There Lies A Hidden Price And Payback

Shallow men believe in luck. Strong men believe in cause and effect.

Ralph Waldo emerson

I do not remember any sober adult pastime at an early age.

The only thing I recall of adult men and women was drinking. Everyone appeared drunk most of the time. Particularly a notorious binging group comprising of my grandmother and her mates. There was no breakfast for them. The girls made their mandatory mid-morning call during her routine sunrise bask. Which I later discovered was the natural treatment of a hangover. I now know that sunlight on human skin cures many health problems.

They passed by our fenceless homestead and shouted or beckoned her to join the entourage. She did so without hesitation, and off they went. Until lunchtime when they showed up staggering and with old sisal baskets loaded with foodstuff. In the beginning, I always assumed that they bought it from the market. Until one day, a neighbour showed up at home complaining of his losses due to everyday stealing of his green bananas by granny and the gang. The case closed, but their pilfering behaviour, even though exposed, ever lasted.

The monotonous boiled lunch of pilfered potatoes and bananas was hurriedly made. Sometimes when not too drunk, she threw in some salt and animal fat. The only ingredients that cost her money. Once ready, she ate half-awake and slipped into a deep snore. Until her mates showed up again, for the afternoon lap. And off they went until the night. And the partying cycle continued every day for many years.

But special holiday binging was different.

The alcohol was prepared and consumed by both women and men in homesteads of those who could afford. My father owned such a place and was of the kind not expected to miss hosting a drinking party. After all, he was a man of great means—a man with a beautiful wife, who owned land, tilled by his own cows, with his own plough. And among the few in the village owning a transistor radio, riding a bicycle, and collecting rainwater from his tin-roofed shacks. That is the class of people who were not to be the first in bars and drinking dens during village feasts.

A few days before saw him start preparations. The hives by the river were inspected for any signs of honey. Being a coward of bees, he had to rely on his skilled friend for harvesting. A date would be set in one of the evenings for the neighbour to show up. Without notice, my younger brother and me were marshalled to accompany him. Our evenings ruined, we picked up the rudimentary honey harvesting tools in displeasure.

The trip to the riverbank in the night was way different from the lovely experience of the day. Being the older one, I led the trek, carrying the old metallic bucket in one hand, and my father’s dim flashlight on the other. My kid brother followed, reprinting my footsteps to avoid spiky bushes and sharp rocks. Him carrying a bunch of sticks, split from a sisal pole and wrapped in dried wild vines. Then the wise old man with a blunt knife and a long thin stick. Just in case a random wild animal struck.

The mission started with tree climbing.

Different from the usual daytime leisure to pick and savour wild fruits or enjoy the beautiful scenery. This time, grasping the tree trunk and holding the branches in pure faith to locate the hive. Usually perched upon a branch that precariously hang above the rocky river. A tiny misstep always turned disastrous. But such injuries were considered careless and trivial. Unless there was a broken bone.

Being the older boy, it was ever my duty to do the blind climb and bring down the hive. Slowly dropping it down with one hand, with the other clinging on a bending branch. The old man waiting to receive the hive and carefully placing it on the ground. My kid brother busy striking the precious match sticks and gathering dry twigs to light a small fire.

The old man received and opened the round, sticky log hive, throwing the lid away.  The vicious African wild bees burst out in frenzied rage. Stinging anything on their way. First landing on our faces. Then down the neck and eventually, our little arms. That was the opening scene which saw us rip off the scattered buttons from the tattered nylon shirts. A trick to avoid trapping more bees in our chests. This intro was a short and brutal attack, that sent pain and numbness in our emaciated bodies. And elicited wild, incoherent wails akin to the ones I now hear in makeshift roadside churches.

After uttering a few obscene curses, the old man calmed us down to serious work.

First calling our undivided attention to individual duty. Especially the flicker of my father’s silvery flashlight, dangling from my brother’s little hand. The mzee then stabbed, curved, and inspected the first cob. He then tasted, shared, and gave us a short lecture on the type, quality, and best use of the honey.  He was a real top-notch apiculture expert.

We then took positions depending on our roles. Mine was smoking the bees to drowse them. So, I squatted between the hive and the fire. Swiftly dipping the sisal splits into the flame and withdrawing them when ignited. Then quickly blowing out the flare to create a smoky torch, that I blew hard towards the hive. Covering it in a thick cloud of white smoke and instantly repeating the cycle. That time, my brother standing between the hive and the bucket, waiting to receive and wipe the stubborn bees off the combs.

All along, we devoured the sweet combs.

Enjoying the taste and the experience despite the price paid for it. Once finished, we hoisted back the hive and trod back home with joy and pride. Stopping near the homestead to secretly filter some liquid honey for us to enjoy for days to come. Not minding the sleepless nights ahead due to the overload of venom in our skins, and sugar in our tummies.

In the morning, we needed not to tell our mates about the events of the previous evening. Our foreheads were puffed up. Eyes looking like small cracks on the face. Upper lip blocking the nostrils and the lower one covering the chin. Arms swollen and numb for several days. But my father took little notice of our condition. He only grumbled on the small amount of honey obtained compared to his estimate. Cleverly hinting knowledge of the amount, we were hiding under our bed. Even so, he immediately began fermenting the beer in preparation for his party.

All good things in life take tenacity and time.

Persistent pain and discomfort are the price one pays to progress or advance in anything. In my life, I have learnt many lessons. But the most important one is to realize that anything in life can be exemplified by a building. When there is a building project, the owner unnoticeably starts by acquiring the land and fencing. Then goes into the mental work of designing and commissioning the building project. The next task is digging and building the foundation. This is the most difficult, costly, and messy piece of work in the entire project. At this point, people hardly take notice.

Then the walls start coming up, and suddenly, people begin to pay attention. As the building rises further, more people notice. Until it is finished, then everyone knows of its existence, and marvels at its architecture. That is how life is. People will only notice when you have done all the work. And in most cases, attribute it to luck.

To most people in our society, good things just happen to some lucky few.

All my life, I have heard of the statement that so and so is lucky. They have become wealthy because of sheer luck. They have polite kids and a cohesive family because they are fortunate. They have lived a long and healthy life because God especially loves them. Most of the things that high achievers in our communities have worked hard for are associated with mere luck. What my people do not understand is that fortune favours the brave, persistent, and prepared.

And the opposite is true. Losers associate everything happening to them with bad luck. Their children did not get a good education because the genes of high intellect never existed in their lineage. Yet the choice of genes is always a card on the table of everyone forging a marital union. They are poor because they had poor parents. Yet the wealthiest person they know of came from a background worse than theirs. Their marriage is terrible because they married the wrong person. But they deeply know that they are the worst person to espouse someone. The easy game of losing in life is won by the hard play of constant excusing.

Luck exists where effort is present.

I have learnt that the people doing better than me on many fronts have put in the work I have not. I am not saying that everyone with more money or a better job or anything else has acquired it by credible effort. Not necessarily. The fact is, the majority of the people I know have gotten lucky because they have been deliberate and conscious about it. Since they know that luck is not a spontaneous occurrence, they have created it. They are aware that luck happens when opportunity meets preparation.

That dream job is landed by the most loyal, diligent, and committed worker. The early rising child in the remote village who walks for miles, years on end, becomes the benefactor of a good education. The poor farmer who tills the land and buys a chicken to breed, finally owns a herd of fat bulls. The busy mother who runs home every evening to spend time and mentor her children raises the most sane and ambitious souls in the city. The one who wakes up early to sweat and pant while the world is sleeping will enjoy a healthy and long life when everyone will be sick and dying.

 All good things in life come at a price.

The question is, what price are you willing to pay for what you want to have? The sooner you get the answer, the faster you take the required change action. In most cases, we just dream of good things and envy those who already have them. Then we wait, for that golden opportunity to befall us, while not trying or dedicating our time. In most times, doing nothing at all.

You cannot sit still and wait for things to happen. You must want something badly enough for you to work your backside off to get it. And if you do, you will know that it takes quite some time and perseverance to get it. Because good things in life come to those, who hustle. Not those who pray, bum, and wait. You must pay the price to make your luck happen.

And they have a pretty payback too

Like the old man soaking in the bee venom to enjoy my father’s fermented drink later, everything in life has a reward. Good or bad. A choice to face the difficulty to change a bad situation now, will save one from worse moments later. It is never easy to start a business, lose weight, forgive people, form new habits, or establish new relationships. Saving and investing, creating time for fitness and self-care, mentoring and nurturing children, or learning new skills is a challenge to anyone who does it. But in the end, there are dividends to enjoy. A successful career, wealth, good health, long life, loving relationships and much more eventually come along.

And the opposite is true. It is easier to watch a football match on your couch than to chase the ball in the pitch. Fried, fatty foods taste way better than salads. It feels better to walk into a mall to shop than go to the bank to deposit savings in the hope of enjoying in years to come. Who does not enjoy coasting on a Saturday morning instead of waking up to a sweaty run or a stressful hustle?

Pay upfront by doing what needs to be done now.

You need to know that luck is made. Luck is less about what happens to you but more about your thoughts and actions. Make that life-changing decision that you have been toying with for ages. Make that change that calls for your sacrifice now. Let go of what feels so right now, that you very well know will ruin your life later. Pull off your determination for a challenging transformation today. Something that will make life better and easier tomorrow.

The only way to let in and enjoy the new is by paying the price of letting go of the old. Kick that harmful habit, dump that toxic childhood friend, or walk out of that manipulative and abusive marriage. Go back to school, sleep earlier, eat less, walk to more, find new friends, get a new hobby, commit time for your loved ones and pinch that penny.

 Seneca the Younger said, “We are more often frightened than hurt; and we suffer more from imagination than from reality.” Fear, not the actual cost of our indulgence, drives our hesitation to change and curtails our aspirations. Hence, we need courage to rise, toil and create our own luck.

The ultimate reality is that our desires will never manifest before our drudgery.