Ask Saida Nuru; a tall, dark and eavesdropping Barista at Slice of Life Lounge. It’s in Lamu. Ask her, implore her female intuition.
Ask her of a young woman with a bloom of hair that cascaded over her willow shoulders like a waterfall. Ask Bakari. Ask him of a young woman who showed up with me at the Café. Ask him of a lady with long limbs, who stained a tall Venti mug with honey and crimson from her lips.
Ask any of them; all of them. They will sigh and talk about her in a hushed tone. Her name was Hula. I fell in love with her and this is my story.
It was on February 13, two years ago; the day I left this maddening city with a backpack, a camera, Hrunting-my pen and a belly aching will to finish a novella. I was 26 then.
I told my legs, my mind and my soul;
‘from this lustreless life to mystical heartlands go wanderer leave behind the bustling city, to the quiet of the wild. go find calm from surging streets to the pathless heartlands of Africa the wretchedness of your days will turn to laughter with garrulous rivers. stroll in the terrible splendour of cosmic sunset let dreary clouds pave way to sapphire skies that match with azure ocean below run from vexation to unsullied waft of nature’s delicate fragrance you will heal -gloss with glee and calm your essence go now Son of Ngaa beneath the pearly purple clouds of sunset! Go!’
I arrived at the Lamu Archipelago on a Saturday evening and checked into my room at Slice of Life Lounge, and went straight to sleep. I was tired. A gentle swash of sea waves lulled me to sleep. The next day after breakfast I was all too excited to take a lone walk along the beach and so I strolled along endless stretch of unspoiled sand.
Beyond the Lamu archipelago my dreamy eyes wandered Calcareous offshore islands, coral reefs and sand dunes cheered my soul The cool of sea breeze started healing my hurting heart blissful the sway of the grass, aloes and creepers gave me peace my soul heaved in grandiose soar of seabirds brilliant sea water, tea turtles and olive ridleys to behold musingly I rambled on the sandy beach and coral gardens gawping at the rolling waves bubby destiny losing the outside world to a refreshed soul feeling the throb of the sea send rousing pulse through my heart whiff of breeze stroking and adding tranquillity to the moments
I must have strolled for over an hour when I was startled by a dreadful awe. Too much bolt from the blue seated on a tree stump that was washed ashore. She was looking thoughtfully into the sea. She gently turned and smiled at me. There was sunshine in her smile and it went right into my brain like voodoo. Her eyes were so bright and big, like the moonshine. Yates would call it ‘a terrible beauty’.
She stopped me from stringing a simple sentence like ‘Hello miss. I am Son of Ngaa, a friend of man and beast and I come from Ngaa hills. How hard could that be? It’s beyond my understanding.
I managed to speak but only a faint croak escaped from my mouth, but with each syllable I drew courage, ‘I’m Son of Ngaa, a friend of man and beast. I came here to reign in the realm of my own, free as a bird’.
“No needs for an introduction. I know you Son of Ngaa. Greetings and good tidings. I’m Hula and it’s my pleasure to finally meet you. I stopped here for a moment as I proceeded to the lands beyond the lavender horizon. Far beyond the sunrise,” she said to my utter shock. My mouth went dry, as parched as a man dying for quench. I was shocked and curious.
“Aren’t you a Kenyan?” I quizzed. By which time Hula was tracing my cheeks with her tapered ring finger. The touch hypnotized me and made my lips pout. Rare, huh! That was so fast you say? I agree but remember I told you to ask Saida and Bakari. There was no ring on her and I gladly concluded she was unmarried.
“Please tell me about your country. The land of Uria. How is governance there?” I implored.
“The year was 8090 in Uria. It was an epoch of carnage and gloom. The age of runway sleaze, dishonesty and corruption of all manner. It reeked to heavens.
A despot came to throne. His name was Digimon. He came to power as a result of a massive terror attack, which in fact was masterminded by him. Digimon butchered the priests, poets, the gatekeepers, the academicians, lovers of social justice and the adherents to the rule of law, including an elections’ expert named Musa, doing his job. He was a part of the team that would give the country a free, fair and credible election. The despot reigned total control over the Digital World. The brainwashed victims of his oppressions became his eyes and ears. He would use whiplash to whip lovers of justice who protested his tyrannical reign of terror. Many scribes were unconstitutionally held. They rotted away in detentions without trial. The judiciary had become his puppet, a barking, toothless dog. He constantly placed the city under martial law and imposed extreme measures to avoid dissent. His men constantly engaged in ethnic cleansing because of their opposition. Digimon was constantly engaged in a war against the tribe’s insurgents. He took no insurgent as a prisoner.
In his twenty totalitarian rules the healthcare totally collapsed. Patients feared the grim, dilapidated public hospitals because it symbolized exit from this world to the world of the dead. During that time, there came a massive plague outbreak that ravaged the population. It was waterborne. Taps in the city’s residential went dry. Factories groaned to halt. The massive deforestation dried up the innumerable streams of Uria. The few rivers that flowed from Uriamountains were channelled to the city. Aura and the despots through his cartels sold water to the citizens. Few could afford water. Beer was more affordable and drink they did. Sons guzzled illicit brews with their mothers. Fathers drank with daughters. Talk of in-breeding and genetic disasters incest brings. The morals of the country went to the dogs.”
At this point, Hula and I started walking along the beach in the direction I had come. I was at ease and silently falling in love with her. When I clasped her hand in mine, she dazzled me with a pearly smile, worth ten million dollars. Our fingers intertwined.
“Too sad. Too sad Hula. What happened? How did you overcome Digimon’s Dictatorship?”
“Son of Ngaa, oppressed people are the greatest ingredient of a revolution. He pushed us to the brink and the blood of our slain brothers groaned for justice. Above all, we had to do it for ourselves. We needed our freedom. We needed a right to assemble and picket. We needed right political association. Our movements were shackled; our speech gagged, we had no freedom of conscience. We had to turn tables without blood loss and end the dark era.
Ethnicity did not matter anymore, it never has. Writers refused to be cowered and shone light through the mist of ignorance that had plagued the country. The masses awoke and poured into the streets singing songs of redemption, and calling for despots to relinquish power. With ruthless aggression, bloggers fired salvos at the despot and defenders of the status quo. Pen and social media are potent weapons of a revolution.
The social justice movement burgeoned. In the churches, the priests assumed duty. Our battle grounds were social media, churches, minds, and hearts and in the streets in our numbers we marched against totalitarianism. To our surprise the urban proletariat, bourgeoisie who are always in a privileged position joined the righteous cause of liberation. The shopkeepers too, they preached change as they craned necks from their shops.
The pressure was too much to handle. In 9110, the house of cards collapsed and we built Uria from ashes. We amended our constitution and stripped power from individuals. We gave power to the people and institutions. Today, there is no chance for a despot in Uria. It’s been one millennium since democracy literally triumphed over totalitarianism. If it weren’t for the men and women of the Greatest Generation, our land would be quite different. That they did their duty is a testament that despots fall and the power they took from the people can return to the people.”
It was getting dark by this time we had reached Noble Petal Espresso Lounge. Hula and I had coffee. She ordered a tall Venti and I had Malindi Mocha.
“Son of Ngaa, I must leave now for my country.”
Saida and Bakari saw me clutch her hand, and she wiggled out of the café. I felt their eyes boring our backs.
“I shan’t be seeing you again, Hula?” I asked, not letting go of her hand.
“I shall be coming to see you Son of Ngaa, and I hope someday we can visit our country so that you can see with your very eyes how Uria transformed when power rested on the hands of the people and institutions.”
She hugged me. For a moment the arms squeezed a fraction tighter. Hula breathed slowly and I must now confess she stained my lips with a smooch. It was short where it should have been long, and ended as abruptly as it had begun.
Then a wind whirled out from the clouds and circled around her and into the sea she waded. Water and darkness engulfed her. Hula was gone!
It’s been so many a night I ‘m thinking of Hula. I’m awaiting her return and I’m thinking of motherland. I ‘m hoping my country will become as civilized as Uria.
