Back
to the present, I skipped to Initiation (chapter 13) date before we talked about the weeks
on the tarmac. The first week was generally the enlistment week. Unlike most
people’s knowledge, you are not a soldier when they take your ID card at the
district level and you are left with the calling letter. There is a bigger
process than that. In fact, the entire 9 – 10 months up to a year is a year
dedicated to background checks. The military Intelligence will investigate and
know everything they need to know about you, including the girl you were
messing around with, in your former primary school years ago. Which is why,
there is no chance of escaping military training. They will still find you
before you can go anywhere. Most of those who tried never even reached Eldoret.
At least not in the most basic of escapes like prison.
“Msee!
Amka!” I never realized I had slept that much. This was a very uncomfortable
sleeping position, but I still slept for like two hours or so. The truth of the
matter was, as much as we woke up early and done with breakfast within half an
hour, the bigwigs only came a little after 8am. We assembled near the dais and
got our brief for the day. At this point, we were still a bunch of clueless civilians.
Later I would come to look back at the days when we wore civilian clothes and
on the Holy Ground and I would not
believe the clowns we were. A parade ground is as beautiful as the soldiers on
it, clad in full military uniform and decorations. Not the rainbow colors
bunched up in the middle. We were such naïve souls. The short ones struggled to
raise their small selves to try hearing what was being said. I will let you in
on a secret. This is some perception of sorts. It does not mean that because
you are at the back of the crowd you cannot hear what is being said at the
front. In the military, we shouted enough and the voice could be heard from a
mile away. But we were only civilians, we would get used with time. How do you
explain the “alien commands” you can barely comprehend in Nyayo stadium and yet the
soldier at the back follows instructions as efficiently as the soldier at the
front row… and the band is still playing his favorite tune? Magic!!!
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| Image credits: mod. |
This
assemblage was not complicated. It was easy. Sit in a line as usual. In teams,
from each county as recruited and as per service (Army, Navy, Air Force). By now,
you know how this went; nine teams, in groups of three for the three services. This
was to ensure everybody was accounted for. We sat on the hard tarmac, which was
still cold and wet from the night before. I looked around me and watched as the
women fumbled around their bags searching for something to sit on (They hated
the term women!!! My! my! My! In addition, if I call them girls, they would
still complain). I almost did the same. Nevertheless, figured this was a waste
of time. I just dumped my small bum on the prickly tarmac. I know most have
never sat on tarmac before. In any case, I would gladly sit on Thika Road. It is
much softer on the bum than a military parade ground. It would be just like
sitting on a hard bench. This is why: A military field - tarmac undergoes a tough
thrashing by the heavy boots that trudge on it every day. There are bits and
pieces of loose tarmac that are all over the ground, raised and moved from
position by the boots. Any uneven piece is a discomfort to you. The only thing I
did was to remove those loose pieces in some sweeping motion and sat behind my
friend Ben. (At some point, I will replace the term bum with ‘rear rank’ and
then ‘rear’. I do not want you wondering what ‘rear’ means from the human anatomy
perspective later on in the story – stay with me).
I
looked up to find a stern looking soldier looking at me as if I had stolen
someone’s property. I looked at him and smiled.
“Nini
ya kuchekesha hapa raia!?” (What is funny here civilian?)
I
went silent because I did not know what this was about. It was only a smile. He
looked around as if to ensure nobody was looking at him. I sensed something was
wrong and braced for the worst. Then he looked back at me, bent to my level and
said in a mean voice.
“Sikiza
kurutu!” “Hio ma**ko unabembeleza hivo ni ya jeshi sasa! Ketisha na utulie,
bado haujaumia!” (Listen recruit! That bum you are soothing in that manner is
no longer yours! It belongs to the military now! Sit and settle you are yet to
get hurt!)
Most
of my superiors would later learn that the sterner they tried to get while
talking to me the more I smiled. Which had been my main enemy throughout my
career. I couldn’t help it.
“Na
una madharau kijana!” “Bado unasmile tu! Nakaa manzi yako! EEh!?” Nkt! (You are
still smiling and underestimating me young man! Do I look like your
girlfriend?)
He
sighed and pushed my head to the side with his finger the way house helps push
children’s heads when they threaten them with a beating. This was embarrassing.
Everyone was looking at me wondering what I had done. I later learnt none of
the instructors was to touch us in any way until we had been handed over to the
college’s administration. At this point, we were somehow on no-mans-land. We did
not belong to the military yet. Even the term recruit was not part of us at
this point. We were also not citizens in a way because we did not have our IDs.
Just our birth certificates. The clown who just pushed my head with his finger
was looking over his shoulder to ensure that our recruiters were not looking at
him. He would be reprimanded if any of the seniors saw him doing so. Again at
this point, you may just push someone’s head and he turns out to be a General’s
long lost son, and your ass is whisked off to Ileret for a two year stint. We still had our phones and strings could
still be pulled. By the way, that finger thing really pissed me off. But I wouldn’t
let it spoil my day.
The
purpose of this arrangement was just ease of tally and accountability. Once you
recruited people, they were yours and you had to account for them and ensure
that they are properly enlisted into their respective service. Therefore, after
every two or so hours someone would pass above our heads and count us again. Some
taping us with those heavy pace stakes they put under their armpits. Within an
hour of sitting down, I was already shifting uncomfortably on that tarmac. To think
that the day would end this way was torture in itself. We told all the stories
we had in mind. Actually, they were not all stories. Just pointing out to
people and discussing them. Watching people was very interesting at this point.
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| Dental Check |
The
big wigs walked into the field and after what looked like a briefing session,
they stood in line facing us and the one in the middle addressed us. He had
these red things on his collar. Somehow when he spoke, the soldiers he greeted, were closing their legs in a synchronized manner and others
saluting. In a loud but well packaged voice, he told us that we are welcome and
they were organizing things so that we could settle in and be comfortable. The
week’s exercise would be medicals and fresh vetting. This was the same exercise
from last time and it was taking a lot of time. He explained that they needed
to do the medicals afresh to ensure that they did not recruit people who were
sick and expectant women. They did not want to have people let go of life in
their hands. I kind of understood him. The exercise was so serious that the people
who came in casts and bandages were sent straight home. This was not a clerical
school. If you are not 100% physically fit, you seriously have no business in
military boot camp. Which is why I insist; do not hate them for dismissing your
severe flatfoot. It is for your own good. Sitting down itself was quite a
hustle. He then told us to be patient so that after the medicals, we could get
our service numbers and then we would start being kitted. That is we would
receive our standard issues.
The
service number is like a serial number. It means a lot in your career. This is
the number that shows where you belong and what you have. It is like the batch
number that comes with any manufacturing product. You have two pairs of boots,
three pairs of fatigues, you have a bed, you have food tins, and you belong to
a certain company and the like. It is that serious and special a number. The person
with the red decorations then went to the dais and sat on a seat that was
different from the rest. The kind that ‘guests
of honor’ sit on. I then heard people discussing the military ranks. I was
later to learn that this was the famous “Red Collar” worn by Colonels and
above. Explains why the teasing instructors scattered from view when he
appeared. In this camp, he is a god of sorts. At that moment, he was the
highest ranked officer in the camp. Meaning everyone salutes him. The idea of
being saluted sounded interesting. The like when I grow up I want to be saluted
kind of thing. But I already got that from my Sunday school kids on my last Sunday
school session with them.
One
thing I learnt from my bum was that it listened to stories too. It got
entertained and the more interesting a story was, the more comfortable it was
and less nagging. But the moment stories died down and there was nothing to
talk about, I could feel the hard gravel pushing onto my soft skin down there. So
I tried to keep myself well entertained. It was also getting hotter as the sun
went up. Being the rainy season in Eldoret
also brought with it immense heat. We sat there until teatime. Nothing had
changed from where we had sat. We had not been re-examined and we had not received
our service numbers yet.
A
super clean shaven soldier with a weird voice, wearing what I came to learn was the Kenya Air
Force’s working dress gave us our instructions. We were given thirty minutes to
have tea and return to our positions. His voice sounded funny but was loud
enough to echo around the camp. Came to learn he was the most audible soldier
in the camp. He sounded authoritative and confident. As we came to learn later,
he was the Regimental Sergeant Major (RSM) and the Parade QMSI. (QMSI means Quartermaster
Sergeant Instructor) details later but in brief, the Master of Parade
Instruction. By master I mean, he was the best, the Jackie Chan of Parade Instruction, the Chuck Norris of commands and parade formations. His nickname was “Mang’oi”. I was told it means donkeys…
Hi. Same Old Drama, Different Day. This blog is about me and others, nature, life, blah blah and why everything I like is great even the hurting - still great. If you disagree with anything you find on this page, Well. . . You are probably right..
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