A TIME TO STEAL

Lewis was an angry second year medical student. He walked past anniversary towers a furious man. For the ninth time he cursed the fellows in charge of HELB for not sending him the money he so badly needed. The few coins in his pocket collided with each other to produce a sound that constantly reminded him he was poorer than a church mouse. He was living from hand to mouth, and just like the widow of Zarephath he was waiting for lunch time to have the last meal.

He hated being broke. The mid day sun was high up and scotching hot. He passed close to the Kenchic in KEMU towers right at the corner. The naked chicken rolling on the grill stimulated his taste buds. His stomach suddenly groaned as if it was aware of what his eyes were seeing. He dipped his hand into the deep pockets and counted the coins. Thirty shillings could not buy chicken. With great sadness he quieted his gastric glands as he made his way to the nearby Cooperative bank.

Once again he thought of HELB. Why were they always late in dispatching the money? He got into the bank. There was a long line. Then something struck him. On the side bench where people fill the deposit forms laid a brown envelope. Instinctively he headed in that direction. Cautiously he grabbed it and peeped inside. He could not believe his eyes. Suddenly a thin stream of sweat ran down his armpit and spine. His heartbeat increased as the sympathetic nervous system kicked into action. He could hear his heart thumping in his chest. His vessels were vasodilated. Inside the envelope was money stashed in one thousand notes. He estimated it to be around 70,000 shillings.

He scanned his environment. Nobody seemed to be concerned with him. The security guard was busy chatting with a customer. The ladies behind the counter were busy serving their clients. The young man had never seen so much money; the most he had ever handled was the 13500 that HELB sent him following a bimodal distribution. He imagined what he would do with the money.

Could it be a trap? He wondered.

A surge of greed swept over him. He made a decision to make away with the cash.

In small quiet leaps he made for the door. He was one step away from the door when the unexpected happened. A siren disturbed the peace. He quickly turned back and regretted having given in to the temptation. He expected the security guards to be over him any moment with some serious manhandling.

At that moment he said a quick prayer. Being a staunch Catholic he asked mother Mary to intercede for him. The siren disappeared as fast as it had come. Nobody was approaching him. It was only then that he realized it was a siren made by an ambulance on the ever busy University way. He breathed a sigh of relief.

With rejuvenated courage he took the giant steps that saw him walk towards Central police station, just in case anyone accosted him he would defend himself with a lie: that he was headed for the station to report he had found the money.

At the gate of Central police station he scanned his surroundings. Everyone was busy moving about their business. He then traversed through main campus, via the tunnel, by the swimming pool before finally entering hall one. He locked his door tightly. He drew the curtains just to be sure no one was watching.

Lewis took a deep breath, opened the brown envelope and poured the money on his bed. Arranged in bunches of 10,000 notes were nine bundles. It amounted to 90,000 shillings. He counted again. It still amounted to the same. Somebody knocked at his door loudly.

He quickly gathered the money and hid it in his drawer. He contemplated ignoring the knock but the knock persisted. With much fear he turned the key.  He was happy to see it was Kamande, his roommate

Lewis pretended to have a headache. He asked Kamande to buy him some hedex as he hid the money.

Being so close to his mother, he decided to share the money with her. When he called her she insisted on knowing where the money had come from. He had to come clean. Her comments were “Ngai, might it be that it was left by a woman like me and now you want to spend it?”

A state of anxiety ensued. The guilt of what he had done started tormenting him. His mother had taught him well, always teaching him the doctrines of the Catholic Church. She had shielded him from many vices and taught him to always listen to the inner voice.

He took the money placed it in its brown envelope and left his room. He walked along State house road in deep thought. He got into St Paul’s chapel where he knelt before the Blessed Sacrament in prayer. He thanked God for having provided for him in abundance. He genuflexed humbly at the exit of the church.

Something strange directed him to the Chaplaincy’s office. The stern father welcomed him warmly.

“How can I be of assistance to you young man?” The priest asked casually.

“I stole this money today though I do not know who I stole it from.” He answered as he placed the money on the desk. He then narrated the events of that day as highlighted above. The priest asked for his details. He promised to do something about it. He dug into his pocket. A brand new note was offered to the poor Lewis. At least the guilt was lessened and he had a genuine thousand shilling note in his pocket to live on for a couple of weeks.  He thanked the father and turned to leave.

When he got to the door he remembered something. He asked the priest for a confession. He got an absolution.

He left St Paul’s a happy man. He quickly forgot the incident until two years later when he got a strange call while in Githunguri for field work in Community health.

“Hi. Am I speaking to Lewis?” The strange voice asked.

“Yes.” He answered anxiously.

“My name is Father Francis. Are you still a student at the university?” He asked.

“I am now in my fourth year of study.” Lewis replied, unaware of the direction the conversation was going.

“Ok. Please pass by St Paul’s chapel when you have time. I would like to talk to you in person.”

Lewis wondered why the chaplain would want to see him.

He passed by later that afternoon after a tiring day in the field.

“Welcome bwana Lewis. You might be wondering why I called you here. Anyway, I hope you know that according to the law if something is found and is not claimed within six months it belongs to the person who found it.”

He pulled a drawer and handed Lewis a brown envelope. Lewis opened it slowly. Inside were the clean notes, looking as clean as they were when he lastly took them to the priest two years earlier.

“It is now yours!” The priest uttered.

Lewis was dumbfounded. He knew not what to do.

Heartbreaker part 1

It was one of those Fridays that I did not know what to do. I sat in my room bored like hell. I scribbled down a few names as I deliberated on a possible plot for the night. I had earlier on turned down a few offers from my friends, one involving binge drinking. I love my liver, and even though they say a little wine is good for thy stomachs sake, I love not to suffer the day after. Besides, the smell is neither pleasant nor appealing. I thought of a dentist, a pharmacist and a medic, but then I remembered that the village wanted me to graduate.

So I decided to indulge into an activity that I find amusing: staring into the sky. I closed the door of my tiny room and sat at the rarely used staircase. It was a full moon, clearly illuminating the whole earth, making it look like a darkened day. The sky was totally clear with a few stars. A sky devoid of clouds was beautiful to look at. I was enjoying the sweet view when I saw a cloud of smoke linger in the air around me as a smell of something that was not cigarette hit me. Someone was surely smoking some illicit drug on the staircase right below me.

Afraid of suffering the debilitating effects of cannabis sativa on my young brain, I scampered to safety. I had hardly settled in my one in all room (It is my bedroom, sitting room, kitchen and dining room) when my phone rang. I peeped at the screen. I was indeed happy to see it was my dad calling. This presented a perfect opportunity for me to say that I did not have something to take for breakfast the next day. I bet every University student uses that line at least once in his or her lifetime in a bid to extort a few coins from a struggling parent. I was even thinking of another good line should my story be deflected… A son does not ask for a piece of bread to be given stones.

Delighted at my good thoughts I answered the call. We spoke of general things: the weather, home, school, job and family. I was just about to throw the line when he decided to pass on the news. He asked,”Son, when are you coming home? I have a letter for you.”

“Where from?” I quizzed.

“This one is from someone who calls himself Kslxqsf. It is totally coded. Have you been learning another lingua? Have you joined a cult? Some finger of something I guess.”

My heart sunk.  I knew what it meant. My mind was in retrograde and I remembered February the 5^th like it was just yesterday.

“Dad, I thought we agreed that you shall not be reading my mails!” I exclaimed.

“What do you have to hide? It is not like any of your girlfriends sends you mail through my post office address.” He responded. At that point my mind slipped to Emily. Emily was one of those high school girlfriends who had the audacity to send me a love letter during the holidays through my dad’s address. You can guess the outcome. The old man read each word. When passing me the letter he had said, “I see nothing much has changed. The same way we used to do it.” All the same Emily is subject for another day.

I promised dad that I would go home at the earliest possible chance. He passed on the phone to his wife and we spoke for a while. She is usually very sentimental about some of these things, especially her last born son.

Dad had just given me a plot. Not a really good plot, but a plot all the same. I spent the rest of the night trying to suture an almost healed wound. It was such a painful thing. I was so sad. The wound was giving way after two full years. Dehiscence could not be occurring at that time. I thought it had healed, though with fibrosis. The scar it had left was not anything I wanted to look at. It was one of those things that I quickly wanted to go away. I tried closing my eyes, but it did not whisk the memories away. I tried burying my head in the sand, but when I could no longer do it the ghost was still haunting me.

It was a very slow night. Occasionally I would peep out of the window with hopes that dawn would be with me, but it never happened. I was just a beggar wishing I could ride. I finally made up my mind to fight like a soldier. After all, those things had happened to me, and I had successfully gone through that phase, of course with a lot of aid from friends and alcohol.

She was Mwari, the daughter of Nyina wa Njeri. She was born on 18^th of January, at 10 o’clock, with the sun up in the east when I was only few months old. She was a beautiful baby girl and the village celebrated the birth of a daughter in the ordinary style. The father was not as happy as everyone else as he was expecting a bouncing baby boy. They lived in a small village in Kirerwa. Her mother did a great job; almost single handedly raising her fourth born child.

She had to bear with a good number of blows from the hostile husband as family life was in turmoil. She silently watched as her mother was being battered. Deep hatred for trouser wearers found a ground to be nurtured. With every act of animosity that her eyes witnessed the tree grew larger and taller. That was until I came along. She was one class behind me. For the short while that we shared a school we got to know each other. We stood in the same podium during prize giving days. We would walk home together as we shared our childhood ideas, dreams and aspirations.

I was about to join class five when my parents took me to a very distant land for an interview. In search of academic excellence I had to change schools, which essentially meant a separation. I still remember how disturbed she was when I broke the news to her.

I left my old friends to make new ones in the boarding school. I missed her a lot, but one could not write an intimate letter while in the school. If caught, it amounted to two weeks of suspension and a few strokes of cane on a bare gluteus as the whole school watched. She wrote me a few missives, but in that situation I was incapacitated. She must have hated me and men more!

Some freedom came about in high school and the fear of what the head teacher would do to me if he found out was no longer an issue. She did well in her exams, after which she joined a more liberal school; though it was a Catholic sponsored school ran by nuns! I paid her a couple of visits on my way home during mid terms and the ball got back rolling.

Holidays were a special time for me. I would take evening strolls to her place, and she knew exactly where to find me. Luckily the topography of our place was kind enough and the vast tea bushes provided a good camouflage. Many times I got home late, which got mum worried that his young son was being spoilt by the village imps.

Church was a unifying factor. We were both brought up in Catholic homes. If I remember correctly we even said catechism together. I was the secretary of the youth group in the local church and she was the choir mistress. We both loved singing. We were always on the front line of any event that came up in the church, including the parish. We spent a lot of time together, especially in church related activities.

I would escort her to her home every Sunday after mass, until mum confronted me. She did not like her for some reason. My guess was that she thought her son was getting too involved in someone she did not expect to become her in law. When she asked I behaved like the biblical Peter; I denied her wholly. I even told my own mother that she knew not what she was talking about.

She was indeed a beautiful girl. Her secondary sexual characteristics were appealing in a manner I cannot describe. I saw her vividly in my dreams, every single night. On my bed I sought she whom my heart loved but did not find her.

She had a chocolate complexion with long dark hair. When exposed, it fell down her neck to her shoulders. I envisioned myself playing with it when the right time came. I wanted to see her beautiful face and listen to her sweet voice. Her lips were a scarlet thread and her words soothing to the soul. Her eyes were dark and beautiful; they could see through my heart. Her cheeks were halves of pomegranate. It was great playing with them, though she would sometimes shout at me for pinching her. Her two oranges were exactly what I had ordered for: perfect size and shape. She caught me staring enough times. The curves of her thighs were the work of a master hand.

She was almost my height which further added to the significant things I liked about her. She was blessed in almost all ways. The only thing she did not have as I would have wanted it was her gastrocnemius and soleus.  Those were a bit hypertrophied, but I got used to it. She ravished my heart with a single glance. There were spells in her love, and her love was delicious and sufficient for me. I was sick with her love. She was the loveliest woman I have ever set my eyes on. I was hers and she was mine. I was a captive of her looks and kind acts. She was my world.

Her personality was impeccable. She was strong, loving, caring, dedicated and not afraid to make commitments. She never raised her voice unnecessarily and whenever a problem showed its ugly face she would walk through it. Her advice was great, unselfish and reasonable. She never gave up on anything she had decided to pursue. I enjoyed her company a lot. A burning desire to be with her was within me each time we were not together. I was in love.

Time came for me to join campus and I had to say goodbye to her beautiful abundant world. We would still meet, though not as frequently as I would have wanted. I worked hard in campus, knowing too well she would not take it kindly if I did not do well. A few times I got distracted by other beauties, but she still remained at the core of my heart. At that time phones were around. Mum would not be too happy to hear that a good portion of the pocket money she gave me was invested in a telecommunication company, with enough calls to the dearest and finest of them all. I went through the first year of campus successfully while she studied some Accounting. During that December holiday she told me she had very sad news for me. Most of you would guess she was pregnant, but as it was, we had kept our chastity vows faithfully.

The subsequent months were terrible for me. Post election violence delayed school opening, and worse still, I was nursing a serious heartbreak. My heart was in pieces. My soul was troubled. I saw every skirt wearer as a serpent, a traitor and a heartbreaker. I wondered how I could have been so blinded by love that I never saw it coming. I had nothing to live for. I had nothing to hope for. All the dreams I had had been shattered. Life was miserable.

In second year Tuesday afternoons used to be free time for us. No teacher was willing to teach us at that time except for few times that the class representative would organize make ups for missed lectures. I went to school alright, but I couldn’t wait for that boring Pharmacology lecture to end. I boarded a bus that saw me off to the rendezvous. I was indeed sad to see her off. I got a goodbye hug, but if was to have my way I would have preferred a goodbye kiss. That marked the saddest day in my life. It was the only day that I ever shed a tear because of a woman. I wished her well and let her go unwillingly. I did cry. Everyone in the bus I took back to school must have thought I had lost everything in life. I was sobbing uncontrollably. It was like a reflex.

I have to thank my Muslim friends for their kind words and the support they accorded me on that day. It went a long way to seeing me through. That day was February the 5^th. It was a day when my world was in distraught.

I kept hoping that she would somehow come back: She never did. Month after month I waited. The year went by as the wound slowly closed up.

I was sitted in my room trying to save my nearly sinking boat in Microbiology alongside approaching Certified Public Accountant exams when my phone rang. It was my friend Sam, calling all the way from the village.

“Hey, I have just seen your girl in church.” He said.

I asked him to stop joking. I told him that she was gone for good and I had forgotten her. Then a familiar voice spoke. “Hi. It’s me.” I was dumbfounded. I let the words ring in my eardrum, afraid of saying anything. I thought I was dreaming. So she finally came back, after nine months of agony. She also told me she would not be going back.

When school closed that year I decided to concentrate on my last Certified Public Accountant (CPA) exams. After all, I had come a long way. Section six would be my last. I forgot about the beautiful girl, focused on the mountain ahead of me.

It was one day to the exam when she called with some other sad news. She was going back on that very day. She had lied to me. I was in a dilemma. They have a way through men’s’ hearts. Oblivious of the traumatizing examination that lay ahead of me, I found myself aboard a vehicle, on my way to seeing her. I have never set an eye on her ever since.

These thoughts occupied my mind the whole night. I was happy when dawn finally came. Believe it or not, I took breakfast at home. Dad handed me the letter, with the usual sarcasm. I deciphered the meaning of every single word. It was our code of keeping away unwanted people, or people who wanted to know more than they should, like dad.

My heart was thumping hard on my chest as I read the mail.

My mind wondered back to February the 5^th. It was on that very day that her journey started. It was the day she left unworthy men like me to seek greater happiness and divinity. The journey to sisterhood had started then. And she was going to be a nun. A serious call it was.

I wondered what had transpired in the two and a half years that she had been away. Had she changed like me? Was she happier? Was she better of stuck in between the silent walls? Is it what she really wanted? I had questions without answers.

I hoped that Mother Superior had been kind to her. I also hoped that the priests had kept their hands off her, sticking to the vows they made in the holy altar. I found myself praying to God to keep her well so that she may remain zealous in her vacation. I asked God almighty to be a clear mirror of her identity as she walked on the paths of history doing good for all.

My mind swayed to December 8^th. It would be a big day for her. She was actually writing to invite me to the ceremony in which she would be taking her first vows, marking three years since she joined the Immaculate Sisters. I was beginning to picture her on that day when I was interrupted.

“Son, you don’t have the whole day to read that. The cows are hungry.”

I folded back the small piece of paper to its original form, placed it in its envelope and walked to my bedroom. In my diary I made an entry on December 8^th. It read: Come rain, come sunshine I want to be there Lord. No matter how much it hurts or pains me.  No matter how much it breaks my heart.

As I stepped out of the house I heard the cows moo.