Playing footsie. That’s what we have been doing all this time. By footsie I mean toying around with one another and acting all coy. You know, like with your first crush, or like with that friend who’s not really a friend because you both know what you have going on is more than just friends? Ok, I’m rambling now.
So, as I was saying, we have being playing footsie with each other. I don’t remember when I first realized that we had become more than just friends. I think it was probably that day when we went for lunch at this strangely exotic restaurant. A friend of mine had referred it to me when I asked her where I could go for a different dining experience. “I’m so fed up with always eating fast food or Chinese food,” I said to her via e-mail. She responded with the suggestion that I try out Cosmic, a restaurant that dedicated itself to no particular cuisine, and was located in Parklands.
So on that Sunday that was what we did. In retrospect, I realize that the signs were all there: the casual brushing of hands, the slightly lingering looks, the silence of two people comfortable in each other’s presence. Anyway, at Cosmic we had the Chef’s special; a mélange of several meats and starches. The food was good, the ambience even better, and the conversation divine. We talked about everything and anything, and before we realized it, it was dark. Commitments await us early on a Monday morning so we had to leave.
We took a taxi, planning to head to my place first to drop me off then he would be dropped off after. The taxi had definitely seen better days, but at that hour and in that part of town, the beggars that we were could not be choosers. Getting me home, and eventually him, was laborious. The taxi stuttered and coughed, and lurching forward violently, it broke down, much to our frustration. Luckily for us we were close to a petrol station and so walked there, hand in hand, with the taxi driver in tow profusely apologizing to us. We eventually got another taxi, and made it home without any more incidents.
Our relationship continued on pretty much an even keel. We went on lunch dates and the occasional dinner, we visited each other on the regular, we attended concerts and other forms of social fora. Never once did I imagine mentioning how I felt. I did not want to ruin what had revealed itself to be the perfect friendship.
Up until yesterday.
So there I was last night lying on my bed, enjoying a cup of hot chocolate while listening to the soothing tones of Lira, afro-jazz goddess, belted out in her sultry voice. I put on my laptop, and connected to the Internet. As I checked my e-mails, a message popped up: “Jazzy would like to chat with you. Accept?” Jazzy was his online avatar and mine was Coco. I accepted happily.
Coco: So what’s up?
Jazzy: Nothing much… I was watching news.
Coco: Boring!!!! I’m listening to Lira now… she’s just so awesome. I can’t get enough of her.
Jazzy: I know!! Leme put it on the comp. Gimme a sec.
(Five minutes later)
Jazzy: Sorry, ma was talking to me.
Coco: No that’s cool. BTW Youtube Prelude to a kiss by Alicia Keys. I’M IN LOVE!!!!
Jazzy: LOL! Dramatic!!!
Coco: YA OF COURSE!!! That song is so beautiful. She also rocks.
Jazzy: Ok cool I’m looking for it.
Coco: Wish you were here… I’m in dire need of a massage… hint hint ;)
Jazzy: LOL why is it always me who’s supposed to be there to give you a massage?
Coco: Coz I’m the one always asking for one! Have you ever asked me?
Jazzy: Ok cool… but that will only lead to trouble.
Coco: What do you mean by trouble?
Jazzy: Nothing, just ignore that. I’m now listening to that song. It’s nice… really nice.
Coco: Stop changing the topic!!! Come on Mark what did you mean by that? I think you know me well enough to know that I will not let go until you explain.
(A short while later, which, to me, translated as an uncomfortable silence)
Coco: Well?
Jazzy: Gosh, don’t make a big deal out of it. I just meant that me giving you a massage would just put me in a tricky situation.
Coco: Tricky? What do you mean?
Jazzy: Jessica, stop playing dumb. You know what I mean.
Coco: No I do not. I wouldn’t be asking if I knew what you meant ok? Ok, I just don’t want to misunderstand you.
Jazzy: I think you know how much I like you… as in I like you more than a friend.
Coco: Uh huh…
(At this point in time, I was shocked because I couldn’t believe that we were having this conversation.)
Jazzy: Yeah.
Coco: How long have you felt this way?
Jazzy: A while now… Can we please change the subject?
Coco: No… So why didn’t you say anything to me?
Jazzy: What really would I tell you? You always looked at me as your really good friend.
Coco: How do you know that?
Jazzy: Well, if the opposite is true, why haven’t you said anything to me?
Coco: Because… ok, I understand where you are coming from. I also thought you considered me a close friend.
Jazzy: Uh huh…
Coco: Ok this is so weird… I can’t believe we are having this conversation.
Jazzy: Me too… I think some things are best explained face to face.
Coco: So you’ll expound on all these tomorrow?
Jazzy: Yes I will… I’m off to sleep now.
Coco: Have a good night and sweetest dreams… of me ;)
Jazzy: LOL you too… hugs and kisses!
I closed my eyes and smiled; shivering in delicious anticipation.
Friday, May 15, 2009
ALL ON MY BIG YELLOW BED SHEETS
My big yellow bed sheets. Ok, to be totally honest, once upon a time they were my mother’s big yellow bed sheets. Now, they were my big, torn bed sheets with a hint of yellow. Nonetheless, if they could speak, they would weave tales like tapestries. Of my parents’ infidelity. Of how I lost my virginity on them. Of my twin sister’s promiscuity. Yawn. As I lay on my big yellow bed sheets.
Such minor details about life I ignored. I mean, what more could I possibly learn about unfaithfulness? Or difficult times? My father probably deserved whatever my mother brought his way. They never tired of telling us how we were conceived under the influence of cheap liquor and illicit brew. All on the big yellow sheets. He went and fucked around; she went and screwed around. After several hazy days of drinking, partying, and fucking and/or screwing, they would meet in the bedroom. Quick grope, fondle, kiss. It was over before it even began.
Tara. My twin sister. Smooth, flawless skin the color of cocoa. Clear eyes that were always questioning. She exuded incorruptibility until she opened her mouth. She could embarrass a truck driver with her language. Of course, being a child of my parents, she had picked up a thing or two about the art of seduction. She was a mistress in the game and played for keeps. She always told me, scornfully, that her way was the only way out for our kind. Poor big, yellow bed sheets, currently some hand-me-downs from beloved said parents.
I went to the council school nearby. School was my other world, my break from reality. Reality was absentee parents. Reality was alcohol, cheap perfume and sex. Reality was maturity before time. Reality was a bitch. When I was in school, I became a sixteen year old girl who was allowed to be a child. I had dreams and plans. I could pretend that I was functional. I could hope that one day I would be released from the bondage of my life.
Tom, my best friend, also went to the same school. He was as dysfunctional and as confused and disillusioned as I was. Tom did not know his mother. She upped and left when Tom was just but a toddler. His father was one of my mother’s regulars (probably my sister had been there too, I don’t know. And I didn’t care), which meant he was also rarely home before midnight.
Together we would dream big. We would detail a life that had big mansions and flashy cars. Maids at our beck and call. We would travel to see the world together. And when we would have children, they would love us as much as we loved them. They would want for nothing that our hands could work for and provide. Oh, what bliss life would be for us.
Everyday we would build our sand castles in the air, and every evening they would be torn down when we went back home to reality. But we did not give up. We would patiently reconstruct them the next day, trying so hard not to let the worries and cares of reality bog these castles down.
It was during the Christmas holidays. Holidays were a nightmare for me. It meant that there was no school. No time out from life. No peace and quiet. No hanging out with Tom everyday. Just Tina and her men. My father wouldn’t be home. My mother would be drunk and passed out.
Anyway it was during the Christmas holidays. Tom and I would meet in the afternoons outside our school gates. We would walk for kilometers just talking. And building. And planning. He would then walk me back home then head to his own. But not today. Today was different. Surprisingly there was no one home. I invited him in and offered him tea. We talked as if we were sparing words.
It happened so fast, yet I can detail every minute. A kiss here, touch me there. Everything we ever wanted to say, but couldn’t, flowed out of us in waves of innocence and inexperience. Innocence. Inexperience. The worry on my face. His reassuring words. And on my big yellow bed sheets, I found love.
Such minor details about life I ignored. I mean, what more could I possibly learn about unfaithfulness? Or difficult times? My father probably deserved whatever my mother brought his way. They never tired of telling us how we were conceived under the influence of cheap liquor and illicit brew. All on the big yellow sheets. He went and fucked around; she went and screwed around. After several hazy days of drinking, partying, and fucking and/or screwing, they would meet in the bedroom. Quick grope, fondle, kiss. It was over before it even began.
Tara. My twin sister. Smooth, flawless skin the color of cocoa. Clear eyes that were always questioning. She exuded incorruptibility until she opened her mouth. She could embarrass a truck driver with her language. Of course, being a child of my parents, she had picked up a thing or two about the art of seduction. She was a mistress in the game and played for keeps. She always told me, scornfully, that her way was the only way out for our kind. Poor big, yellow bed sheets, currently some hand-me-downs from beloved said parents.
I went to the council school nearby. School was my other world, my break from reality. Reality was absentee parents. Reality was alcohol, cheap perfume and sex. Reality was maturity before time. Reality was a bitch. When I was in school, I became a sixteen year old girl who was allowed to be a child. I had dreams and plans. I could pretend that I was functional. I could hope that one day I would be released from the bondage of my life.
Tom, my best friend, also went to the same school. He was as dysfunctional and as confused and disillusioned as I was. Tom did not know his mother. She upped and left when Tom was just but a toddler. His father was one of my mother’s regulars (probably my sister had been there too, I don’t know. And I didn’t care), which meant he was also rarely home before midnight.
Together we would dream big. We would detail a life that had big mansions and flashy cars. Maids at our beck and call. We would travel to see the world together. And when we would have children, they would love us as much as we loved them. They would want for nothing that our hands could work for and provide. Oh, what bliss life would be for us.
Everyday we would build our sand castles in the air, and every evening they would be torn down when we went back home to reality. But we did not give up. We would patiently reconstruct them the next day, trying so hard not to let the worries and cares of reality bog these castles down.
It was during the Christmas holidays. Holidays were a nightmare for me. It meant that there was no school. No time out from life. No peace and quiet. No hanging out with Tom everyday. Just Tina and her men. My father wouldn’t be home. My mother would be drunk and passed out.
Anyway it was during the Christmas holidays. Tom and I would meet in the afternoons outside our school gates. We would walk for kilometers just talking. And building. And planning. He would then walk me back home then head to his own. But not today. Today was different. Surprisingly there was no one home. I invited him in and offered him tea. We talked as if we were sparing words.
It happened so fast, yet I can detail every minute. A kiss here, touch me there. Everything we ever wanted to say, but couldn’t, flowed out of us in waves of innocence and inexperience. Innocence. Inexperience. The worry on my face. His reassuring words. And on my big yellow bed sheets, I found love.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Monday, May 4, 2009
One fine Sunday morning, I woke up and found my world dark
WELCOME TO GOD’S TABERNACLE CHURCH OF SAINTS
SUNDAY SERVICE: 10.00 A.M.
FELLOWSHIP: FROM 2.00 P.M.
PRAYER SERVICES: TUESDAYS AND FRIDAYS FROM 6.00 P.M.
Around 11.30 a.m., Sunday:
"I know He's coming again..."
"Sooomeeedayyy, soometiiiime, IN THE END!"
"Everybody put your hands together for Jesus. He is coming soon! Sing with me: I know He's coming again..."
The song rose to a fevered pitch. Everybody was dancing and jumping, caught up in the fervor. Sweat tricked down each face and was immediately mopped up with an already soaked cloth. “Halleluyah to Jesus,” they sang. I put my hands up, motioning for the congregation to sit down.
"Dearly beloved we are gathered here to PRAISE HIM! He is holy and worthy; the one true God. We thank Him for the gift of life!"
There were cries of "Amen" and "Glory" from the congregation. I raised my hands again for silence.
"Right now I would like to welcome the Right Reverend, His Holiness David Chamge."
Congregation rose to its feet, stomping and shouting, as the Reverend made his way to the pulpit. A man of God. Oh, how he was loved by all.
Somewhere around 1.30 p.m., Tuesday:
I walked into the offices of the Right Reverend, His Holiness David Chamge. The Reverend had been my mentor for many years ever since my wayward teenage days. He befriended when no one else wanted to, and even helped me get back on track with my education and school. Now that I was almost graduating, I wanted to join his ministry and help him spread the Gospel as a missionary. With Becky.
Becky was the love of my life. She also had been there for me through thick and thin. I loved her and wanted to marry her soon. We had talked of nothing else the last few months.
The Reverend received me heartily and ushered me into his office. We sat down and chitchatted a bit about this and that, then
“Pastor, I love Becky and want to propose to her.”
“Becky? Wow. Are you serious?”
“Of course I am serious. I thought you knew the extent of my feelings for her?”
“Well, yes, but are you sure? She is a lovely lady, don’t get me wrong, but she did not strike me as wife material, at least not for you. She has always been a tad bit… free, if you know what I mean.”
2.16 p.m., walking home:
I didn’t know what he meant by that. Free? My Becky? What did he exactly mean? I reached for my house keys, but before I could open the door, it swung open.
“Hi baby,” Becky said, and reached out to hug me.
“Hi,” I responded wearily.
Becky had cooked me a late lunch. The food tasted like chalk. I was too preoccupied to notice that Becky was hovering nervously around me.
“Steve, I’m pregnant.”
His words flooded my mind. “…a bit free, if you know what I mean.”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN PREGNANT?” I yelled. “Whose?”
“What do you mean whose? I can’t believe you’d dare ask that question! And as for what I mean by pregnant, I have your child growing inside of me.”
“But we have never… Oh God we have!”
In a moment of weakness, we had done It. Becky had come over wearing some really nice looking shorts and we were fooling around. One thing led to another and here we are today.
“Are you sure that I am the father? Because, from what I hear, you are quite the popular girl!” The words escaped my mouth.
“You bastard!” Becky retaliated, anger creasing her face.
9.45 p.m.
“Hi Becky, it is Steve. Please call me and at least let me know you are home safe. I’m sorry. Please disregard my previous messages. Baby I love you and we can work this out.”
10.22 p.m.
“Becky I am really worried about you. You don’t have to talk to me just let me know that you are safe. SMS me, please.”
11.54 p.m.
“I love you and I am truly sorry.”
09.00 a.m. Wednesday
I walked into the offices of the Right Reverend, His Holiness David Chamge. I had a load on my shoulders that I needed to unburden and I didn’t know who else to turn to.
“Pastor, I need to talk to you,” I said.
“Come on in Steve. You look haggard,” replied Rev.
“Yesterday, Becky and I had a fight. I don’t know what to do. I cannot reach her; she refuses to reply to any of my messages. I have no idea where she is. I am going mad with worry.” I stuttered.
“Steve, these things are normal. You just have to give her time to relax. You know how temperamental women are. By the way, I hope it wasn’t because of what I told you yesterday. It was confidential, you know.”
“Pastor, Becky is pregnant.”
“Pregnant? Becky? What do you mean? Oh no! Whose is it?”
“Well there was this one time we…”
“Don’t tell me there is a possibility that you are the father!”
I hung my head in shame. What else could I say in the face of such an accusation?
10.43 a.m.
“Please call me. Thank you.” Finally some communication from Becky! I hurriedly dialed her number and began speaking almost before she could answer her phone.
“Hi Becky where are you? I am so sorry about yesterday. I was just in shock and so much had happened that day. I can’t…”
“I am on my way to your place now,” were her only chilled words before she hung up.
05.30 p.m., Thursday
My life was a mess. Becky was still not talking to me. All she did was pick up her keys and a few personal items. No amount of pleading, begging or cajoling from me would make her even glance my way.
I had done it. It was official. I had ruined the best thing I had going on for me. And all for what?
I decided to seek solace from my Creator. He could fix my problems.
06.39 p.m.
Nothing. I felt nothing. Emptiness filled my every crevice. I had wept and cried to God, hoping that I would have answers there and then. My guess: I would have to wait a little more.
As I stood in the church courtyard mingling with fellow worshippers, I couldn’t help but overhear a conversation between two elders of the church, Mrs. Wanyoike and Rahab Wambui.
“I couldn’t believe it when my sister told me that he was the father!” said Mrs. Wanyoike.
“How can she be sure? I mean, I really don’t believe that he is capable of that!”
“She swears that it is him… she has never lied to me as far as I know...”
I couldn’t listen in anymore. What I had heard was enough.
09.36 p.m., at home:
Doubts began to fill my mind. Surely could all this be real?
10.00 a.m., Friday:
I picked up my phone and sent a really long message to Becky. “Dear Becky, I really would like to see you and explain some things. I am sorry again for what happened on Tuesday. I believe that you are carrying my child and that you have never done anything to compromise our relationship. Please forgive me. I believe I have some news that may be of interest to you and also kind of explain, though not excuse my behavior.”
She replied, “Ok. I will come over to your place in an hour.”
Great! At least we were making progress.
11.06 a.m.
Our greetings at the door were awkward. I reached out to hug her; she stretched out her hand to greet me. She took a seat and looked at me. I explained to her all that had transpired since Thursday as I paced up and down the sitting room.
Becky begun to speak. “I can see why he would call me loose. He approached me asking for sexual favors three times, and three times I rejected him. I could not confide in you because you trusted him so much.”
Around 11.30 a.m., Sunday:
"I know He's coming again..."
"Sooomeeedayyy, soometiiiime, IN THE END!"
"Everybody put your hands together for Jesus. He is coming soon! Sing with me: I know He's coming again..."
The song rose to a fevered pitch. Everybody was dancing and jumping, caught up in the fervor. Sweat tricked down each face and was immediately mopped up with an already soaked cloth. “Halleluyah to Jesus,” they sang. I put my hands up, motioning for the congregation to sit down.
"Dearly beloved we are gathered here to PRAISE HIM! He is holy and worthy; the one true God. We thank Him for the gift of life!"
There were cries of "Amen" and "Glory" from the congregation. I raised my hands again for silence.
"Right now I would like to welcome the Right Reverend, His Holiness David Chamge."
Congregation rose to its feet, stomping and shouting, as the Reverend made his way to the pulpit. A man of God. Oh, how he was loved by all.
“But before he comes up, I would like to welcome Teresia back. She is the proud mother of a bouncing baby boy called Emmanuel. Teresia, why don’t you come up here we pray together?”
Teresia was Mrs. Wanyoike’s sister. As she made her way up to the pulpit, I called up several other members of the congregation onto the pulpit.
I began to speak. “See all this people are God’s children. They are His dedicated servants who would do anything for His ministry. But when one of us takes advantage of these innocent lambs, it becomes a sin. Is that not right, Reverend?” I asked turning to face him.
“You are Teresia’s baby’s father, aren’t you?”
“..Why… that’s preposterous! How dare you accuse me of something so unholy?”
“See, church,” I continued as if I had not been interrupted. “The Reverend has been soliciting for favors from all these people. He even tried to sleep with my Becky. Should any of then refuse, they somehow ‘fall from favor’ and are no longer valued members of this church.”
You could have heard a pin drop. The tension was palpable. The Reverend looked like he was about to go into cardiac arrest. Try as he might, no words left his mouth.
SUNDAY SERVICE: 10.00 A.M.
FELLOWSHIP: FROM 2.00 P.M.
PRAYER SERVICES: TUESDAYS AND FRIDAYS FROM 6.00 P.M.
Around 11.30 a.m., Sunday:
"I know He's coming again..."
"Sooomeeedayyy, soometiiiime, IN THE END!"
"Everybody put your hands together for Jesus. He is coming soon! Sing with me: I know He's coming again..."
The song rose to a fevered pitch. Everybody was dancing and jumping, caught up in the fervor. Sweat tricked down each face and was immediately mopped up with an already soaked cloth. “Halleluyah to Jesus,” they sang. I put my hands up, motioning for the congregation to sit down.
"Dearly beloved we are gathered here to PRAISE HIM! He is holy and worthy; the one true God. We thank Him for the gift of life!"
There were cries of "Amen" and "Glory" from the congregation. I raised my hands again for silence.
"Right now I would like to welcome the Right Reverend, His Holiness David Chamge."
Congregation rose to its feet, stomping and shouting, as the Reverend made his way to the pulpit. A man of God. Oh, how he was loved by all.
Somewhere around 1.30 p.m., Tuesday:
I walked into the offices of the Right Reverend, His Holiness David Chamge. The Reverend had been my mentor for many years ever since my wayward teenage days. He befriended when no one else wanted to, and even helped me get back on track with my education and school. Now that I was almost graduating, I wanted to join his ministry and help him spread the Gospel as a missionary. With Becky.
Becky was the love of my life. She also had been there for me through thick and thin. I loved her and wanted to marry her soon. We had talked of nothing else the last few months.
The Reverend received me heartily and ushered me into his office. We sat down and chitchatted a bit about this and that, then
“Pastor, I love Becky and want to propose to her.”
“Becky? Wow. Are you serious?”
“Of course I am serious. I thought you knew the extent of my feelings for her?”
“Well, yes, but are you sure? She is a lovely lady, don’t get me wrong, but she did not strike me as wife material, at least not for you. She has always been a tad bit… free, if you know what I mean.”
2.16 p.m., walking home:
I didn’t know what he meant by that. Free? My Becky? What did he exactly mean? I reached for my house keys, but before I could open the door, it swung open.
“Hi baby,” Becky said, and reached out to hug me.
“Hi,” I responded wearily.
Becky had cooked me a late lunch. The food tasted like chalk. I was too preoccupied to notice that Becky was hovering nervously around me.
“Steve, I’m pregnant.”
His words flooded my mind. “…a bit free, if you know what I mean.”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN PREGNANT?” I yelled. “Whose?”
“What do you mean whose? I can’t believe you’d dare ask that question! And as for what I mean by pregnant, I have your child growing inside of me.”
“But we have never… Oh God we have!”
In a moment of weakness, we had done It. Becky had come over wearing some really nice looking shorts and we were fooling around. One thing led to another and here we are today.
“Are you sure that I am the father? Because, from what I hear, you are quite the popular girl!” The words escaped my mouth.
“You bastard!” Becky retaliated, anger creasing her face.
9.45 p.m.
“Hi Becky, it is Steve. Please call me and at least let me know you are home safe. I’m sorry. Please disregard my previous messages. Baby I love you and we can work this out.”
10.22 p.m.
“Becky I am really worried about you. You don’t have to talk to me just let me know that you are safe. SMS me, please.”
11.54 p.m.
“I love you and I am truly sorry.”
09.00 a.m. Wednesday
I walked into the offices of the Right Reverend, His Holiness David Chamge. I had a load on my shoulders that I needed to unburden and I didn’t know who else to turn to.
“Pastor, I need to talk to you,” I said.
“Come on in Steve. You look haggard,” replied Rev.
“Yesterday, Becky and I had a fight. I don’t know what to do. I cannot reach her; she refuses to reply to any of my messages. I have no idea where she is. I am going mad with worry.” I stuttered.
“Steve, these things are normal. You just have to give her time to relax. You know how temperamental women are. By the way, I hope it wasn’t because of what I told you yesterday. It was confidential, you know.”
“Pastor, Becky is pregnant.”
“Pregnant? Becky? What do you mean? Oh no! Whose is it?”
“Well there was this one time we…”
“Don’t tell me there is a possibility that you are the father!”
I hung my head in shame. What else could I say in the face of such an accusation?
10.43 a.m.
“Please call me. Thank you.” Finally some communication from Becky! I hurriedly dialed her number and began speaking almost before she could answer her phone.
“Hi Becky where are you? I am so sorry about yesterday. I was just in shock and so much had happened that day. I can’t…”
“I am on my way to your place now,” were her only chilled words before she hung up.
05.30 p.m., Thursday
My life was a mess. Becky was still not talking to me. All she did was pick up her keys and a few personal items. No amount of pleading, begging or cajoling from me would make her even glance my way.
I had done it. It was official. I had ruined the best thing I had going on for me. And all for what?
I decided to seek solace from my Creator. He could fix my problems.
06.39 p.m.
Nothing. I felt nothing. Emptiness filled my every crevice. I had wept and cried to God, hoping that I would have answers there and then. My guess: I would have to wait a little more.
As I stood in the church courtyard mingling with fellow worshippers, I couldn’t help but overhear a conversation between two elders of the church, Mrs. Wanyoike and Rahab Wambui.
“I couldn’t believe it when my sister told me that he was the father!” said Mrs. Wanyoike.
“How can she be sure? I mean, I really don’t believe that he is capable of that!”
“She swears that it is him… she has never lied to me as far as I know...”
I couldn’t listen in anymore. What I had heard was enough.
09.36 p.m., at home:
Doubts began to fill my mind. Surely could all this be real?
10.00 a.m., Friday:
I picked up my phone and sent a really long message to Becky. “Dear Becky, I really would like to see you and explain some things. I am sorry again for what happened on Tuesday. I believe that you are carrying my child and that you have never done anything to compromise our relationship. Please forgive me. I believe I have some news that may be of interest to you and also kind of explain, though not excuse my behavior.”
She replied, “Ok. I will come over to your place in an hour.”
Great! At least we were making progress.
11.06 a.m.
Our greetings at the door were awkward. I reached out to hug her; she stretched out her hand to greet me. She took a seat and looked at me. I explained to her all that had transpired since Thursday as I paced up and down the sitting room.
Becky begun to speak. “I can see why he would call me loose. He approached me asking for sexual favors three times, and three times I rejected him. I could not confide in you because you trusted him so much.”
Around 11.30 a.m., Sunday:
"I know He's coming again..."
"Sooomeeedayyy, soometiiiime, IN THE END!"
"Everybody put your hands together for Jesus. He is coming soon! Sing with me: I know He's coming again..."
The song rose to a fevered pitch. Everybody was dancing and jumping, caught up in the fervor. Sweat tricked down each face and was immediately mopped up with an already soaked cloth. “Halleluyah to Jesus,” they sang. I put my hands up, motioning for the congregation to sit down.
"Dearly beloved we are gathered here to PRAISE HIM! He is holy and worthy; the one true God. We thank Him for the gift of life!"
There were cries of "Amen" and "Glory" from the congregation. I raised my hands again for silence.
"Right now I would like to welcome the Right Reverend, His Holiness David Chamge."
Congregation rose to its feet, stomping and shouting, as the Reverend made his way to the pulpit. A man of God. Oh, how he was loved by all.
“But before he comes up, I would like to welcome Teresia back. She is the proud mother of a bouncing baby boy called Emmanuel. Teresia, why don’t you come up here we pray together?”
Teresia was Mrs. Wanyoike’s sister. As she made her way up to the pulpit, I called up several other members of the congregation onto the pulpit.
I began to speak. “See all this people are God’s children. They are His dedicated servants who would do anything for His ministry. But when one of us takes advantage of these innocent lambs, it becomes a sin. Is that not right, Reverend?” I asked turning to face him.
“You are Teresia’s baby’s father, aren’t you?”
“..Why… that’s preposterous! How dare you accuse me of something so unholy?”
“See, church,” I continued as if I had not been interrupted. “The Reverend has been soliciting for favors from all these people. He even tried to sleep with my Becky. Should any of then refuse, they somehow ‘fall from favor’ and are no longer valued members of this church.”
You could have heard a pin drop. The tension was palpable. The Reverend looked like he was about to go into cardiac arrest. Try as he might, no words left his mouth.
The true reason behind one's pursuit of wealth
A story is told of a wealthy man who would take walks every day to a lake to meditate. There he noticed a certain fisherman who would leave after capturing four fish only. This puzzled the wealthy man so much that he decided to approach the fisherman and ask him why he would leave after capturing four fish.
The fisherman explained that he would sell two of the fish and then take the other two as his meal then sleep the rest of the day.
"But why wouldn't you want to fish for more?" asked the wealthy man.
"Why should I?" asked the fisherman.
"So that you can sell more!"
"What for?"
"Then you can buy better fishing equipment, then fish more and sell more, meaning that you make more!"
"Why would I want to make more?" inquired a puzzled fisherman.
"So you can build a big house and retire in peace and rest!" exclaimed an exasperated wealthy man.
"But I already rest without having to do all that!"
The fisherman explained that he would sell two of the fish and then take the other two as his meal then sleep the rest of the day.
"But why wouldn't you want to fish for more?" asked the wealthy man.
"Why should I?" asked the fisherman.
"So that you can sell more!"
"What for?"
"Then you can buy better fishing equipment, then fish more and sell more, meaning that you make more!"
"Why would I want to make more?" inquired a puzzled fisherman.
"So you can build a big house and retire in peace and rest!" exclaimed an exasperated wealthy man.
"But I already rest without having to do all that!"
And then what?
"Dear Madam,
We are sorry to inform you that you have not been selected to join this year's program in....."
My resolve dissolved into tears. I could not read anymore. My dream, shattered with one sentence. I wondered what did the person who typed out the letter think? Did he or she consider the effect that those words would have? Or did they have a template; a kind of standing order?
"Oh Mary, be a darling and print out for me 1000 rejection letters. Thanks, you are a sweetheart! Oh wait, they do have to be personalized don't they? Aw shucks! OK wait, let me get the list of those who made it in... should be easier for you don't you think? Be back in a sec."
Anyway what did it matter? I was not leaving to go to my dream school. I was stuck here. With Them. God, how I had envisioned this moment; obviously it was not going according to plan. I had played it all out.
"Dad, I have been accepted to do law in Harvard," would have been my opening statement.
True to form, my step-mother would have looked up at me coldly and said, "We cannot afford it dear." My father would have continued to hold the newspaper close to his face as if he was myopic.
This was meant to be the point in which I would have triumphantly retorted, "I do not need your money. I have a full scholarship that also caters for my living expenses." And to the question of my air ticket, I would have said, "Aunt Mary and a few others are willing to help me put together money for it."
I had seen it all. How I would have prepared to leave within the month. How I was finally free from their bondage. And how, sweet sweet victory, I would have shown them that I was capable of making it on my own and that I was not useless, after all.
How I missed mama. She with her sweet words of encouragement. Always telling me that the only other person better than me is myself. How she believed that I would amount to anything I put my mind to. "My darling the doctor," she would say with a half smile. "Or maybe a teacher. No wait, she'll be a pilot!" and I would giggle and argue with her, my childhood dreams safe in her. Mama. Disappeared without a trace one morning. I was twelve. Back from school expecting a hug and a hot meal from my mama. Nothing. Years went and still no sign of mama. It was as if she disappeared into thin air.
I was 16. Papa came home with Her. She hugged me and simpered, "She is so beautiful!" I can never forget the way her perfume smelt so pungent and clung onto me. Her nails. Red Talons. I hated her from the word go. Three years later, we bore battle scars of our incessant fighting. I had to leave.
Not anymore. "Nina, can you come downstairs and help me prepare the food." My step-mother yelling from the kitchen. I dried my eyes and walked out of the room, weak and ill-prepared for this battle.
We are sorry to inform you that you have not been selected to join this year's program in....."
My resolve dissolved into tears. I could not read anymore. My dream, shattered with one sentence. I wondered what did the person who typed out the letter think? Did he or she consider the effect that those words would have? Or did they have a template; a kind of standing order?
"Oh Mary, be a darling and print out for me 1000 rejection letters. Thanks, you are a sweetheart! Oh wait, they do have to be personalized don't they? Aw shucks! OK wait, let me get the list of those who made it in... should be easier for you don't you think? Be back in a sec."
Anyway what did it matter? I was not leaving to go to my dream school. I was stuck here. With Them. God, how I had envisioned this moment; obviously it was not going according to plan. I had played it all out.
"Dad, I have been accepted to do law in Harvard," would have been my opening statement.
True to form, my step-mother would have looked up at me coldly and said, "We cannot afford it dear." My father would have continued to hold the newspaper close to his face as if he was myopic.
This was meant to be the point in which I would have triumphantly retorted, "I do not need your money. I have a full scholarship that also caters for my living expenses." And to the question of my air ticket, I would have said, "Aunt Mary and a few others are willing to help me put together money for it."
I had seen it all. How I would have prepared to leave within the month. How I was finally free from their bondage. And how, sweet sweet victory, I would have shown them that I was capable of making it on my own and that I was not useless, after all.
How I missed mama. She with her sweet words of encouragement. Always telling me that the only other person better than me is myself. How she believed that I would amount to anything I put my mind to. "My darling the doctor," she would say with a half smile. "Or maybe a teacher. No wait, she'll be a pilot!" and I would giggle and argue with her, my childhood dreams safe in her. Mama. Disappeared without a trace one morning. I was twelve. Back from school expecting a hug and a hot meal from my mama. Nothing. Years went and still no sign of mama. It was as if she disappeared into thin air.
I was 16. Papa came home with Her. She hugged me and simpered, "She is so beautiful!" I can never forget the way her perfume smelt so pungent and clung onto me. Her nails. Red Talons. I hated her from the word go. Three years later, we bore battle scars of our incessant fighting. I had to leave.
Not anymore. "Nina, can you come downstairs and help me prepare the food." My step-mother yelling from the kitchen. I dried my eyes and walked out of the room, weak and ill-prepared for this battle.
It’s not goodbye but….
Dear P,
how are you? How have you been? It's been a while since i wrote to you but that's because i was busy. How's life touring the world? I remember how much you wanted to go and see the world; i'm so glad you had the opportunity.
Mama's doing just fine. She got some new medication that calms her down whenever she has an anxiety attack. It hasn't been easy you know.
I'm doing fine. I'm back in school now. Classes are a bit harder than i expected but i'm not worried because i will be able to catch up in no time.
I miss you, P. I miss my best friend. I miss our time together. I miss being able to run to you whenever i had anything on my mind. Now i just bottle it all up because no one understands me like you did.
Do you remember our last night together? I do. It's etched in my brain never to be erased. Your soft skin, your kinky hair, your smile, your intense frown as you concentrated on something.
I loved how you touched me. I loved how you held me in your arms and told me you loved me.
Today i write this letter as my heart waves good bye to you. I'm glad to hear that you finally found love, even if it's in the arms of another man. Yes, that did shock me when you told me that you could never love a woman. But i guess that's life; you win some, you lose some.
I have to go now. Mama is calling me and Tina is screaming her lungs off. By the way, she looks just like you...
Love you forever,
N
how are you? How have you been? It's been a while since i wrote to you but that's because i was busy. How's life touring the world? I remember how much you wanted to go and see the world; i'm so glad you had the opportunity.
Mama's doing just fine. She got some new medication that calms her down whenever she has an anxiety attack. It hasn't been easy you know.
I'm doing fine. I'm back in school now. Classes are a bit harder than i expected but i'm not worried because i will be able to catch up in no time.
I miss you, P. I miss my best friend. I miss our time together. I miss being able to run to you whenever i had anything on my mind. Now i just bottle it all up because no one understands me like you did.
Do you remember our last night together? I do. It's etched in my brain never to be erased. Your soft skin, your kinky hair, your smile, your intense frown as you concentrated on something.
I loved how you touched me. I loved how you held me in your arms and told me you loved me.
Today i write this letter as my heart waves good bye to you. I'm glad to hear that you finally found love, even if it's in the arms of another man. Yes, that did shock me when you told me that you could never love a woman. But i guess that's life; you win some, you lose some.
I have to go now. Mama is calling me and Tina is screaming her lungs off. By the way, she looks just like you...
Love you forever,
N
Between that rock and a hard place
Dear N,
Thank you for your letter. I was so glad to finally hear from you. Needless to say i was thrown off by your letter. Why didn't you tell me sooner? My dear, my love, that is why I'm there. I promised i would always be there.
Tina. I shed tears every time I think of you and our daughter. Is she as beautiful as you? Does she have your large eyes and dimpled smile? Oh what I would do to be there now.
Darling N I love you. I miss you too. You too have always been my best friend. It has been so hard being away from you. Everywhere I go I carry a memory just for you. I've always dreamt of a time we would see the world together. But, I guess, fate had a different plan for you and for me.
Do you know how it feels to love two people yet you can only belong to one? W makes me happy. He loves me for me and I love him. Yet you fill my dreams and occupy a place in my heart no one else will ever be able to fit into. I'm sorry if I seem to burden you with all these. You see you are the only one I can share this with. You are my only true friend and more...
I will see you in a couple of months. We sail home from in a week. I cannot wait to see you. I really would like for you to meet W. I told him all about you.... I hope you get along. I miss you.
Love,
P
Thank you for your letter. I was so glad to finally hear from you. Needless to say i was thrown off by your letter. Why didn't you tell me sooner? My dear, my love, that is why I'm there. I promised i would always be there.
Tina. I shed tears every time I think of you and our daughter. Is she as beautiful as you? Does she have your large eyes and dimpled smile? Oh what I would do to be there now.
Darling N I love you. I miss you too. You too have always been my best friend. It has been so hard being away from you. Everywhere I go I carry a memory just for you. I've always dreamt of a time we would see the world together. But, I guess, fate had a different plan for you and for me.
Do you know how it feels to love two people yet you can only belong to one? W makes me happy. He loves me for me and I love him. Yet you fill my dreams and occupy a place in my heart no one else will ever be able to fit into. I'm sorry if I seem to burden you with all these. You see you are the only one I can share this with. You are my only true friend and more...
I will see you in a couple of months. We sail home from in a week. I cannot wait to see you. I really would like for you to meet W. I told him all about you.... I hope you get along. I miss you.
Love,
P
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