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Authors: Nicholas Drayson
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good, he was quite sure, for
the minister. And he was sure that with a little constructive meditation he would think
of just the right spot to build it.
8
If the rock falls on the melon or the
melon on the rock, it is not the rock that is smashed apart
Benjamin Ikonya had grown up on a small
family farm many days’ walk from Nairobi and been just sixteen when he first came
into Mr Malik’s employ. He liked looking after Mr Malik’s garden. He liked
the morning ritual of first selecting and cutting some twigs to bind to his broom
handle, then sweeping the lawn clean of the night’s fallen leaves. He enjoyed
mowing the lawn, and pruning the shrubs and bushes. He especially liked making and
lighting the bonfire outside the front gate every afternoon (small bonfires are the main
rubbish disposal system of Nairobi, and give the city its special smell). For the first
time in his life he had his own room, with electric light and running water, and three
meals a day. And he could send money home and still have enough left over to buy bonbons
and Coca-Cola – every day, if he wanted.
It had taken him some time to get used to
city people. They had a strange direct way of talking – no respectful preliminaries,
they just got right on to the subject. His cousin Emmanuel said that was the way
wazungu
talked. Not only that, city people seemed surprised when you only
answered the questions they asked. It was as if theyreally expected
you to be so disrespectful as to venture your own opinion, or to give information that
was not specifically asked for. Benjamin had been brought up much too well to ever feel
comfortable doing that. But Mr Malik was always polite to him. He didn’t call him
a shamba boy; he said that Benjamin was his gardener. He always asked Benjamin’s
opinion if he thought an old plant needed removing, or a new one should be planted.
Whenever anyone complimented Mr Malik on his garden he would always say that it was
Benjamin who should take most of the credit. And Benjamin not only looked after the
garden. From growing up in the country he was familiar with much of the wildlife of
Kenya and was once able to help Mr Malik when there was a birdwatching competition at
the club. In the course of this competition they visited Benjamin’s home village,
and on the way back they’d been held up at gunpoint by Somali bandits. Benjamin
said that Mr Malik had saved his life, and Mr Malik said that Benjamin had saved
his.
It had been Mr Malik’s inspiration
that Benjamin go along on the safari. ‘Ah, Benjamin,’ he said to him one
morning as Benjamin came sweep-sweep-sweeping past the veranda. ‘I’ve had an
idea.’
At these words Benjamin’s heart sank.
This was not the first time he had heard one of Mr Malik’s ideas. Only a couple of
weeks ago Mr Malik had come up with the theory that if Benjamin shook each tree every
day before he swept beneath it, he would have less work to do.
‘Any loose leaves will fall down, you
see, so you won’t have so many to do the next day.’
To Benjamin it was clear that in the long
run this wouldmake absolutely no difference. The number of leaves
falling from any tree was dependent on the natural leaf cycle of the tree, and no amount
of shaking would change that. But he went along with it. He liked Mr Malik, and he
wanted him to be happy. Then there had been the idea that instead of burning the garden
rubbish every day he could save time by letting it build up for a week and have one big
bonfire. Which Benjamin did, with the result that instead of a very little smoke curling
up into the Nairobi sky every afternoon there was an enormous plume on Friday that sent
hadadas screeching from the trees and brought all the neighbouring askaris rushing round
with buckets of water. But Benjamin tried his best to be an optimist. Perhaps this idea
would be different.
‘As you may know, Benjamin, I
the minister. And he was sure that with a little constructive meditation he would think
of just the right spot to build it.
8
If the rock falls on the melon or the
melon on the rock, it is not the rock that is smashed apart
Benjamin Ikonya had grown up on a small
family farm many days’ walk from Nairobi and been just sixteen when he first came
into Mr Malik’s employ. He liked looking after Mr Malik’s garden. He liked
the morning ritual of first selecting and cutting some twigs to bind to his broom
handle, then sweeping the lawn clean of the night’s fallen leaves. He enjoyed
mowing the lawn, and pruning the shrubs and bushes. He especially liked making and
lighting the bonfire outside the front gate every afternoon (small bonfires are the main
rubbish disposal system of Nairobi, and give the city its special smell). For the first
time in his life he had his own room, with electric light and running water, and three
meals a day. And he could send money home and still have enough left over to buy bonbons
and Coca-Cola – every day, if he wanted.
It had taken him some time to get used to
city people. They had a strange direct way of talking – no respectful preliminaries,
they just got right on to the subject. His cousin Emmanuel said that was the way
wazungu
talked. Not only that, city people seemed surprised when you only
answered the questions they asked. It was as if theyreally expected
you to be so disrespectful as to venture your own opinion, or to give information that
was not specifically asked for. Benjamin had been brought up much too well to ever feel
comfortable doing that. But Mr Malik was always polite to him. He didn’t call him
a shamba boy; he said that Benjamin was his gardener. He always asked Benjamin’s
opinion if he thought an old plant needed removing, or a new one should be planted.
Whenever anyone complimented Mr Malik on his garden he would always say that it was
Benjamin who should take most of the credit. And Benjamin not only looked after the
garden. From growing up in the country he was familiar with much of the wildlife of
Kenya and was once able to help Mr Malik when there was a birdwatching competition at
the club. In the course of this competition they visited Benjamin’s home village,
and on the way back they’d been held up at gunpoint by Somali bandits. Benjamin
said that Mr Malik had saved his life, and Mr Malik said that Benjamin had saved
his.
It had been Mr Malik’s inspiration
that Benjamin go along on the safari. ‘Ah, Benjamin,’ he said to him one
morning as Benjamin came sweep-sweep-sweeping past the veranda. ‘I’ve had an
idea.’
At these words Benjamin’s heart sank.
This was not the first time he had heard one of Mr Malik’s ideas. Only a couple of
weeks ago Mr Malik had come up with the theory that if Benjamin shook each tree every
day before he swept beneath it, he would have less work to do.
‘Any loose leaves will fall down, you
see, so you won’t have so many to do the next day.’
To Benjamin it was clear that in the long
run this wouldmake absolutely no difference. The number of leaves
falling from any tree was dependent on the natural leaf cycle of the tree, and no amount
of shaking would change that. But he went along with it. He liked Mr Malik, and he
wanted him to be happy. Then there had been the idea that instead of burning the garden
rubbish every day he could save time by letting it build up for a week and have one big
bonfire. Which Benjamin did, with the result that instead of a very little smoke curling
up into the Nairobi sky every afternoon there was an enormous plume on Friday that sent
hadadas screeching from the trees and brought all the neighbouring askaris rushing round
with buckets of water. But Benjamin tried his best to be an optimist. Perhaps this idea
would be different.
‘As you may know, Benjamin, I
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