morning is Rafael Karim – who signs off biologically as my uncle and younger sibling to my mother. The guy got mixed up in local brew drinking spree the previous night and somehow is unable to maintain his cool.
Silker, younger sister to my mom spots me making some queer dealings with Rafael at a bird’s view distance. We are on the other side of the road adjacent to a prominent “Mangwe” – Mijikenda’s palm thatched drinking hubs for their pronounced extraordinarily tasty wine common as mnazi.
“I know him. He is my brother, he ain’t a cool person. Mainly inclined to violence and vulgarity. Even walking with him alone it isn’t quite as safe, you understand.” my aunt reiterates in a cold but stern voice.
“I understand fine aunty,” I reaffirm almost in a voice so soft-spoken to be confused with a mere whisper.
That fateful night, my grandfather sustains heavy injuries including machete cuts near his left ear. His arms symbolize a grotesque experience, one perpetrated by a beastly Rafael guy. Bruises are scattered left, right, centre all over his lower arm area. His limbs were scratched too ,the sorry old lad looked too tensed seldomly speaking a word. Who could this be?
I learn’t the following morning that my uncle Rafael was the main architect of grandpa’s ordeal. He was drunk, that was all I knew. Only that.
As police drove off the guy with multiple charges of violence and attempted murder, we couldn’t help but remain utterly surprised as the huge blue Ford pick – up vehicle drove him off in cuffs.
Wait; who called the police, could it be a nearby neighbor? Could it be someone from within the family premises? The latter is scarier.
The guy had told me about some petty misunderstandings between him and his parents. All these squabbles directly related to land; sales and subdivision . My grandfather had divided his 18 acre land proportionately to all his 10 children devoid of gender prejudices. For the few years I’ve lived with my grandpa, one thing became evident…
“If any of you guys are to sell any portion of land out of what I shared out amidst all of you, then it has to pass through me.” These were the simple yet heavy words of a light hearted aging father of ten, Mufasa Kahindi George.
So now I had to closely follow the court proceedings of Rafael’s case, pay him a number of visits behind jail bars. One thing was for sure; he was not escaping unscathed without conviction. Albeit all my curiosity, I still re – examined the necessity to listen to my then hospitalized grandfather’s side of the coin. That is if I was dearly concerned about reaching viable inferences cringing worthy conclusions on a case that directly castigates my own family.
Hospitalized at Aga Khan Hospital Mombasa at that very moment meant my grandpa was in a critical condition. A minor issue would have seen him at Jocham Hospital, but the former is quite a different catastrophe altogether.
The overwhelming levels of police bureaucracy meant I was out for a rigorous task trying to mint out information from my remanded uncle. I have to wait until he is sentenced or sanction my leads from his court sessions.
After much self deliberation, I decided that Aga Khan was where I would start putting the pieces together. To my hospitalized grandfather, it did not bode too well that I was inquiring information about his son’s behavior. He actually had reached the point where all his black sheep’s conundrums had finally reached his throat. He was already having enough of man Chuga.
Though I encountered some resistance, I did come to learn that my uncle, had actually disrupted peace in and around our homestead at any tiny chance he got. Any slimmest opportunity he landed. His father had sold some chunk of his boy’s share of land.
He is taking three quarters of the total amount accruing from the transaction and suddenly in less than 3 days; lorries are seen offloading construction materials that are to see my grandfather’s youngest daughter a decent house. Why should a dad build his daughter a place when the girl has a man calling her wife; to whom she has 3 kids with?
This made the other siblings to start talking,some questioning,others wondering whereas those who didn’t want to be seen to be taking sides remained tight lipped keeping their thoughts to themselves.
It would have been perceived strange by any other being. Quite unfair and uncouth. But who are we to judge? We shouldn’t.
I am making way out of Annexxe medium prison off Shanzu stage in Mombasa county. I came in with some toothpaste bars of washing and bathing soap. I didn’t forget the thirty shillings regular toothbrush.
He is left with a 6 month sentence. He should be straight out of the cells somewhere around 20th November and the family members are scared of one phenomenon. Will they be able to sleep soundly without the incoherent slumbers they were used to each passing night.
Will he come from a correctional centre transformed? Will the lad be furious that his own family sent him to prison? Will there exist peace, serenity around home after the guy is free? This remains a tale foreshadowed – a catastrophe yet to strike, whether positive or negative.
 Only time will tell as it answers all questions and heals all wounds.


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