Farewell to Kato

Juma’s mind was blank. He preferred it that way. His entire being was focussed on the hot air in his lungs, the smell of dry dirt and the beating shocks running through his nerves every time his jembe hit the hard soil. His work was monotonous as every swing matched an imaginary drum, playing in harmony with the others diggers around him. Sweat ran into his eyes, causing him to blink. He stopped his work for a moment and became aware of his stiff, aching back. Straightening his vertebrae slowly he realized Neelai was standing in front of him. Almost half his age, her smile radiated with confidence and pitiful, annoying, understanding. He became aware of his surroundings again, standing in the water bund trench he spent all morning digging. Around him, most of his kana were looking at him, each one or two diggers standing in the water bunds they’ve been working at. He inhaled deeply to catch his breath, trying not to act as old as Neelai, but mostly Kato, often made him feel. Kato was in his teens and his burst of energies were a thing Juma can only envy in reminiscence to his own teen days forty years prior.

“How are we doing?” Neelai asked in her cheerful tone. He nodded at her, unable to resist smiling back at her through his aching muscles. “Shall we call it a day? We’re starting to get hungry,” she suggested. Juma looked up and, shielding his eyes from the sun, he could tell it’s about midday. He sighed and nodded. She reached out a hand and helped him out of the water bund.

A dozen of them were standing in a sea of hundreds three-meter-in-diameter half-circle water bunds. Ten of them were of his own kana, and two from other kani who often joined them. People were usually part of the kana they felt most dear to them – whether it was their biological family or their interest of passion. But this didn’t prevent them from pursuing other interests and occasionally joining activities of other kani. Juma’s kana had sixteen members but Leinot, Naanyu and Olomunyak volunteered to do some house chores, Loolenjai picked up a new project they were passionate about and then there was Kato. Juma preferred not to think about Kato. 

Juma whistled to get the rest of the people’s attention and announced it’s time to head back. The exhausted men and women seemed relieved to finish their work and slowly went towards the pile of bicycles they came with. They still had almost an hour to cycle back home, but they were cheerful. They had a productive morning and still had the rest of the day ahead of them to pursue other interests or just leisure. But Juma felt that his world was caving in. He would have been ok to keep digging until the end of time but he knew that despite the massive hole aching in his heart, he’ll be better off spending the rest of the day with the rest of his kana.

Kato left him; left the kana; left the bolo of his parents and most of the people he ever knew. Perhaps Juma could stomach that, anything but “running around and playing with guns”, as he mocked Kato when he first heard of his intention to enlist. Juma’s sense of failure came not only from the worry that his kana hasn’t been welcoming enough for Kato, but also from the disbelief regarding Kato’s tolerance towards guns and violence. Despite the complete elimination of lethal guns, they were still generally frowned upon as a violent tool and people who were drawn to them were often regarded with suspicion.  Juma knew Kato from a very early age, as he knew most of the fifty odd people in their bolo and to his knowledge, there was no particular incident that could explain the path Kato chose for himself. Like most people, Kato grew up in the “nursery kana”, which most prospective parents choose to join as it’s easier to raise children alongside other young families. As Kato and his twin sister Leila grew older and became independent enough, their parents decided to go back to their original kani. Their mother worked in mechanics and their father was an artist. Kato argued that “art wasn’t practical”. His father would make a sour face, jokingly offended, but never really took it to heart. Juma became aware of Kato’s predicament after a month he spent soconding his mother in mechanics. Although that was inaccurate. His mother returned to work in mechanics when Kato was less than two years old, and he has often accompanied her. So when she finally moved back to the mechanics kana, Kato, now thirteen years old, was already quite a decent mechanic himself. But he felt that it wasn’t for him, and with adolescent moodiness he made it clear to everyone else as well.

Juma liked Kato, as he reminded him of his own energetic youth. And along with the rest of the bolo who worried how to support the young rebellious teenage boy, Juma believed the boy was missing a purpose. “Finding oneself is an essential step in one’s personal growth and identity,” he said often. Despite having the community allowing individuals to be themselves instead of dictating who they ought to be, teenage youth still often struggle to define themselves. So is the nature of teenagehood. Juma saw that art was too “abstract” for Kato, and while mechanics is important, he understood that Kato wanted more to life than simple maintenance work. They would chat when they went running. Often in the evenings, some folks from the bolo would go out running in the Ajai wildlife reserve and Juma was always impressed with Kato’s vigor when they ran together. Kato wasn’t particularly fast but he was relentless and would simply not give up. Juma managed to convince him about the importance of the water bunds and their contribution to the environmental recovery efforts. It’s hard, laborious work and extremely gratifying when the water bunds become green patches that expand, connect and become a green savannah.

Kato spent two years at Juma’s kana before he announced his intentions to enlist. Enlisting wasn’t common. No one in the bolo has enlisted for the past two decades. A mere few from the entire tega of Arua enlisted during that time. It wasn’t surprising or sudden. Kato shared his thoughts and feelings and his friend, despite not agreeing, still respected him and didn’t make him feel bad about it. Juma even offered to accompany him to see what it’s like. The nearest base was near Mombasa – a half day train journey. Given the visitors’ tour of the base, Kato was intrigued but Juma wasn’t impressed. Perhaps it was his prejudice, he later thought, but the need for hierarchical power structure, the sense of needless urgency and “running around with guns and acting violently towards other living things,” as he told Kato on their train back to Arua, did not impress him. Kato was grateful Juma came with him, and appreciated his opinion but disagreed with it. “I feel I can make a meaningful change by enlisting,” he told Juma. “And as for the ‘sense of urgency’,” he continued, “I see it more as an ‘aspiration for efficiency’. I like the ‘getting things done’ attitude. Life in our bolo is great, but everything is so slow I feel like I’m half-asleep most of the time”.

Kato detested the violence, but at the same time believed that it’s a tool, albeit “unfavorable”. In truth, Kato never saw an assault rifle prior to that day, heard its booming shot or witnessed its disastrous results. Most people haven’t, as the last functioning assault rifle was demolished ceremoniously decades ago. They knew what it was, they’ve seen the old archives or seen the models in museums. Still, non lethal-guns, even tranquilizers were quite a rare thing. It wasn’t a “scary unknown thunder stick” as time-past primitive tribes might have once described it. Instead, it was a tool of intimidation and suffering. On the train back Juma and Kato discussed whether guns, lethal or not, have a place in the kind of imaginary society they wish to live in. “Guns are a tool for the oppressor to force their argument instead of finding a peaceful resolution,” Juma argued, “or in the case both sides carry arms and are ready to use them, guns are a path to an unnecessary bloodbath”. Of course from his point of view, all bloodshed was unnecessary. “Conflicts often stem from an inevitable power imbalance,” Kato replied, “A gun might actually give a fighting chance to the oppressed side”. “Guns,” said Juma, “bring an unfair advantage to the conflict, in the sense that they work fine, as long as they’re not used against you.” Their argument dragged on and Kato was on the edge of frustration-driven anger but inhaled deeply and asked in retort “Well, do you believe the world is fair? Without people with malicious intentions, who use the power imbalance to their advantage? And if the world isn’t fair, why not have guns to protect the underprivileged?” At that moment Juma felt pride in Kato, at his mannerism and articulated arguments. He imagined him as a grown man who can accomplish so much that he himself could only dream of. He wanted to tell Kato that guns are more likely to be used by those with malicious intentions. He wanted to tell Kato that having a gun in an argument, regardless of who is holding it increases the likelihood of violence. But instead he replied that “Indeed, the world isn’t fair, and having guns might be helpful for the oppressed but can just as easily be used against them. You are right that guns can also serve the good and protect the innocent, but just as likely and probably even more so, can also be turned against them.” This was a compromise they both could accept, as long as they silently agreed to overlook the potential abuse of power.

It took Juma’s kana twenty minutes to arrive at the bees-guarded hedge that prevented elephants from entering the young growing savannah, and another forty minutes of cycling until they eventually arrived at the hub in the center of the community. They parked their bikes in the shed and entered the buzzing courtyard. Three long tables were set at the southern wall next to the bolo’s communal kitchen and after picking their lunch they sat down to eat and continued their chat. Juma made a conscious effort to stay focused in the conversation but found it impossibly difficult. It was Neelai who pulled him back to reality again as she asked, “Care to talk about your feelings?” It was a common question, an invitation to offload without being judged or resented. Juma appreciated her genuine concern. “I can’t shake off my feeling of loss and sense of personal failure”. “Kato’s leaving is hard for everyone who knows him,” she reassured him. “No one believes it was your fault, and that you wouldn’t have given anything to change the stubborn boy’s mind.” He thanked her for her kind words. “Of course, I know that, but it seems I just can’t shake the feeling away,” he told her. She suggested “Could it be that this bad feeling wasn’t triggered by his departure but  is actually an insecurity you’re fighting against?”. He agreed it might be the issue and promised her he’d look inwardly to see where this feeling originates. By this time, the meal was over and Loolenjai, stacking the dishes into a tall pile, asked Juma “May I take your bowl?”. Juma felt it was a good cue to finish his conversation and insisted on helping. Loolenjai was a very lively person, with a rolling laugh and a quick tongue. “Oh, that would be most appreciated, there you go,” Loolenjai said, and handed him the entire pile of bowls, to everyone’s laughter. They spend the next fifteen minutes washing the dishes together while singing merrily out of tunes without a care in the world.

Juma spent the rest of the day climbing “challenges” on the northern wall of the courtyard. 10 meters high and filled with customized nooks and crannies the Esendai kana sets every week. Looking at them climb was mesmerizing to him. It looked like they were traversing the wall as if it was a flat surface. Many people in the bolo enjoyed climbing for leisure while Esendai used that valuable skill more professionally, whether for construction, maintenance or even for search and rescue every once in a blue moon. Of course, it was the mechanics who did the maintenance but often when high altitudes were involved, a professional climber would join to reassure everyone’s safety.

Despite his youth and energy, climbing was one of the few things Juma could still match Kato. “Strength and agility are vital for climbing, but they are just as important as technique and the mental mindset,” Juma would often remind his young and eager protégé. Juma climbed a particularly difficult challenge where he had to stand on a big rounded knob providing only a ten centimeter ledge and nowhere for the hands to hold. From there he was meant to make the leap to the next part. He inhaled deeply, getting ready for the jump. This challenge was built last week and he remembered what he observed when Kato tried to conquer it. The boy was scared to make the leap and spent a lengthy time on the knob while Juma tried to encourage him to jump. He did, but his hand missed the nook and he fell off to the thick mattress below. Juma remembered helping Kato get up on his feet, telling him, “You’ve got what it takes, it’s the hesitation that weighs you down.” Kato tried a couple of more times and even managed to touch the nook, but it slipped away again. “I’ll try again another time,” he promised Juma he’ll try again some time but he never got around to it before he left.

Leila, Kato’s sister, joined Juma at the wall. If Kato was all about power, Leila was about agility. A common joke in the bolo was saying that they both can move through a crowd at ease, but while Leila slips-through unscathed like a feline, Kato would simply carve a path like a rhinoceros. “Good evening Juma,” Leila greeted him as he was looking at the wall, planning his next challenge. “An evening of light,” he greeted her in return, “How are you? Have you heard anything from your brother already?” She laughed and said “You know Kato as well as I do and you know that if we heard from him so soon that would be a reason to worry.” She was right. It would be surprising, not to say concerning, to hear anything from him in the first month of him being away, even if it was his first time away on his own. Kato was never an overly communicative person. Being the twin-brother of Leila who began to talk at the age of merely ten months and six months after could already express her wishes coherently, Kato was subjected to a merciless comparison and forever became the slowerof the two. As much as he was loved and nurtured like any other child in the bolo, this experience haunted him forward and shaped his personality – living in the shadow of his intelligent sister. “Juma, how would you suggest I go about the purple overhangs?” she asked him about the climbing challenge she was planning to do. He felt that she was  being kind and asking him just to give him a small sense of being needed. He smiled, and asked “What options have you considered?” “Well, I thought to swing my right foot to the third hook and then grab above the fold with my right hand,” she suggested. “Oh, I don’t think I had that level of agility for a long time,” he laughed, “But I trust you, I’m sure you can do it. It’s definitely worth a try.” He then continued, “How would you suppose someone with my level of agility could solve it?” She thought for a moment and then proposed “I guess you can try to grip the underhook with your right hand and push your leg directly on the wall so you’ll be high enough to grab above the fold with your left hand.” He smiled at her triumphantly, “That sounds like a good backup plan.” She smiled back, “Thanks, you old cheat,” and then laughed.

She managed to complete the challenge on her second attempt, having the original plan too agile even for her and as she sat to rest he asked, “How are you feeling about Kato’s departure?”“I’m trying not to think about it too much,” she answered. He apologized for bringing up the subject. She said “It’s ok. Of course, I’m sad that Kato left but at the same time happy for him for pursuing what he believed was the right path for him. I may disagree with him,” and she had, vocally, and more than once “but I also believe it’s more important for him to try, rather than live in constant regret for not trying.” Juma agreed with her.

Later after the communal dinner, Kato sat in his quarters and wrote his day’s reflections in his journal. He could see Kato’s shadow cast in every activity and action that happened that day. He felt a deep forelonging for the silly brash young boy  he cared so much for, that he saw himself in. He closed his eyes and there was Kato. With his curious eyes, a snickering smile and the unmistakable teenage boy aroma people often teased him about. “It pains me that you left,” Juma told him, “and I cannot shake this feeling of disappointment that has gotten a hold of me.” The look on Kato’s face pierced through his heart. He knew that Kato wanted a structure, to be part of something bigger and a sense of fulfillment. Kato needed, at least for this part of his life, a rush of adrenaline and to push himself to become the man he saw himself growing up to be. There was nothing wrong or pointless in digging water bunds day in and day out, but Kato was at a stage he wanted more than life. And Juma understood it. The imaginary Kato that stood in front him and reassured him, not the young silent boy he really was, but the manifestation of all Juma ever wished Kato to be. He imagined how their conversation would go. “It’s all good. Time passes, life moves on and people change,” he said. Juma reminded himself “I know. I should be grateful for the time I got to spend with you and only wished I had more.”. The imaginary Kato laughed “May I remind you that it was you who warned me not to over-exert myself on my first day of digging. ‘Too much of anything is never a good thing,’ you told me.” Juma felt how his own words were used to taunt him. And then the imaginary Kato stopped laughing and looked at him with sincerity. “Is the memory of me too painful?” he asked Juma. “It’s an unfair question – The memories of our time together is something I’ll forever cherish, but this doesn’t negate the aching hole in my chest” Juma answered. Kato comforted him “In time the hole will be filled with love of other people and please don’t bury me just yet – he is still out there, still respecting and loving my old mentor,” despite never being too vocal about, as most teenage boys are, “and we will meet again.. “Yes,” Juma reassured himself, “we’ll meet again, and yes, despite not going the path I had wished for him, I am proud of you, for your independence and maturity.” Juma disliked the mere idea of guns, but he believed that Kato’s pure heart will lead him towards peace, with himself and with others. He was worried, and he knew he’d be worried for a long time. But he believed in Juma and this belief has eventually helped him into a restful sleep.