Prison; Names

By John Gerezani

Folks I know that many of you good people have an issue with my surname. John Gerezani is my real name and anyone who takes them for a nom de guerre is grossly mistaken.

 I have never heard you guys raise a ruckus over names like Wanjira (roadside), Otoyo (hyena), Omusala (dope), Ngui (dog) or Matunda (fruits), so why should my having been born in Lang’ata Prison be such a big deal?

My mum was a hardworking, moody (chang’aa) brewer in the ghetto who did her utmost best to ensure that the many mouths that my prolific dad had sired with her were fed and schooled.

Betty Sharon (left) and Fenny Katana ( right) of Coast Women In Development (CWID) with the mother of a baby born at the Shimo La Tewa Women Prison in Mombasa recently. They donated towels and bedsheets. {PHOTO MAARUFU MOHAMED/STANDARD}

Dad, the irresponsible absentee man regarded the ugly face that he bequeathed us as his main entitlement in our shack, a face which I am convinced played a major role in scaring the trial magistrate into packing me off to this Siberia. (By the way, how come handsome chaps are in most cases acquitted?)

It so happened that my philandering dad had a mistress in the neighbourhood and it wasn’t long before mum found the hard evidence that she’d been waiting for. She mobilised her estate pals with her virago sister leading the attack team before proceeding to wreak havoc in her rival’s house. That’s how she found herself, heavy with yours truly, in Lang’ata.

No father figure

So when I eventually materialised into this world via a birth mid-wifed in a cell, mum decided to conjure up a name that would have our native Giriama feel in it while at the same time reminding her of her travails. So that’s it.

On getting out, my mum inculcated in me a strong work ethos and convinced me to stay out of trouble in our crime-infested hood.

Lacking a strong father figure saw me lapsing into kleptomania as if haunted by the name I carried. I soon found myself in a borstal institution in which I learnt the real stuff about crime. Somehow, I changed my ways, got serious with my books and passed CPE, went to high school and played truant but still passed my O level exams with flying colours.

In retrospect, I think that I passed those exams just to prove a point to the naysayers that l wasn’t as daft as they thought. Mission accomplished, there was no further incentive for me to study. Girls, booze and the club circuit took the better portion of my time hence, until June, a pretty estate wench gave me an awakening call — some black, pesky, eight legged creatures that stuck at the wrong places — forcing me to shave and douse paraffin to the afflicted zone after conventional medicine failed.

With lots of time in my hand, I devised ways of making the quick buck. It didn’t take long before my flossing attracted the attention and envy of the neighbours who subsequently poisoned the mind of the chief. A local wholesale shop was broken into and the chap led cops to my digz on the premise that since I had seemingly fallen into big money whose source nobody knew about, I had to explain my way out since I was their prime suspect.

I love my name

Of course I could not state the obvious then — I was a gigolo. The short of it is that I soon found myself back "home"— gerezani (jail). It’s not that l was, or has ever been involved in any spectacular criminality, rather it’s the gods and the curse of being born here that has got me making periodic returns to my "roots". This neti gene has perpetually put me in adversity and hard knocks, reminding me of Paul crying out: "For what l do is not the good l want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do —this l keep on doing." (Romans7:19).

I now need your impartial advice. Do I get shrinks to come debrief me or do I await one of those dramatic televangelist who make chaps fall and flail to come and break this generational curse? My fear is that he may demand that Idrop the G name, yet I am sentimentally attached to it and I don’t want to be disowned by mum. On the other hand, the catchy ‘Johnny G’ is reserved for the exclusive use by the beauty who’ll agree to my bended knee plea for a hand at the altar. Any suggestions? Keep it real.

You can reach the writer on {jgerezani@gmail.com}