They are called mumps in English. Maragolis have a long tongue-twister like name for them; izindendeyi. I first heard of that word when Nebert Injenga came to class looking like he had his mouth full. He looked chubbier than normal, and his lower jaw looked like it was protruding out of its socket. An alarm was sounded by Norega, those things were contagious so everyone had to keep distance. In a flash, Injenga had a whole desk to himself, and lots of space around him. His desk mate squeezed herself on one of her friend’s desks at the back of the class. Half of Row 1 was deserted. Row 1 was just next to the classroom door; where the bright pupils sat, the one who was position one being at the front. Row 2 had the average pupils while Row 3 was where no parent wants his or her child to be. In actual sense, being part of that third row exposed your intelligence level, and condemned you to a life of ridicule from teachers. In our class, the mystery I’m yet to unravel was why that doomed row had more girls than boys. It is however a story with a sad ending because most of those boys who filled that middle row never made it to high school. It does not feel right every time I drive into Mbale and see them perched on motorbikes at the bus stage soliciting for bodaboda passengers. I stop to say hi whenever I can, but then never know whether doing that to them makes them feel bad. Injenga looked like he was in pain, but then one couldn’t help laughing at how his face was shaped. Norega was at it again; laughing at a victim too would attract them to you, so we all suppressed our laughter and just kept distance. Fanice, I believe her other name was Mmboga, offered the first hopeful solution to my boy; he had to look for a tree called Mutembe, pick a bunch of firewood then run around it ten times singing “Izindendeyi hera kumutembe” (Mumps, please remain on the Mutembe tree). The only Mutembe tree all of us knew was in Mbale town, next to some Friends Church. When Mr. Lodenyo walked into class and saw Injenga’s state, he asked him to go home and only come back when completely healed. A bit of normalcy was restored amid fears that those who had laughed at him would be the next victims. (From Growing Up in Vihiga by Hillary Lisimba)
Posted on: Mon, 08 Sep 2014 16:54:23 +0000
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