“How are you doing my little one,” asks Wambulwa in his strained Geordie accent. Ever since he moved to Newcastle, North East of England suddenly his tongue rolls differently. He probably wouldn’t think twice about changing his name to a McBroom or one of those strange English titles.
“Enhe! Just a little over seven years is all it took to forget where you came from?” I tease. “Mama isn’t just turning in her grave. I bet she doesn’t mind swapping places with Lazarus,” I add. Ma’ Shukri though having converted to Christianity after she met Papa had always made sure that we all attended Sunday mass ever since we were young. And not just any kind of mass, it had to be the first service which began at 7:30 am. On such days we had to wake up early enough, finish house chores before heading to Church. Wambulwa or Bobo as we always call him at home and I served as altar boys at St. Concord Catholic Church few meters from home. Hence our Christian jokes that we seemingly carried to our mid-thirties.