"Don't cry mama," I said as I hang up the phone. An apt image that was definite in my mind is the tears that constantly ran down her cheeks, especially when she was praying for us. Mama used to pray on every occasion I'd remember, during the dawns, midnights, and often during the midday. Through with my simple gray flip push-button mobile phone, I carelessly dropped it my mind greatly captivated by series of events that have taken place in a long period yet all seemed like a fortnight. It was almost one year since I left home without telling anyone.
Her words echoed in my mind from a distance. She was always philosophical as far as I could recall, those memories clear in my mind.
"How much longer do I need to remind you that I had halted the idea of lamenting?”
This was her favorite line. It was simple when she uttered it but trust me, in her presence, it pricked like a rose. She would then add,
“For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future.” This was her most adored prophet Jeremiah’s verse.
Lost into oblivion, I was startled by the vibration of my handset. A glance to where I anticipated it landed with a thud, an empty rusty metal stool met my eyes. The stool which was perpendicularly aligned to one of my three by six simple oak-tree bed stand served as storage point for the phone and other miscellaneous possessions. There was much disturbance from the other direction across the room however. Close to my multipurpose sufuria, I heard the vibration, the phone was increasingly craving for my attention. I hesitated bemused as waited for vibration to cease. Could that be mom calling again? I was not going to indulge her again frankly speaking, the last call was not that successful.
I noted with precision that the caller’s patience couldn’t wait, the phone’s vibration resonated on the wooden chair that formed a canopy over the sufuria full of broth assembled from beans and peas rescuing it from collateral damage. It was not mama, an unknown caller. I was reluctant to receive the call. Alien contacts triggered lots of issues during those days. Also, it could be a prank call, who knows? Or maybe those acham mak lucha ochwere. The go getters who in a minute could be asking you for a personal identification number, describing how they had mistakenly deposited some cash into the wrong number. Your personal phone number remember. Should you try to play smart, they would refer you to their agent who is more conversant with transaction issues.
Whilst arguing with myself on ifs and if nots, the phone vibrated again… And again. For the third time in quick succession! This caller wasn’t going to give up, I sulked. This audacious move seemed perfect without ill intention. So I mustered the courage and dispelled all negative thoughts. Perhaps the origin of this call was a fortune, that idea prompted me to pick it up.
“Hello,” I responded. The caller breathed a sigh of relief audibly.
“Hello, The Afriks Communications here.” The Afriks… doesn’t ring a bell.
“Is that Keffefe Cleophas?” He continued,
“Yes, Keffefe speaking," I replied submissively as I swallowed a chunk of saliva. There was a brief silence from the other side. I therefore waited patiently even though I was anxious.
“Are you still there Keffefe?" he was speaking again.
His voice was in total control insinuating that he was the one in charge of all activities. He did not wait for me to revert.
"We received your letter of application and a dossier. Note that a reference was made based on the subject and you are expected to attend a face-to-face interview at our head office on second March 2020." He sent those instructions similar to attacking a drone-rocket bomb whose target was locked, giving me little space to process all that information.
"We hope to see you there." And with that, he hung up.
A panic call! I concluded nonchalantly while trying to connect the dots why he had insisted to say second March. It was a leap year for Christ's sake! Well, being a Saturday, it marked the last day of the month. Saying overmorrow would have been precise. He was my potential employer anyway, I chuckled.
I was done with the phone for the rest of the day I guess, so I gently placed it on the table with great care. I was not going to repeat my prior gimmicks with a two-year-old obsolete phone lest I was not preparing to attend the interview. That kabambe was my only means of communication.
I had to make a new plan, a formidable contingency targeting the vacant post ready for ravening and to ensure that I was ready for the interview. That call took a hasty pace. It was a strange one, a few moments ago I was conversing with mama on the phone, explaining how jobless I was then minutes later, out of blue. Good news! Anyhow, my day was taking shape from those gloomy mornings that the dawns threw to me. Nothing brightens a man’s day like a dim light in the tunnel exposing the glowing opportunities
I was a candidate shortlisted for an interview. I am not superstitious but honestly, those two calls were not a coincidence. My day at last. I felt a nudge on my neck, it triggered me to scratch my head just slightly above my ear customarily, a sign that good things would follow. Mama was a blessing. Her call, the one I received with weariness had unlocked misfortunes. Speaking of which, I needed to call her and share the good news. No. That was not possible, it was on a market day. She was in the market probably.
For about 12 months I had been sending my resume to various organizations where I felt I was qualified to render my expertise but in vain. I had received lots of prank calls, cons disguised as managers and stakeholders of large organizations till I realized one thing in common among races of human beings, quid pro quo. It had become a promulgated work ethic, a culture that had engulfed my career attempts and reduced me to reclusion. I encountered setbacks in every effort I made towards elite achievement in life. I almost relented, questioning my existence but a glimpse of hope rejuvenated my efforts. Setbacks and I become friends bonded together in brotherhood. Seemed like it was a caretaker sent to me by poverty to watch my steps. Eventually, I was shortlisted for the interviews, a heartfelt desire I yearned for in a decade.
Indeed, we were at war. A war fought in silence wrestling this uncouth cult, a war to overhaul the system that discriminates scholars. A cult obstructing employment. I believed other people expressed their demonstration latently because it was a fierce competition as well. No one is able to realize how many soldiers are in battle field until they are forced to rampage a governing state department, marching in packs to be assigned responsibilities. But the state department officials are genius, they drafted laws. The laws that sieves those to be employed and those to be left unemployed. Laws that adopt unfair means to assign responsibilities. How amazing that we citizens have different perceptions but we suffer in unison? We are all victims of circumstances and until thy kingdom comes, we grip our flaws tightly even if our hands are callused.
When mama called, I was seated on the bed in my single void room only occupied by a traditional chair and table that I inherited from a college roommate during an academic fire exhibition. The room displayed my entire earthly gains at a glance. After her call I was distressed. Distressed because the problems I was avoiding were right back again. The burdens I was shouldering was another story.
My mood shifted though, I was exultant, hope you understand. That feeling epitomizing victory over the shackles of thagruok, a sole adversary in our family duels against poverty bondage. At that moment I was a victor, all my miseries were the villain. One step was finally down; it was worth a celebration. That other call made a difference.
Life has complexities that sidelined people like me to extremities but still I had to pop a bottle of champagne. Not a real champagne, that stuff was too expensive for my budget. One bottle of rare champagne was equivalent to a roof over my head for at least three months. But I have a substitute, a local beer, Senator, a name that plays rapidly on financially handicapped lads like me when they see it trickling on disposable plastic tumblers from a modern pot, with a fixed tap that always rests near the cashier's stand.
Sometimes the drink was not on my bill, however, the anticipation accompanied by the winks and wince in readiness to gulp down the Senator was undeniable. My comrade Jeff was the one who had me initiated to drinking culture back during our college days. “Cleo, this is how big men suppress stress and depression.” He claimed with an apparent ecstatic gesture.
After college, Jeff was living in a self-contained bedsitter located in a clean umbworld that seemed to scorn my adjacent shanty. Who said that adages were wrong? Birds of the same feather flock together. Jeff and I were living close together, an approximation of one kilometer apart. We shared common beliefs even though he was miles ahead of me. His mother was a honcho known by many officers heading departments within the country beyond. However, I was not bullied by his presence and what her mother had achieved. After all Jeff and I began our day right from single rooms, at separate estates. Close analysis would undisputedly symbolize that we were equal so long as the houses promised to us by son of man were intact wherever they are. Who cares? We were all visitors in this planet.
Jeff was a spoilt brat, a hound, and opportunist who delved into people's past to achieve superiority. I met him back in the days as freshmen of course. As pioneers of a newly fledged college with few learners, it wasn’t a complex quest to notice unique mates like him. His weird behavior immaculately disguised his background completely and he was okay with it. Am not suggesting I was not comfortable with my background. I embraced it for if you never get what you wanted, you love what you get. From the very first day at school he was crafty.
On that day, I queued for registration and just like in high school some students were accompanied by their parents. As usual, I was not. Although I was an introvert, the presence of a girl before me triggered my lips to part conveying total freedom of movement to my tongue, it then rolled quickly, "Ahem, excuse me," escaped the utterance before I decided to let it out. She made a total turn, I didn't expect that, a backward crane was my fine supposing but she turned around completely.
“Yes,” she replied beaming with a smile. Her plump face was perfectly fitted on her long stable neck.
Her dimples were openly visible awkwardly on her chin. “Oh, yeah,” I recollected slightly embarrassed. “Mmm, am Cleophas but my friends call me Cleo,” I rapped as I extended my hands to her. She shook it firmly,
"They call me Sophia. Pleasure to meet you, Cleo."
I was working my next move when this dude appeared, forcing himself between me and Sophia startling her. He jumped the queue. His action made Sophia to retreat to her spot. What the hell! The reaction had punched my adrenaline duct, cracked its epithelium resulting rapture. Fighting hormones oozed through cracked fissures into my veins in readiness to throw him some jabs. I was livid.
“Vamoose!" he yelled at Sophia causing commotion. Where would she go? He is the intruder looking for a shortcut.
Maybe he didn’t mean it for he turned to me cunningly,
“Spoilt the party, enhe?”
Then he let out a peal of hysteric laughter. Life can be cruel for sure. After that, he moved a step forward to Sophia, leaned on her buttocks in a manner that his center of gravity was seriously rubbing her butt, and whispered,
"Senorita, damn you're beautiful!"
“Welcome to college Cleo," I said inwardly.
Here was a man who is seemingly younger than me, well dressed in a stylish outfit and well-kept beards while I had no beards to trim, isn't life interesting?
"Hey Jeff, I can see you are getting along well" the three of us turned to the voice at once. A heavily built woman stood nearby.
"I was looking for you," she continued.
“I will be through in a couple of minutes mom, have you secured a hostel?”
"Yes son, just inform me when you are through, I'll be waiting in the car." She was very precise from my perspective. By the end of registration, the three of us became best of friends.
Those days were gone, I shook my head and blinked gazing at the roof. This was life after school. Quite different. Very different because the day was brightening, the phone call played in my head. I was obsessed, soon days will glitter. I had to inform Jeff, so I reached the phone again. My phone too had a busy day, I presume it enjoyed the series of calls made. It had been rusty for some time without incoming calls.
“Sorry the subscriber you are trying to reach is currently unavailable,” that was the third trial.
I could not get hold of him over the phone. To be honest Jeff had was my godfather in Nyeri town since we graduated. Money was not a problem to him, contrary using money was his biggest problem. Being a spendthrift, clubbing and partying was his main objective ever since I knew him.
I decided to leave a voice mail after the tone. This technique was bizarre to most people. The moment they hear voice note coupled with instructions, thoughts would be how one ignored their calls by shutting the phone. They portray it as an intent to bar callers from communicating using phones. It was our trusted medium of communication when we wanted less disturbance.
"It's me, we need to talk face to face." Then I pressed the end button.
In college, Jeff and I were taking Mass communications while Sophia was taking Business Management. When I graduated, I moved in with Jeff, I wasn’t going to get back home empty handed, I had the key, my certificate. Men gamble away from home. I had to find my lock, unlock it and embrace it. The key kept me in school for long and I was convinced the lock was not back at home. The plan backfired after three months of searching. I went back to our village Katolo.
Going back home after four years in a different region was amazing at first. You see, I am a Luo by tribe, a tribe known to be naturally intelligent in the country. It was not a mere belief that we were intelligent. No! It is because of our stable food, kuon marieba, and fish. We lived next to a large lake on the Far East bordering Tibena country. Mama was elated that I was back at last. She feared that the Kikuyu tribe would not allow me to go back. She believed that Tente people were midekre, bad omen.
The idea of studying in a distant region was far beyond her expectations, it’s only that she had no control over it. To her relief, I was back home at last. Everyone was happy that I didn’t become a hermit. They organized a warmth welcoming party. Another scholar in the village. The whispers, the hugs and all sorts of presents awarded to me spoke it entirely. All were delighted except me. I knew I failed. All my predecessors who had been in college were advised to bring back two things, a certificate, and a wife. Well, I had no wife, I wanted to impress my kinsmen and other relatives dearly but I failed. Things went asunder between Sophia and me. To worsen the whole situation, I did not invite anyone to attend my graduation ceremony. I wanted them to witness and grace the occasion instead I was left cursing poverty on that day.
Three days elapsed at home and I knew repatriation was over. Mama sat me down, “Keffe, now that school is over and you are back safely, when are starting going to work?” I replied with silence. I wasn’t dummy because I had no answer. I chose to shut up because I did not know where to start, a person with her level of understanding, her limited education not to mention exposure. I was beaten. Things had changed, education is a system. A system defined in a diction that people like mama could not understand.
Elite people say it was an avenue used to manipulate the poor and I tend to agree, even though I disagree with these circumstances.
Mama was nagging me every time I woke up. She reminded me that I needed to go to work and stop staying at home as if I didn’t step into any learning institution. One month later home became a furnace; pressure was seeping from every direction clutching my every move.
In our small village Katolo, words would spread faster than a race car. I suppose it was because of the small center where we converged every evening, formless. I joined those bandwagons, some playing pool games others just hanging around in small groups. Those youths were particularly active in one thing, doing nothing, yet I joined them. Despite sharing venues with them, I wasn’t considered one of them. I was a book warmer, a clever boy who used to shame them academically back in school. Well, I understood them, inferiority complex.
Quality education was expensive; most parents could not afford an apparent reason some of the village boys were truants by then. Others who dedicated themselves surrendered citing dismal performance. Years are gone now, some are married, have procreated, and have three children at least. They still hold grudges with me, after many years. Illiteracy had merged with academic jealousy and was consuming them within. It was the only music playing in their heads. To them I was an enemy who haunted their success. Clearly, we were a world apart. I cursed myself again. I failed!
By twilight we all headed home, that was a rule mustered by youths like Catholics do with catechism. I walked timidly back home perusing my phone, it was a horrible day again. Not even a single letter had been answered. Not even an impressive message, but just one. The same one from Education Loans Board, a reminder that my study loan was due for repayment.
“Keffe! You have been avoiding me lately,” it was mama. I was beginning to get irritated with her scolding so I walked passed her.
“Keffe! I am talking to you.”
“Haven’t been avoiding you, mama,” I replied.
It was her routine of late to call for crisis audience from me. She would coax me often. I didn’t blame her, poor mama.
“Keffe, my son, I hear you did not graduate that’s why you are not going to work,” she couldn’t hold back the tears. Rumors from the village center I guessed.
“Where did you hear that mama?” I enquired.
"After all that you've been through, you couldn't do a thing? Tell me, son, were exams tough?" she deflected. I didn't invite my parents to attend the graduation ceremony. That explained it all.
"I graduated mama" I responded calmly.
“Then go and do some work Keffe! We sacrificed everything for you in this family. As the eldest son, you should not be loitering aimlessly in the village when you've gone to school." She was furious.
“Mama it’s not easy the way you think. These things take time” I was feeling her pain.
“What do you take me for? A fool? Oh, so it’s true you dropped out the way rumors have it?” mama was becoming uncontrollable.
I couldn’t stand in her presence. I skipped my supper that evening. At dawn, I was set for Nyeri town without mentioning the idea to mama. Jeff became my redemption.
Home can be hostile when you have nothing to offer. Those moments back held me whenever I was alone. The phone rang, it was Jeff.
“Professor, I went incognito,” he muttered.
“Can we meet? Something came up.” I pressed.
“Seven O’clock in the evening. Same place.” He hanged up.
This was unusual of him. I knew him like I knew the palm of my hand. He welcomed me to Nyeri town, got me a house in a shanty. That was something to be grateful for. He had backed me up during tough times and I was counting on him again to facilitate my participation at The Afriks.
Navigating life was irksome in the shanties I must confess. We hardly accessed water and electricity. The only difference with home was its location, Nyeri town. Towns have characters that differs from the countryside traits, one of them being a hub for different tribes. Jeff had assured me that Nyeri harbored plenty of opportunities. None had come through my path though except The Africks.
Club Mobimba was to the brim when I entered. Jeff was in the company of three other people. Afro-fusion music was playing in the background. Wizkid's music "African Bad Gyal" was pulsating the audience. The crowd roaring at the beat of the music was an ambient fanatical gesture. That was the right place for celebration without thoughts lingering in my mind. I edged closer to Jeff and his troupe. Among them was a familiar face. Sophia again!
She seemed complete when we met in college, an emblem of innocence. After the fiasco staged by Jeff, I had the privilege of knowing her extensively. She was my tribeswoman, a factor that urged me to seduce her. I was gifted with an eloquence, a weapon that charmed her completely into cupid. Soon it was apparent that Sophia and I were nothing but a mere crest and trough that could not complement each other. We were naïve college students misusing the opportunity of being far away from parents.
Trouble had rocked our paradise when Sophia realized that I was nothing but a beggarly, impecunious needy lad who relied on education to solve his miseries. She had asked for 2k urgently; a feat I could not match. The next day when I visited her room, I was flabbergasted, a dude was standing in her presence pants down on his feet, and Sophia squatted, her left finger I think, was sliding on her crotch, the right hand whirling his manhood in her mouth. Both grunted amidst labored breath, Sophia was frothing in the act! That's how 2k was urgent. And what a way to pay 2k!
"Sophia!" I yelled in a shrieking voice storming out of the room. I had hoped she'd follow me to explain how it was not what I thought. She never followed me, in fact I never saw her again. That marked the end of our chemistry, an affair I highly cherished.
Seeing her here again confirmed my doubts. However, I hold my principles dearly, forward ever and backward never. Our impulsive meeting was not a pathway to rekindle what broke because of an urgent mission to be solved by 2k.
"Hey professor, come and join us. It’s a tot tonight” Jeff said. Nothing had changed yet, he was not himself otherwise his usual taunts would have been obvious. He only went for the tot when something serious was bothering him.
“Now Keffefe, enlighten us," he would say under normal circumstances.
"Enlighten us how a whole professor by birth could score secondclass lower men," then they would burst into laughter.
“I mean how on earth? You guided all the discussions and we passed them.” He would say in an African-America accent. He idolized Lil Wayne.
True, I was brilliant, classwork was the only battlefield I would showcase my wits. Four years down the line, I had accumulated what garnered a second lower-class spot. Complete waste of time if you ask me. I was the group leader taking charge of all discussions, spewing and oozing wisdom to those dummy dunderheads who later graduated with the second upper class no doubt. It was pointless raving about school marks that had been published anyway. Maybe paying fees late was the reason behind my academic failure. Or maybe things proved me wrong in the examination room. That atmosphere and pressure and the investigative privy eyes those lecturers wore might have drained my content leaving me a tabula rasa.
I was savvy but to be honest I couldn’t fathom the presence of Sophia there at the club or was she the reason he went incognito? Neither could I understand why Jeff was uneasy. I took my seat abreast Jeff. Sophia alongside the other dude left briskly. Seemed that was planned.
“How long Jeff?” I broke. I felt betrayed. His eyes said it all, he was seeing Sophia.
“What? Oh you mean Sophia?” he implied, glancing towards their direction.
“Forget about her. She is a whore humping and blowing anyone.” He said without remorse.
“But I don’t blame her for it. Holding ground hasn’t been easy. I think you are the best person she lost.” Was this speech immaculately prepared to soothe me? I asked myself as Jeff eloquently spelled them. He was a rich kid, a lot was paid for him to master the art of speaking.
Every moment that passed was disgusting me. I wasn't going to give in to this conspiracy. However, Jeff seemed disturbed. So I had to go first. This was my only chance to fetch my transport.
“Hey bro, whatsup? You seem vexed.” I offered.
“Too observant to graduate with a second class lower. Don’t you think?” he had a unique way of complimenting people.
“Why do you call me professor then?” I encountered. He bit his lips smiling. Quick observation was a gift I inherited from mama. No wonder I wanted to become a top journalist. Waiting process was the only obstacle between me and that dream.
He was relieved a little. I believed he was advancing for a spot to attack the serious conversation. I came for a purpose but mine was worth waiting. “My mom is getting a divorce.” He spat. "Dad is leaving for the states and you know what? Mom is not letting me to go with him." This tore him into pieces.
“I don’t see any problem with that bro,” he became pale.
"Ahem, I mean you are a grown-up and you can make your decisions." I soothed my initial remarks.
"You don't get it. Mom is the custodian, considering my dad isn't a citizen of this country. And mom is the worst person to operate under her care” He blathered.
It must be tough on him. Wait, he had a father? It’s funny he hadn't talked about it ever since we knew each other. I have a father too, and I wasn't going to share this with him. The thought of my father torments me more than the crucifixion of Jesus on that cross.
This was a tough situation, I used to give pieces of advice to friends. Advice that sparked solutions to problems. I guessed that's why Jeff had me alone, to help him solve that situation. How would I say that I am an armature in kinds of stuff like marriage? A big reason why things couldn't work between Sophia and me.
Minutes passed, we sat in silence. Jeff had thrown a dice; the ball was no longer in his court but mine. It was time for the professor to solve this puzzle. If I don't, it would be an authentic derail to my interview. And the thought struck me. What if Jeff's mother was also in tears? Cascade of tears if she imagined his only son was leaving to another country now that the divorce was imminent. Are our mothers continuously crying about what we have become in life? Look at Sophia, soon she would be a mom. More tears I guess. I couldn’t solve that equation. On that day I failed again, I failed Jeff.
End
Acham mak lucha ochwere – thief/con
Kabambe – a buttoned mobile phone
Thagruok – poverty
Kuon marieba – ugali made of flour made from cassava
Formless – without clear purpose/objective
Midekre – bad omen
Whatsup – what’s wrong?
