By the Idler-in-Chief
Here in Nyagenke, Njaanuary creeps in chewing loudly, crunching leaf by leaf, like a determined goat that has discovered an unattended kitchen garden.
After weeks of December merrymaking; when meat flowed like rumours in Nyagenke Intervillage Open Air Market and plates bent under the weight of nyama, pilau, and other festive declarations of prosperity, the Nyagenkean stomach wakes up in Njaanuary slightly ashamed, slightly broke, and very green.
December in Nyagenke is a month of belief that cows and goats exist solely for slaughter, and that chickens are born ready for Christmas.
When December arrives, the Nyagenkeans see cabbage as a sign of poverty best postponed to Njaanuary.
Greens, after all, are not festive.
You do not invite in-laws and announce proudly, “Leo tunakula mboga.”
And so Njaanuary arrives with its own menu and its own moral lesson.
Trucks of cabbage rumble into Nyagenke like relief food for consciences.
Heads of cabbage; round, firm, and suspiciously affordable, pile up and brave the dust in markets as they wait for the day they will be swallowed by the Nyagenkeans.
They stare at us accusingly, reminding us of December excesses and Njaanuary realities.
The few goats that were lucky not to get near the abattoir are now looking confused because competition has arrived.
We, the Nyagenkeans, now eat greens with a seriousness previously reserved for Xmas delicacies.
Cabbage is boiled, fried, refried, and philosophised over.
It appears in breakfast leftovers, lunch plates, and supper resignations.
Children ask, innocently, when meat will return and parents reply, confidently, “Next Christmas.”
This is said without irony, because in Nyagenke, meat is not food; it is an event.
The cabbage has become our Njaanuary sponsor.
It supports school fees recovery, rent negotiations, and the slow healing of wallets injured by December generosity.
It is humble, loyal, and does not ask questions.
Unlike meat, which comes with guests, expectations, and long receipts, cabbage only asks for salt and a little oil if the month is feeling generous.
There is also something deeply human about how the Nyagenkeans accept Njaanuary cabbage.
There is no protest, demonstrations, or hashtags.
We chew quietly, nodding, agreeing that this is the natural order of things.
December is for showing life is good and Njaanuary is for proving you can survive it.
By February, hope will return and by April, maybe a chicken will disappear, but for now, Nyagenke belongs to cabbage.
It reigns supreme, shared between humans and goats, binding us all in leafy solidarity.
And so, dear Nyagenkean, chew on, for December will come again.
Until then, may your cabbage be fresh, your salt sufficient, and your memories of meat strong enough to carry you through Njaanuary.
— babahezel@gmail.com