Continued from: On the Falling Waters of River Chania. Part One. (Read Here)
A Piece of Sheet
A reader pressed forward a concern that Zaina Falls is on Zaina River not Chania River because the two rivers merge shortly after the beautiful water fall which took us back to Chania River for the second time. Perhaps to inquire about the variability of the concern or simply to experience the looming beauty across the green land that looks like an alien mirage, an aberration in the heart of the vast desolated stretches of the cold brilliant countryside. Either one of these reasons, the second trip was nothing like the first one and neither was it any short of splendid.
There are many techniques to slay a rat, for one you could necklace the little nigga until he stops breathing or solely smash its head against the wall. Both ways are effective. This time traveling to Zaina Falls we emerge on the top of the fall which is brilliant glistening in the brilliant sunlight as if in a completion who shines the brightest. Am in the company of a small entourage of photographers from Nyeri and Nairobi. A rendezvous between the two groups on a photo hunt, do not ask me, I barely understand how these photographers think.
It is on this venture that our tour guide happens to take us to a cave which he describes was used by the freedom fighters in the 1950s as shelter. One look at the cave and a nervous tension sours my stomach bringing in an unfamiliar tightness to my chest. Memories flood my head of Grandma narrating the Mau Mau war for liberation.
Who has slept in this cave? Did he die? Was he gunned down ingloriously by the white man? Did he whine in pain in this cave trying to heal his wound with ineffective leaves? Did Dedan Kimathi crush here on his way to revolt against the white man in the guerrilla warfare?
Esther snaps me from this delirium by shoving a metallic piece of sheet on the floor. Almost instantly our tour guide begins explaining that the sheet belonged to a land rover from a white man’s vehicle. Trica is obsessed about taking souvenirs from each trip but the guide quickly retorts that other tourists needed to see it too.
My grandma fought the war against the colonial government. Then she used to reside in Muranga deep into the uncharted country. When she talks about it, her face is impassive maybe because she has learnt to purge herself of pain as she mentions big fallen names in what she refers to as a nightmare. Clearly she used to be a very attractive young girl back then and it makes me wonder how many boyfriends she lost to the war as she sits on her favorite seat in the kitchen in sullen silence probably wise words bubbling in her head. And then she warns,
We lost a lot in that war, hearts were broken and investments annihilated but we survived. Make sure you don’t bring me a white wife I won’t let her get into my compound, not again.
I laugh about this, I do not think I would ever fall for a white girl hahaha, maybe my sibling sisters, definitely not Kate Njenga maybe the tiny one Viona but she is only ten so it is still difficult to tell.
I stare at this piece of sheet with surprised mellowness.
Was the owner of this Land rover a good or a bad person? Where did he get gas in such a forest?
Smiling wryly, I glance at the cave one last time. A bedsitter in curved rock with a kitchen, a bedroom and lobby. Rest in peace warriors.
We make our way down the waterfall with camera clicks everywhere, a flower click, my muddy shoes click, a butterfly click, sunset click. I wish I could learn to be as precise as photographers. At the foot of the waterfall, am left to my thoughts alone not even the ever cheerful, adventurous Esther is free to poke for my own amusement. And the waterfall makes the gushing deafening splash each like the previous one and this water language contains words like tendrils that drives me further into thought and like always when emotions cloud my mind I begin writing this poem…
Not much has been said
Just a glitter in her amber eyes
That reflects her golden heart
Beauty as brilliant as dew in glittering sun
And then the water begins to move away from the waterfall in silent whispers talking about the thrilling experience carrying with it dry leaves and sticks as souvenirs. The water meets my bare feet seated on a rock and the cool wave makes my spine shiver perhaps with ineffable anticipation and past my feet continues with its timeless ritual of eternal silence and seclusion and am awed!
The Falling Waters of River Chania.
Photographers on Instagram:
11.Jared G Maina
12.Patrick Ambani Munyata
A letter to dennispetersblog crew…
Now, guys I got to attend BAKE blog awards during the weekend at Intercontinental Hotel Nairobi courtesy of BAKE DeKUT. This letter is not to brag however but gratitude to you all for where we have come from, for sharing my links, for clicking on my site and for your comments and criticism. dennispetersblog represents a symbol of all achievable dreams in modelling, writing, poetry, photography, music, travel, relationships, studies, self-employment, happiness, adventure only to mention a few. Join me on this journey and one by one we achieve these dreams one by one and toast each weekend to our wins as we celebrate one year anniversary of its birth. Thank you.