We were sipping the rich cereal-based porridge-My grandmother’s finest dish. I said we, my son, and I. He was eyeing me keenly as if to copy how I ate my meal. In no shame, I looked back at him, admiring his divine almond eyes, which he got from his mother. It was dawn; the rising sun was casting a rosy hue across the sky; I was hoping for better tidings in the coming days. We kissed and hugged my grandma as she laid her prayers and journey mercies for me. Her eyes were teary. I could see through her; she was sad- I was leaving. The previous night she tried to talk me out of the whole ordeal I was about to present to my life, but it was futile. I had made up my mind. I held my three-year-old son’s hand as if to say farewell to him as I walked him to school. He pointed to the beauty of the stars, which had not wholly disappeared. I gazed with the same kind of innocence in his heart. I smiled, knowing very well that I would dearly miss these moments. I hadn’t the courage to tell him the truth. I couldn’t bear to see him cry breathlessly to the wheezing of his lungs. I let him think it was another ordinary day, one that I would go to work and get back home and kiss him goodnight.
My name is Eric. Raised by my grandma, I could as well say I never had the chance to enjoy the luxuries of a silver platter. Food, Oh! Irio, there are days we could sleep hungry and my grandma could wake me up early to be at school; there, she knew I could find a way to fend for myself. I had a way with people’s hearts, rather, with my peers. I could do their assignments for a slice of bread, a piece of banana, or a piece of nduma-arrowroot. I did not know my parents’ whereabouts. With challenges, I endured in both primary and secondary education. Through some kind of miracle, the bursary funds always managed to reach me. I call it so since my country is well-known for squandering funds originally signed for cases like mine. That is how I came to learn of a higher being. I could clamp my hands in desperate times and choose to believe, then I would ask for food or fees or a shoe old or new; the needs never end.
I boarded the local bus, paid my fare, and took the last seat left. Luckily it was my favorite. It was at the back of the bus making it pleasant since there would be no other passengers disturbing me. At least, that way my view of the countryside would be clear or so I thought; the only way I would have a lot to tell my son when I got back. It was not long before my friend came: a hawker. I had been hawking since I received my son; that is how we became friends. ‘Umetuacha aje, basi nunua maziwa,’ He said I could not leave without buying milk. I checked my pockets, and I had a few coins which I gave him. He smiled. The bus was ignited, and we left.
On the first day of schooling, my son was so excited that he wore his uniform with zeal and carried his bag ready for school. I wondered if he took after me or his mother. Rich people tended to love books; is there anything else their children had to worry about anyway? At school, he never cried as other kids did on their first day. It made me wonder whether he was also annoyed by the life we lived: the kind where poverty was never a choice.
My son, a fruit of my high school romance, was one of those unforgettable times with scars behind them.
Randy a beauty to my eyes back in the days with her almond attention-seeking eyes, an hourglass figure was an understatement and an insult to her body, long silk hair from her Arabian ancestors. Due to demands made by her parents to the administration, it was unplaited making her more outstanding and hard to miss. Her parents were sophisticated with money to the bone, rich fellas they were. People say God doesn’t give you all; she was not as bright in class. She was an average student. I admired her from the shadows, though, for all she was endowed with since rich folks and the beggars (as they referred to us) never mingled. This changed one day when she walked right up to me and sat next to me on the grass; something she had never done before. I was not the only guy hopelessly in love with the beauty, but unlike most guys who dared to approach her, she came to me. I was overwhelmed with joy.
“Hey,’’ she began. My mouth had decided to go on an everlasting walk leaving me to play with my facials. “Am sorry I interrupted your studying session …it’s just that you are the sharpest student in the class and I needed your help….am sorry, am rambling right now…. and forgive my manners. My name is Randy, and I sit two columns behind you in class; She chuckled at her rambling, and that heavenly sound just made a permanent room in my brain for itself because I have never forgotten it. That’s how it all began, and to this day, I have to say no one has captured my eyes nor my heart the way she did.
We would meet up Monday to Saturday at her house after school for tutoring. Her parents always gave me an evil eye, and they never hid the fact I disgusted them. They knew my background from my ragged, thoroughly washed clothes from the very first time Randy introduced me to them. Randy and her nanny treated me well, and that was all that mattered to me.
On one of the Saturdays, Randy asked me to walk her to the woods in the backyard of her parent’s house.
‘’I want to show you something today before you head home, come on, let us go for a walk.” She purposefully fluttered her eyelashes that complimented her doe eyes like Nutella on a pancake; she knew that I had a weakness when it came to those eyes. Following her blindly, she took me deep into their beauty-ridden backyard for about an hour, talking about foolish things accompanied by hyenas’ laughter. She then stopped me at one of the biggest and oldest trees and asked me to look up the tree.
‘’I see nothing other than an elegant beauty of nature old enough to tell me the tales of my great grandfather’s father,” I told her.
‘’Look closer at that branch,’’ she pointed,” the treehouse over there.” That was when the novels I loved reading during my free time came to life. Never in my life did I ever imagine myself in a fairy tale; this had blown me away. She pulled one of the hanging tree strings, and poof! A ladder majestically lowered itself with all its mahogany glory shading the trees that Tarzan used to climb in the famous Tarzan tale.
I followed her up the steady well-built ladder like a dog to its master. The mahogany furniture was ancient. Its beauty was indescribable to an extent the English men who ever lived could not find words to describe the beauty and artistry of the two pieces of furniture in that small cuboid space. In my daze, she was suddenly pushing me on the humongous bed whose comfortability pretty much exceeded the expectation of the eye. Randy took that opportunity to climb over me stealthily, and the moment she sat on my fly, my pheromones could not hold themselves anymore. Following the sinful acts she had started, I was too consumed that my brain came out of its airplane mode only after she began unzipping my wasted poor excuse of shorts.
”Randy, we should stop before it is too late, and our actions bear consequences that we both are too young to face,” I warned her. The only problem was that my fly was relaying a different message, which was the language she understood. It was then I noticed our shirts were already on the floor. The moment she opened her bra, my resolve was broken with the mere thought of the wet dreams I had of her every morning that often woke me up at dawn. She started, rolling her hips on my fly, and her bouncing tits begging for my mouth’s comfort drove me crazy in an instant, and that was how things went south.
This continued every weekend for the next six weeks. The forbidden fruit was too sweet for us to cease consuming it. In the seventh week, Randy opened up to me about her periods that had not occurred in the last two months.
”You told me you have been taking your mother’s contraceptive pills or did you lie to me?” I asked her. The moment she started playing with her fingers, I needed no other answer to know she had lied to me. Anger consumed every cell in my body, and I was on the verge of an outburst. However, when I looked up to her obsidian teary eyes, my anger flushed itself back to hell to be replaced by my love for her. I told her that I would help her raise our child if there was one already in her belly.
Two weeks later, her belly started swelling, and everyone noted it. Her mother was no fool, and since her family had a gene of flat tummies for the females, she pointed the finger at the only other male other than her husband, who was close to her daughter, me. I did not deny the accusation, and this drove her mad to the extent she assigned a bodyguard to her daughter, ensuring I would not even contact her at school by giving bribes to the school principal and sending threats to my family. She, however, sent a letter to me to inform me that after her daughter gave birth, she would hand over the bastard child to me. To her and her husband, children born from poverty and their generations were filth and were not associated with her kind.
You can whence tell I was not surprised when months later the cries of a baby woke me up at dawn; I have always been a light sleeper. I found a baby boy wrapped in rich cotton wool and silk at my grandmother’s doorstep. He had beautiful obsidian eyes like his mother, a red hue covered his chubby cheeks, and the pout made by his lips was the most adorable thing I had ever come across. Despite interrupting my sleep, this little human being with silk hair and a nose that looked similar to mine I could not get angry at pulled all the possible heartstrings it could, and I loved him at first sight.
I was, however, angry at Randy’s mother since placing a child out in the cold was heartless, especially since our compound had no fence and the place was insecure.
The humidity suddenly changed, and I at once knew we had crossed the boundary, and the polluted city air is all I could be taking into my system for the next couple of months or years. I felt homesick, and I wanted to head back home to my son and grandmother, but instead, I repeated the mantra I made for myself.
”I am doing this to repay my grandmother for all she has given up for my son and me, and I also want to change the lifestyle my son is currently in. For my son and my grandmother.’’
The timeline to face reality and get out of my flashback life began when my feet got off the old scrappy matatu I rode in and touched the city floor. My buddy was waiting for me at the booking office when I alighted. My buddy was James, a childhood friend of mine who decided to test the city waters with the hope of making his life better. Looking at him now, I could tell his finances were not bad. He was conversing with a matatu driver, and I had to tap his shoulder to get his attention.
‘’Bruh, you finally here; I thought I would have to fetch a sleeping bag as I wait for you.” He said as he hugged me like he would a unicorn. Apparently, he admired me, and I had to admit I did not know what he admired in me. Letting me go after sucking the air out of me, he introduced me to his other friend.
”Brandon, this is Eric, my brother we are so close that if he got lost on his way, I would have sent you flying with your matatus at night with flying pigs to look for him,” The guy was hilarious too. He had been suspended from school a couple of times for making fun of the Principle and the teachers shamelessly. He was a chatterbox and getting bored with him around you was a rare occurrence.
”Hey, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Brandon,” I politely acknowledged him. I had always been an official guy, and he looked at me with his bloodshot eyes and roared in laughter because of my formality.
”Dude, I am not your boss, do not be so formal in such informal environments,” Brandon told me as he struggled to contain his laughter.
”I think he has been too cooped up practicing on what to say at his upcoming interview. Otherwise, I’ll have to take him home. Till next time Brandon.” We both gave Brandon the standard shoulder greeting as James led the way out of the bus station to his apartment. He offered me a place to stay before I earned enough money to rent a place of my own.
It occurred to me that evening after a long conversation with James that time was running out of our hands and soon, God forbid! My aging grandmother would be a memory. I had to get my life together, soonest. For my son and a better lifestyle is what we had clinked our wine glasses during a toast with my buddy.
Technology was new to me, and James had made a peal of satisfactory laughter as I was amazed by how he called it ‘the mouse’. He later showed me how it was used. Luckily, I was a fast learner. There was no detail he had to explain twice. By dawn, our conversations had died down, and I had found a perfect job to apply for my first interview as an attachee since I did not have any experience. Technology had made it easier than I thought. I had read it in books, a lot. I was a fanatic of the unknown, and my passion for science was an understatement. I had to wait for them to verify my application and set up a date for my interview.
In March, I recall, I had been spending my days making myself useful at James’ premises. Cleaning and any other works he needed me for. I would slump at the couch in my free time and read a couple of magazines or sit behind the computer’s blue light and try out what James had taught. On his free days, we would engage in heated debates on what I had previously read. I loved every single day that passed.
At last, a message came in on my email that I was invited for the interview. That night, anxiety kept me awakened preparing. James understood my situation. We spent the night rehearsing. I thanked the heavens greatly for him. He offered some suits and I hoped to get him a unique collection once I got this job.
It was an accountant position at one of the branches of a leading bank in the city. It was such an honour. I assured myself I was competent enough for the job. It did not take long to start the interview after I arrived. At first, I got shaken; I thought I had come in late. The receptionist, however, assured me that I was the first one to arrive. That on its own was an achievement. I observed as the staff came in dressed in executive clothes. I loved how they walked, and it reminded me of how proud my son would be. The boss, I came to learn, was hardly seen around. His wife, however, was the bank manager. I saw her walk in dressed elegantly in a knee-length Versace dress. I had a liking for colours, and I could tell she had it too. I was called in. I remember answering my questions swiftly, calmly and confidently. They asked my motivation, and I did not stutter when I said all I wanted was my son to have the life I was never accorded. I think they loved or maybe bought my philosophy because, in a day, they called me requesting that I start working the following week.
In a week, I had learned and was doing my job to perfection as far as I was concerned. I balanced the sheets, rechecked all day’s transactions, and discovered laundered accounts legible for embezzlement and fraud. I didn’t hesitate to report. I earned a name for myself just as an intern. At the end of the month, the bank manager handed me a check as a token of appreciation. This I learned was new since interns did not receive any payments in their first two months. I sent some of the money to my grandmother. It was all I ever wanted to do. For the rest, I used to get a small place of my own. It was a bed-sitter. James had insisted that I didn’t have to leave, but I felt the need since his wife was heavy and they could need the space. The fire in me became more vibrant. I worked late and came in earlier than anyone else at the company. The other staffs loved me despite the envy in their eyes.
That is how by the end of the year, I had started making my way to the top. I had been promoted twice, the first had been to be employed officially and the second being made supervisor of my fellow accountants. I repaid my debts at home. I had bought James and myself suits. I had ensured to invest in my son’s education through insurance. I was already setting plans to build a better place for my grandmother and son back home, and I did when I received my promotion as the assistant bank manager. It was two years working for the company, and I was still in my youthful years. My vision was clear, and I was working my way towards it. Everything I wished for had fallen into place. James, too, was doing well himself. On the verge to reach my success, the devil came ready in all forms to try to snatch all I had built.
My boss, the woman I had respected, started seducing me at the office. It made me doubt whether my promotions and success in the company were all part of the big game. Was I playing her game? I could not let it happen. I hadn’t the best role models in my life, but infidelity was wrong, and there was no way I was to fall victim. One day at the office, as she tried her tactics on me, I held her hand and stopped her from proceeding with her malicious acts. Unfortunately, one of the jealous staff took a picture and leaked it to all other employees. The madam claimed it was attempted rape. It reached her husband, and it was over for me when I was sacked right in the middle of the month.
I knew life had fallen back to where it had begun. Sorrow was not enough to express my sadness. I could not tell my grandmother, but I told James. He tried to console me, but it was in vain. I felt angry and, worse, betrayed. I had begun studying for my bachelors’ degree, which the company was funding. That, too, was put on hold. I didn’t have enough saved for myself. At least I had it covered for my son. I had enough to sustain myself for a couple of years. I would soon go back to cents, I imagined. That was when I began drowning my sombre mood by taking bottles of vodka in the local pub. I had not visited home yet, and this was a greater deter to my visit. I could not comprehend how corrupt and evil people could be. I was hurt.
This went down for days, and weeks graduated to months with the bartender being my best friend with him narrating sad stories to me every dawn to dusk. At times they allowed me to sleep in the couches since I could not get myself to stagger to my place. Women, not those who carried themselves with dignity but hoes, noticed my desolate and desperate self. I went to bed with them wishing I had rendered to my boss; maybe I could have survived guilt than have myself fired. Life had turned merciless. I was robbed a couple of times while drunk.
Then one day, Brandon, James friend, spotted me at my regular brew ground. I was tanked up as usual. He had no idea I had lost my job. He was shocked at my state. Unsure of whether I was the one, he stealthily approached me. My demons, as if summoned to call him, I called out his name at the core of my voice, “Brandon my friend, Life is fucked up out here.” It was clear to him that I was the one. He came, and in stutters, I told him my story. I had had too much to drink, so he offered to drive me home. He helped me up the couch at the bar, and I remember feeling a wave as I descended towards the floor. I passed out.
The following day, I woke up to see two of my allies sitting in what seemed like a heated discussion. They were in my house, Brandon and James. Holding glasses of whiskey and seemingly both of them had thought their points out well. I heard the mention of my name, and I woke up amid my hangover. My house was pretty untidy. The place had a stench of my everyday brew. They had helped themselves by opening the windows. ‘Eric! At last, you are not dead,’ James called out as I stretched. It had been months since I lost my job. It still hurt like it did that evening.
They gave me a hot seating for what I had subjected myself to in the name of yearning myself pity. James reminded me of why I had to keep fighting. He made my relation to the Bible character, ‘Joseph’. I had heard the story in my younger years at the village Sunday school. He said he struggled with the boys in blue since he had no money and how those with the money to bail or corrupt their way out did it with ease. Brandon shared how he had lost his first fleet of matatus in a blazing fire attack from his enemies. They said in unison, “Life is fucked up but you don’t have to give up.” “You choose to rise and fight again,” James added. At this point, I saw the need to get back up and to fight, even if it meant having to start from scratch. My savings had kept my grandmother and son going without noticing anything was amiss. My son needed me to man up. James had already secured me an interview like he had promised he would when we met a few months ago. It was up to me to get my act together. When they left that evening, I had turned a new leaf. I tidied up the house and made my food which I hadn’t done in a while.
The interview was closed the following day. I had had an unsettling feeling about attending it, but I reassured myself that it would be great. At dawn, as the birds signaled the start of a new day, I dressed in one of my suit collections. It was also an accountant’s position, only this time I had the experience needed. I took an apple with me and savored its taste in my mouth as I took a cab to the company where my interview was scheduled. Again, I had arrived earlier than everyone else.
The furniture and décor at the reception were extravagantly done. The waiting bay, however, had a boring modern look. The receptionist held me a glass of water. My interview was scheduled to be in an hour. The aura in the building was not pleasant. Something was amiss, and I had no idea what it was. There was just something about this place that felt wrong or maybe familiar.
I sat still, going through my papers and recounting questions they ask in my head. It had not been too long before I was called in. It was to be a panel of interviewers, at least that is what the receptionist had warned me before I went in. I stepped into the room, ready to come out shoulder-high. It was at that moment when I raised my head to hand over the files that I saw my baby mama sitting among the panel of interviewers. Our eyes interlocked, those familiar almond eyes. My eyes had not blinked; it was a minute past. My body had turned ice cold. Everyone around me was rumbling some words. I did not hear them. There was a mild knock, and someone swiftly walked in. It was her father that had gotten into the room. My body was rattling with vibrating anger and confusion. In her, I saw denial. In her was the sorrow of a mother who had left her kid to suffer and eventually die of hunger and the morning cold. Every ounce of blood that flowed in me boiled with the need to avenge my son. She pointed at me, shouting words, but I did not hear what she said. My heartbeat was threatening to break my ribcage wide open. I felt two gigantic men grab me from the back before my system failed me, and I passed out. To me, each of the current events reckoned with the events of the past. It all hit back to events of the old. All I held at the time were the occurrences of Back Home.
#gayism #grace&love #poverty #shortstory #singleparenting #suicide #suzziemuniko #triksi254 #wildthoughts
The story above was written for a competition at the Kendeka Awards. Unfortunately, it was not shortlisted but it still got you to choose and rate.
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