Most farm Tractors were designed to carry only one person – The driver.
I’m not talking about those fancy tractors found in Holland which we see in those glossy farming magazines. The ones that have drivers pictured wearing white gloves comfortably nestled in the neat glass cockpit .
I’m talking about run of the mill, normal ,basic tractors that are found in the rural areas used for ploughing farms or ferrying farm produce. Most of them are very old with relic registration number plates like KPT , KST ,KVN etc I even wonder if the owners can remember when they bought them let alone know where they kept the log books.
Anyway back to my story about the design of the tractor. Like I was saying the tractor is not passenger friendly ,the best it can get to carrying passengers is to ferry them on the trailer .Most of you reading this are urbanites completely detached from the rural mashinani setting hence the thought of riding in a tractor trailer is very alien. Not to worry ill break it down for you.
The driver’s bucket seat is usually made of plastic and mounted on springs to give him some comfort from the stiff suspension. That’s why you’ll see the driver’s head bobbing up and down like he is dancing to the tune of the clanging metal that usually becomes louder as the tractor gains speed. The tractor always has some loose metal to clang , if it’s not the weights at the front bumper , it could be the bars that the ploughs are usually mounted onto or some loose latch for the trailer door.
The point is a ride on a tractor is one unforgiving ordeal. Holding on to the trailer needs skill , it tosses you up and down and sideways and woe unto you if you are a weakling because it could eject you making you land butt first on the dirt road. So on a trailer ride of the tractor you hold on tight ! Does that sound familiar ? Kinda reminds you of some situations in life huh ?
The trailer usually has no shock absorbers so its hard to ride sitting if you are bony as the vibration as you are tossed up and down reverberates to your brain. Your pendulous body parts are tossed hither and thither and for a moment they seem to have their own mind . The huge rear tyres with their ugly grooves keep tossing dirt into your face , cow dung, straw , sticks and pebbles. You duck from the dirt , you duck from the low branches of trees while holding on tight at the same time.
The ride can be really bad if if the driver hates you but it can only get worse if the two of you hate each other. With a cheeky smile on his face – you can’t see him smiling with his back facing you but you sense he is really getting a kick out of the whole thing. The driver will be constantly breaking sharply and enjoying the way you are thrown around. He will even drive the trailer close to the bushes as you duck to avoid the thorny branches from your face.
This was the kind of ‘camaraderie ‘ that I had with a tractor driver on a farm I used to work as a supervisor deep in the heart of Ukambani . I’m a trained agriculturist so don’t get surprised . The Tractor driver used to hate me a lot . I must admit that the feeling was mutual. I didn’t like him that much either. I had two reasons for hating him. He had only one so that justifies my hate .
Musyoka the tractor driver was a small dark man with a big stench to himself. It’s like what he lacked for his in small body he made up for it by his smell. That’s my number one reason for hating him. I couldn’t understand how a grown up would stink like that. He had different smells for different days , other days he would have blends that made you want to throw up.Its like he used to ask himself in the morning, ‘’Mmm! What stench do I wear today ?’’ On some days he would be reeking of cheap alcohol and grease, on others it would be urine and sweat well on others he would bless the day with stenches that were really hard to name.
In a farm’s pecking order a tractor driver is just a notch above the labourer . The sad thing is since most of the farm workers are paid per day worked , when the tractor is grounded due to mechanical problems , the driver reverts to the humble role of a farm labourer. Meaning he has to get a Jembe like the rest and dig. These are the days that are hated most by tractor drivers, but depending on the rapport that one has with the farm manager, he could easily be let to loiter around the farm or given the lofty duty of being in-charge of irrigation till his ramshackle machine got fixed.
Whenever I was one man short in my gang I would not let him just laze around like a fat cat. I would smoke him out and give him a Jembe , the other supervisors were nice to him , not me . For this he hated me so much. One day while he was ploughing with the tractor, I was behind him checking he had done the furrows right when suddenly I saw the tractor backing ever so fast ! Let’s just say you wouldn’t be reading this because that skunk nearly run me over if I hadn’t run behind a tree in good time. Such was the putrid hate that the small man had for me ! Still shaken , I picked up a twig hurled into the back of his head . ( ok the workers were laughing at what had just happened to me and the embarrassment triggered my reaction). Nothing was more satisfying at that moment than seeing him jolt from his seat as I heard the sound of the twig get in contact with his head Total Bliss !! I’m not a violent person but when provoked I even surprise myself. The wife who was one of the workers rushed over to help the husband recover from his injury.
Our hate for each other flourished then on. We were unrelenting , we were determined and committed. My hate somewhat dissipated after Musyoka went through a trying time in his life. I just couldn’t gather enough from my hate Chest to gloat over the situation that visited him. You see Musyoka lost his wife , ok before you take out your tissues and cry , I mean someone stole his wife heart and flesh .
My fellow supervisor George was a dark stocky man standing at about 5.5Ft tall. He was a strong Luhya man. In Many farms women workers throw themselves at tractor drivers – they are considered sexy and Macho . I think there is something to do with a man behind the wheel of a mean machine that’s so alluring to ladies I still think if Musyoka didn’t stink so much women would be fighting over him on the farm. George brought in a whole new mix that left Musyoka’s wife smitten. George besides being a supervisor , was able to drive a tractor , I had heard it whispered around the farm that George used to seduce Musyoka’s wife but I hadn’t paid enough attention to the rumour mill. It was clear that either the skunk was too scared to confront his boss or he was too lost in his stench to care. Things came to a head when George bought one of those large Sony radios that were commonly called ‘ Ghetto Blaster.’ Musyoka’s wife saw that piece of Japanese technology and she never went back to the husband again. She moved in with him George would place it strategically at the entrance of his room covered in a luminous green cloth then he would play music at full volume as the small lights that were all around it glowed and mesmerized the folks on the farm. Say im jealous but I really suspected it was not an original Sony – must have been one of those Chinese pass offs - What the heck ! who cares so long as it can get you a woman. George would spend a large bit of his salary in buying batteries for his ‘ skirt magnet’
Musyoka was devastated ! He stunk even more . My hate for him turned to pity , the farm manager and I tried to intervene but the music loving lovebirds had their minds made up. They were two grown ups who were inseparable - it was not illegal . One morning we heard screams coming from outside George’s room . the manager and I rushed there to find Musyoka being beaten like a cell phone thug on River road. After a lot of effort we managed to get George off the poor little man. On the grass lay a Panga which we learnt that Musyoka after much prodding from his friends , gathered courage to go and attack George. The plan badly backfired and that was the last humiliation he could take for he left the next day never to be seen on the farm again. Lets just say as sad his departure was, it was a breath of fresh air. Tommorow ill tell you about one Mueni ( of the same farm ) and her small skirts .’ Stay tuned.’
