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| It is right at the foot of this canopy in Msulwa - Shimba Hills, that Mutiku once lived as a hermit. He died childless. |
Mutiku was not your
everyday man. With no woman to call his own, he went to bed with land and with
it he sired many products. For this the whole of Msulwa village respected him partly
because although he did not have a child he found it in his favor to serve
every child as his own.
He stood at about six ft
tall with a medium body build. But he was strong. Very strong. Each planting
season he cleared virgin lands and planted the best of his grain from the
previous harvest. Maize was his main crop.
When he worked in his farm
we would always read one word on his face - dedication. Then one would ask, why
was he working so hard yet he had no dependants? But you would realize that the
village was his dependant - especially for maize.
When he drank water you
would stand by his side to see how he gobbled it. He would drink about three
liters at once. And his Adam's apple would dance with every gulp while the
veins on his neck would bulge out as if to say they were enjoying the cooling
effect.
Mutiku lived as a hermit.
One time he decided to live in a cave. He looked around for one of the largest
rocks in the village and there he found a hideout. He only cleared its entrance
and made a hearth to ward off snakes and other wild animals. Then word went
round that he was losing it. But he wasn't.
Actually after this caving
incident he stayed around for about a decade farming and feeding Msulwa. Then
one day we woke with the word that he had passed on. We felt sad that we would
never harvest at his farm.
One young man said of his
death, "he died like a cashew branch." That he had left no trace was
what this young man derided of him. Yet as I remember him today, I wish his
spirit of dedication to Msulwa and to my people, would light and burn in me
every day.
I wish I would realize
within me just this simple thing I can exemplary do for my people and do it
with dedication.
I want to be a Mutiku.
