he rain came in torrents, at times making whooshing sounds from the strong winds then slowing down to a patter patter sound as though skeletons were dancing on the corrugated tin roof. Wasike sat in front of a fireplace sipping a cup of hot chai made with fresh tea, milk and sugar. Tall, handsome, with a muscular physique due to daily exercise, he was a likable fellow with a humble disposition. Only eighteen, he had built him a four-bedroom brick house and was preparing for marriage in a couple of months.

Wasike recalled the days when he spent evenings with the boys. His friends came over, played music and reminisced about their school days. They roasted maize and made several pots of chai as opposed to beer. They were clean, young men who had respect for one another and a bond that made them strong.

Things had changed with the political storm. The multi-party system was supposed to ease political and tribal tension. It was supposed to make things better for all, but it didn't. People ran rampant and attacked innocent landowners then took their land and livestock away from them. Now there was tribal tension that resulted in friendship strain.

There was a knock on the door. Wasike went and opened it. His childhood friend, Njoroge stood in the doorway, soaking wet.

"Come on in," Wasike told him. "You're soaking wet." Njoroge walked 'in and headed straight for the fireplace.

"I was caught unawares. One moment the sun was shining, the next it was pouring like a waterfall," he said spreading his hands before the fire. Wasike poured him a mug of tea.

"It happens to the best of us," he said handing him the tea. "This should warm you up.

"Thank you," Njoroge said as he sipped it. He savored the wan-nth and flavor of the tea. "You had about the people who attacked the Wembe family'?"

"Yes I did. This is not good. I mean, I already have problems convincing my family to let me marry Cheserem. Now they think all her people are power-crazy and thieves," Wasike spoke with irritation in his voice. There was another knock on the door. People always dropped in anytime without notice. He was used to that. It was as if this was customary. One had to be prepared for guests anytime of day or even night. His cousin Wanyonyi was at the door. They were like twins having been born the same year and were about the same size. Only Wanyonyi had a darker complexion.

"Good evening. Come on in," Wasike called out shaking his hand. Wanyonyi was soaking wet too.

"I heard there's going to be a meeting of the elders to decide whether or not you can marry Cheserem." Wanyonyi said after settling down with a cup of coffee.

"Elders, elders. Why do they have to get into this? I'll marry whoever I want without these old men deciding it for me. I don't mean to be disrespectful but they seem to be taking on trivial chores lately. This is not a matter for them." Wasike was irritated.

"I know bow you feel," Njoroge said. "And you can never be too old for the elders. They made my uncle divorce his wife because they suspected she was fooling around. "

"Young people need to be given more responsibility," Wasike said.

"We need responsibility in government. " Wanyonyi joined in. "All these elders need to retire. The future is ours to forge."

"We need to clean up house and bring in fresh ideas." As they pondered that, the rain stopped. Another knock on the door. It was Cheserem. P>"Well, it's getting late so I must leave," Njoroge said after greetings.

"I'll go too," Wanyonyi said. They knew Wasike wanted some private time with his fiancée.

"So, what is going on?" she asked after they had left.

"The elders trying to give me a hard time. Nothing will stop me from marrying you, my darling."

"That's nice to hear. I can't think of anyone else I'd love to spend my life with apart from you." She took the cups to the kitchen for washing.

"I talked to your aunt, Nafula today," Cheserem said coming back.

"And what did she say?" Wasike asked, holding her hands and pulling her towards him. Nafula was a naughty, outspoken lady who had taught Wasike many things including sex. Mothers did not talk to their sons about sex so aunts did. Nafula taught him how to pick out a girl and seduce her. She also taught him other things he wouldn't talk about.

"She said the elder ladies have to inspect me before the wedding," Cheserem said staring into his eyes.

"Inspect?" He swallowed hard.

"Yes. Inspect for virginity. She said it determines the amount of dowry you have to pay for me."

"Sorry, my darling but you're damaged goods. I suppose I get a break on the dowry," he smiled cheekily.

"You damaged me. You know that!"

"Yes, but they don't know that. Also, you are circumcised, or whatever they call it for women. You can say they messed you up when they did that," Wasike had a gleam in his eye.

"Now you're just being stupid. This is embarrassing for me, having people probe my privates," she pulled him close again.

"Don't say things like that. I'm an excitable boy."

"Is that bad?"

"Of course not. How soon do you have to be at home?"

"Soon"

"The we just have to rush, don't we?"

The next day, Cheserem went to talk to Wasike's mother.

"Mama, I understand there are some people who are objecting to Wasike marrying me. What should I do?" she asked. "Oh don't worry about that, child. There are ties that bind families together. Ties that bind clans and tribes. Anyone out of their circle is a threat in some way, but they come around to accepting you with time." Mama said.

"You are not Bukusu. You're Maragoli. How did you deal with this problem?" Cheserem asked.

"I love my husband. I just wouldn't let anything or anyone come between us. I showed these people that I'm just like them. It's not like they hate people from other tribes. They feel that you're an outsider, an intruder. But once they get used to you, they're nice."

"I hope they accept me because I'm not leaving Wasike," Cheserem said firmly.

"Can I ask you something?" Mama asked.

"Sure."

"About circumcision. My granddaughters are not going to go through that, are they?"

"Oh no Mama," Cheserem said looking directly at her future mother-in-law. "I would never allow my children to go through that. I went through it and I'm lucky to have survived that ordeal. I can assure you no child of mine is going to be mutilated and put through the risk of bleeding to death or later on having sexual or birthing difficulties in the name of culture."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"I want you to understand that I'm all for culture and tradition, but not when it involves deadly risk. I couldn't live with losing a daughter due to something I could have prevented." Cheserem's voice had risen. She was obviously passionate about this topic.

"But why do they do it?" Mama asked. "I've never understood the purpose of it."

"They say it's an age-old tradition; a transformation from childhood to womanhood. They do this to eight year-old kids. What womanhood are they entering? I know the reason behind this ritual. It's the absolute dominance of men over women. Men want to use us as mere breeders with little or no sexual gratification. When they remove the most sensitive parts of the female genitalia, they don't want you to have pleasure. They think this prevents women from straying and fooling around."

"But the men can fool around."

"Of course. I think traditionally, it is believed that women are there to pleasure their men while men assume that sexual pleasure for the woman is non-existent and serves no purpose." Cheserem looked at Mama and noticed that she looked uncomfortable. This was not a topic she wanted to discuss.

"I'm sorry to talk about this, Mama," she apologized. "I needed to say it to someone and I feel I trust you enough to speak my mind."

"That's okay," Mama said looking away. "Times change and so should we."

"I feel denied because I will never experience complete sexual pleasure. God created me with all my parts and no one should cut them off. That's just not right. When will women ever speak out for themselves?"

"I think we try, but it falls on deaf ears. Women all over the world are abused daily and they can't do anything about it. It is worse when it happens to children. I heard about eleven year-old Pakistani girls that are married off to grown men. Then when the girls' families can't pay the required dowry, the men pour acid in the faces of these innocent little girls. There are just too many wrongs there that I can't begin to understand it. What man would marry an eleven year old child then torture it?"

"The same kind of people who would mutilate the genitals of an eight year-old, I suppose."

"Well, these things bother me," Mama said. "Anyway, I'm glad we had this talk. At least I know my granddaughters will grow up normal."

"That I assure you," Cheserem said getting up to go. "This was a nice chat. We should do it more often."

"Yes we should."

Later in the day, Wasike went to Mama's kitchen as she cooked supper.

"You know you're lucky to have a girl like Cheserem," Mama said.

"I know Mama, but I'm luckier to have a mother like you," he said smiling. "She said you're a wonderful person."

He watched as Mama pounded the cornmeal in the pot then smoothed it out gently.

"You know Cheserem will never make Ugali the way you do," he said.

"You're just used to my cooking. Some day you'll get to appreciate your wife's special dishes too."

"I hope so," Wasike paused then asked, "Mama, are you disappointed that I'm not going to college?"

"A little maybe," Mama said as she molded the Ugali into a ball then flipped it onto a plate. "but you're doing well with your chicken husbandry. You know how to handle your money and I am sure you expand into other businesses. I'm proud of you. Just keep it up."

"Thanks Mama. That means a lot to me."