Mutton stew
From time to time, usually more often than not, the chefs made mutton stew. This one was for the exclusive taste of the chefs and their close friends. They usually made it from meat picked from dying sheep. Usually after the sheep had been lived beyond its usefulness in regards to wool shearing.
There was usually a wool shearing season. The wool shearer a.k.a the taxman was in charge of this process. There was no escaping the big man. He would look for you, find you and take his share. Part, or should I say most of it, conveniently got lost when his friends visited his shamba and his stores. The wool was meant to make clothes for the population to help them survive the cold season. And the nights too. The woollen clothes were to fit from top to bottom but as fate would have it, the material ran out faster than a Kenyan marathon athlete. All that was left for a majority of the population was just enough material to make scarves.
Sometimes the wool shearing extended beyond the season. The sheep were sometimes forced to trade it in for a bit of fertiliser for their pastureland when their self produced manure was not enough to make the land more productive. It was an illegal trade since hay was the currency of trade but sometimes, in Africa....
Sometimes, the chefs couldn't wait for the sheep to age and decided to slaughter them at their prime. At other times, there happened to be a deficiency in wool since the chefs had cut off pastureland meant for the lambs to make space to set up food stands to sell their soups. The flocks would die of hunger and thus the wool debt.
On this particular day, one of the chefs, the deputy of Half-century, happened to conveniently extend his food stand into the pastureland. Men noticed. The women and children too. There was going to be some noise this time round. So the big boys ordered us to take our rungus and shields to go confront the mass of demonstrators. They wanted to fight for the animal rights and my employer, Half-century was having none of it. Adults and children were going to demonstrate. What do children know about animal rights anyway? A lesson in teargas will teach them not to get involved next time!!
Animal rights my foot!!!!
On the morning of the incident, as I got into my anti-riot gear, I took my family's photo from my desk and had a good look at it. They are the reason I work everyday. My wife, my son and my daughter. All so beautiful. I usually did this as a ritual every morning before I started my day. Just to remind me, no matter how bad my job pays and makes me feel like trash, I had something to live for.
As I put the photo back onto my desk, I noticed a funny blur on the photo. I brought it closer and rubbed it with my fingertip to clear away the stain. Instead, the colour started fading and beneath the colour, a strange object began to reveal itself. First came the hooves.
I rubbed harder.
Then came 16 legs.
Four short tails.
Wool.
Round bodies.
Sheep. Four sheep. FOUR DAMN SHEEP!!!
MY FAMILY IS A FLOCK OF SHEEP!!!!
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