A stitch in time saves a testis

A stitch in time saves a testis.

HEARTBREAKER PART II

It was roughly four years after I saw her off to the convent, or rather since we entrusted her to mother superior to guide her through the tough vacation that she had voluntarily chosen. These were difficult years for me as highlighted in heartbreaker I.

Those years may seem short, but for me it was a lifetime. I had met some very lovely ladies who intended to shower me with unabated love, but my cardia was trapped by the love of this young lady who had vowed to keep off men and serve the almighty faithfully for the rest of her life. I spent many of those nights ravishing with dreams where she was the star. Her love could not let me sleep. Almost every night I imagined wonderful things for us, though I was sad at most dawns for the love of my life was far from my reach.

On this particular day I felt sad. I was just about to graduate from medical school with a whole life ahead of me. My mind swayed to December 8^th, the day when she took her first vows, the first indication of her commitment to serve God. I felt guilty for not having made it to her on that day. I really wanted to, but sometimes once in a lifetime opportunity comes ones way. As my grandfather would have said, a wise man grabs such a chance with zeal. As Jenga once rightfully put it, I was having a time of my life in a foreign country with beautiful, wonderful and kind people like Lynnae. I was with her in spirit on the very day.

I missed her a lot. I kept on praying that God would give me the chance to be with her again, even if it was just for a day. I kept on hoping for a miracle that would rekindle my love life.

Not long later the miracle happened. What I was praying for came without any effort from my side.

I was alone in my room contemplating on the most feasible thing to do when my phone vibrated. It was a number I knew by heart, a number belonging to the person I was almost giving up on ever seeing again. It was Mwari, the most beautiful girl in the world. I took a deep breath before answering.

“Hallo.” I said calmly.

“It is me, Mwari. I need to talk to you in person urgently.” She said.

“Anytime my dear. Where are you? Where do I have the pleasure of meeting you?” I asked as my heart skipped a beat.

“I am in town. How soon can you get here?” She queried.

“In the next twenty minutes.” I answered, trying to remain calm and collected.

“Alright. Kindly give me a call when you get to the city centre.” She said as she swiftly hung up.

I could not believe my ears. Her voice was music to my soul, and the way she sounded on phone was just out of this world. I wished the conversation had gone on for a longer time. Then it hit me that I was finally going to set my eyes on my angel again. The thought excited me. I grabbed my towel and hurried to the bathroom for a ‘passport shower’ as we used to call them in high school. A moment later I brushed my teeth before picking up my brown leather jacket. I jetted out of the room loaded with a few notes, enough to cater for a three course meal for two in a five star hotel.

I got to town ten minutes later. I numbly dialed her number as adrenaline shot into action. My heart was beating rather fast, even with the bare ear one could clearly appreciate the non-pathologic gallop rhythm. I had palpitations. A cold stream of sweat ran down my armpit as I envisioned the next few minutes.

She was looking magnificent. Not even the beauty queen I described earlier in the story titled Bob’s half chance came close to what I saw. For a moment I was dumbfounded. I thought my eyes would melt at the stare of the most beautiful creature created.  I looked for a suitable word to describe her. Awesome, gorgeous, delightful, lovely and angelic were the words that came to mind, but I felt they were an understatement.

The lurching movement of her feminine thighs and the sway of her gluteus maximus caught my attention. It was an amazing scene. I ran towards her and stopped a few steps from her. I stared straight at her eyes. They were natural and very attractive. Everything about her was amazing. Her lips, cheeks, nose, hair, ears, eyebrows…. All was perfect.

Then I took a step closer. I gave her a warm tight hug after which I planted my lips on hers for what I thought was a very deep kiss. Almost everyone on the busy Moi Avenue street stopped at the rare occurrence. I ignored all the eyes that were watching and hugged her again and again. I wanted to let the whole world know that my love had finally returned. I wanted the world to witness the best moment of my life. For some reason she did not resist, she eased herself into my arms. I carried her across the street in my arms.

I took her to one of the most serene restaurants in the city. As we got in I remembered Joy. She would always bring me here whenever she needed to talk to me.

We sat at a secluded corner. The place was beautiful. The pink finish blended very well with her smart dress. The paintings that hung on the wall must have been done by a special painter. The dim lights provided a great romantic environment. The serenades completed the picture. We held hands at one moment. They were very soft. Mother superior had done a great job, at least in keeping her physical outlook on point.

She ordered for us. The meal was scrumptious. We talked as we ate; sometimes pausing to steal glances at each other. She took time to tell me how life was like within the confines of the walls of the convent. I asked a lot of questions. After all was said and done I mustered the courage to ask her why she had requested to talk to me.

“Nditiks, I have never forgotten you for the four years I have been away from you. I prayed for you every day. I felt your love for me from miles away. I don’t want you to suffer any more. I want to be beside you for the rest of my life.”

Those were the sweetest words I had ever heard. I cajoled her to whisper the lovely words to my ear. I felt so happy to an extent of feeling the elation flowing in my veins. I did not know what to say. I just looked at her plainly. From nowhere I got the words.

“Mwari, I want to wake up beside you every day. I want to spend the rest of my life loving you. I want you to be the mother of my children.”She smiled timidly.

After we had eaten I took her hand and kissed it softly. Hand in hand we walked away. For once I did something I really hated my immoral classmates for. I admitted her to my room in block B. The night was lovely. I skived discussion (Nelima kindly understood that the issues of the heart were more important than the discussion). It was one of my best nights in campus.

Over the subsequent weeks I kind of quit school. I dedicated a lot of hours to make my queen happy. She quickly adapted to life outside the convent. We made random trips to various places in the country. We visited the beaches in Mombasa, the great canyon and gorge in Hell’s gate, the vast wildlife in Nairobi national park, the beasts in Maasai Mara and of course the flamingoes in lake Nakuru, just to mention a few.

Life was blissful. Never in my life had I felt so complete and happy. I was glad to rise every morning to see her beautiful smile. Life was at its best. I was living my dream.

She loved climbing hills. We conquered Lukenya hills, Ngong and Mt Longonot with ease.

One day I decided to surprise her. I asked her to pack her warmest clothing and to prepare her climbing gear. We drove all the way to the foot of Mt Kenya. It was a very memorable moment for me. Once in a while she would hug me as we climbed up while claiming that she needed some of my warmth. Occasionally we would pause to publicly show affection. We captured the moments on camera, perhaps to show to our children if they asked about our youthful days.  I could not wait to get to the top. It was cold, but at the peak of Kenya’s largest mountain, the Nelion peak, I breathed a sigh of relief. We posed for a few photos. It was an ecstatic moment to be there.

I reached for my small bag and took out a beautiful golden ring. I raised it up for her to see. I then got to my knees, the cold snow eating right into my knee. I was just about to ask her to marry me when something very strange happened: I heard a cock crow!

Shortly afterwards I heard a rusty creak of a door. In my half asleep state I heard someone walk in.

“Wake up sleepyhead.  We don’t want you to be late for your graduation.” A soft voice said.

I recognized the voice: It was my mother. She had just ruined my best dream, just as I was about to get to the climax!

“Mum, I don’t want to wake up. I want to lie on this bed and dream about love.” I answered her.

“Son, what do you know about love?” She quizzed.

Only then did it occur to me that I knew nothing about love. It all felt so real. I wondered whether  I was in love.

THE CLOBBERING IN CASUALTY

Stanley left St Paul’s a happy man. The Sunday family day had been a great success. After all he had eaten the delicious food to his brim. He thought of the task ahead of him: going to casualty for admission. He had an urge not to show up, but then he remembered that Prof Obel would be on his neck the next day during the post admission ward round.

He trotted from his room headed towards the hospital oblivious of what was going to transpire in the next few minutes. He eventually reached the admission room or room six as it is commonly called.

Ann Kimama was delighted to see him.

“So here comes Stanley the narrator. The only man in medical school who is capable of making the crowd wild with his narrative. Man, you stole the show during CU’s elders’ night!” She exclaimed.

The man of the Nomanda fame smiled at himself, glad that he had finally hit the limelight with his artistic or rather theatric skills.

“The second part is coming up during the medical school catholic community elders night on 2^nd September. It is titled Kalistati Wakaimati. Kosa uchekwe!” Stanley answered with a high voice so as to attract the attention of Nancy, the pretty pre-intern from Ukraine.

He scanned the room. There were four girls in the tiny room and one man. There was no doctor or a nurse. Wanini was busy clerking a patient with Kimama at her side. Nancy and Faith were sitted around the doctor’s table discussing Framingham’s criteria for heart failure. There were five patients. He went through each one of them. Only one was a medical case and Wanini was busy taking history. The others were surgical.

One particular patient struck his attention. He was a young man on oxygen and with a drip running through his veins. A relative was sitted at his side.

Stanley joined Nancy and Faith. The discussion was sweet as it was all about stuff I had taught him the previous day. He was quick to discharge the street knowledge. Nancy stared in amazement. She wondered how he was able to retain so much.

Their discussion was interrupted by the relative. He approached Anne and Wanini, who referred them to the other students.

“Madaktari nisaidieni. My patient seems not be breathing.” He said hysterically.

With swag Stanley rose from his seat, his double barreled guessing tube (stethoscope) ready to swing into action. He attempted to look for a carotid pulse which he could not feel. He asked Nancy to confirm what he thought as he propped up the patient’s bed and checked the drip to make sure it was still running. The oxygen was alright.

Nancy concurred: there was no pulse and breathing was caput. The heart was silent with no audible heart sounds.

Stanley rushed to the neighbouring treatment room. He informed the nurse about the condition of the patient. He tagged along, examined the guy. He then disconnected all the apparatus and pronounced the patient dead.

A few minutes later an elderly man with a thinned out scalp arrived. He was in his mid sixties. He was well built. His musculature was evident. He was boiling with anger. It was then that the drama started.

Before the male nurse knew it two outrageous men were on him. They showed no mercy. They clobbered him with their rough fists till he fell to the ground. Next on line was Stanley who received a few blows though he was able to avoid most of them. Unfortunately those he avoided landed squarely on Nancy the pre-intern.

Faith realized that hell had broken loose. She quickly hid under the patient’s bed. Wanini and Kimama watched in awe as their colleagues were being battered, unaware that they were also going to be victims. The two men headed for them.

Wanini tried to explain that she was only a fifth year medical student but her explanation fell on dead ears. She found herself being tossed off the ground. Her fragile feminine body hit the wall a few times as they manhandled her. Anne Kimama was not lucky either. A significant number of blows landed on her pretty face, temporarily disfiguring her well manicured face. At the earliest opportunity she sneaked out and ran all the way to her room in block D traumatized.

The male nurse had barely recovered from the beating when they reinforced their power on him. Stanley was in shock. How could relatives assault medical students because their patient had died? He was still pondering this when he realized they were not yet done. He quickly grabbed Nancy, pulled her behind him and protected her from the blows of the angry men.

After they were satisfied that they had avenged the death of their loved one they went out shouting on the corridors clearly stating that doctors in that hospital were negligent. They claimed that the doctors watch the patients die without doing anything about it.

It was only then that security guards appeared.

Nobody noticed Faith as she jumped from underneath the bed and made for the exit.

Wanini attempted to finish her physical examination, but the patient refused. She clearly stated that she did not want to be admitted in a hospital where such events happen.

You should have seen Stanley as he came for Bible study later that evening. He had the look of an old man. Everyone in there could tell there was something amiss. His life was in turmoil. When the sweet Lydia asked him what was wrong he shrugged his shoulders and answered. “I have spent five hours in casualty without admitting any patient. Obel will be on my neck tomorrow morning!” 

The day I did surgery dressed like a priest

I remember that fateful Friday as if it was yesterday. I had been on call for two days, and I left the hospital at 7.50 am to dash home to grab a shower before going back to the district hospital where I was working as an intern. No sooner had I gotten home than my phone rang. It was maternity, and anyone who has been there knows how the story goes…. You know, rifaroos and emergencies as the sisters like calling them. I dashed into the bathroom and showered as fast as I could. There was no time to eat breakfast, for the ambulance was waiting outside. I got to the hospital, and there was an emergency for real. She was a primigravida, who had been draining liquor for more than 3 days in a certain dispensary which did not deem it appropriate to refer a patient who was clearly having obstructed labor. Somehow the fetus was still fighting, but the distress was obvious. A foul smell was emanating from the birth canal and the fetal heart rate was misbehaving. For once I heard those acceleration and decelerations that they describe in obstetric books.
I quickly prescribed a caesarian section, and not long afterwards, the patient was wheeled to theatre as evidenced by the meticulous nursing cardex. Nurses love to cover their asses. As the anesthetist was receiving the patient, I scanned through the cardex. It had all the details anyone wishing to crucify you would look for, including the time when the ambulance came for me and when I arrived at the hospital. These things are recorded in real time.
I rushed to the changing room to put on my scrubs in readiness for the operation. My fellow intern, Dr. Doreen, had just arrived. I welcomed her to theatre. The anesthetist was ready and the nurse was busy setting for us. Dr. Doreen and I had scrubbed, and we were waiting for gowns to be placed on the cart. Then something unexpected happened. The nurse announced that there were no gowns. I was furious. It was true that we had done a couple of caesarian sections the previous night, but that was no excuse as to why there were no gowns. The nurse explained that the autoclave machine had broken down in the wee hours of the night, and the maintenance guys could not figure out what was wrong with it. In short, the gowns were stuck in the damn machine.
We stared at each other as we pondered our next move. In our naivety, we thought of referring until one of the nurses suggested that we improvise. Believe it or not, she got two abdominal sheets for us, and we put them on. The sides were clipped with artery forceps. One nurse walked into theatre as we just about to start operating and her words echo in my ears up to date. She joked about it. “Dr. Mburu and Dr. Doreen, have you changed professions? The place of priests is in the altar where they consecrate bread and wine into the body and blood of Jesus Christ, not theatre, where blood is the order of the day.”
As the anesthetist gave us the go ahead to cut through the skin, another nurse joked. “Mass is about to begin! In the name of the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit.” We literally waded through the operation, and our encounters in there are events that made me very sad. As we made a smile incision in the lower uterine segment of the uterus overt chorioamnionitis was staring at us. A foul irritating smell that is similar to that of pungent chlorine hit our nasal cavities, but then we were keener on extracting the fetus. It could not get worse. As I handed over the kid to the receiving nurse, I saw her face drop. I could tell it was a fresh still birth. They tried resuscitating to no avail as I battled with bleeders. Streaks of blood were dripping to the floor as if it was a stream. I tried packing, but the bleeding was still torrential. I requested the anesthetist to pump more oxytocin for the uterus to contract more, but that did not help either. I requested the sister to call the lab to get blood for the dying mother but as it is in our labs, there was no blood. It was only when I clumped the uterine arteries that the bleeding stopped. I asked for plasma expanders, only to be shocked that a whole district hospital did not know what those were. At that moment the MO called the consultant to bail us out. Our woes were far from over. Long before we knew it the anesthetist mumbled something that I did not quite get. I watched as his instincts swung into action. The patient was still lying supine on the table with an open abdomen as the consultant scrubbed when the anesthetist did something unexpected. He reversed the general anesthesia he had administered to the patient. We stared at him in shock. I could not understand why he would do such a thing given that our patient had almost gone into shock. Then he explained. “The cylinder that supplies oxygen is out of gas, and there is no reserve. I had to reverse GA so that she can breathe for herself.”
As I paved way for the consultant to proceed with the operation, I felt a wave of sadness sweep through me. My heart was hollow. I chose to become a doctor so that I can help the suffering, but how do I do that if I do not have equipments and drugs to do achieve my goals? The consultant, just like us, was dressed in an abdominal sheet, which served as a substitute to a gown.
To bring this story to a culmination, I wish to state that the mother eventually left the operating table stable, without a child and without a uterus. Please bear in mind that the child she was carrying was her first, and sadly, her last.

BOB’S HALF CHANCE

We waited for the internal medicine department to allocate us wards after doing our end of Surgery rotation exams anxiously. When the list was finally posted most of us were sad. Our hopes of having our firm II group intact were dashed. We lost our mother Nelima to 7D, which meant we would not have much drama in 7B. We also lost Muriuki, the charged student who would provide all the answers when the rest of us were blank. We also lost Maryam, the beautiful soft muslim girl who often spoke very rapidly. We however gained Virg, the tiny girl who is very vocal, perhaps in an attempt to compensate for her small size. We officially welcomed her into the group by making her the first person to present in the ward teachings.

As always the people brought the impunity they had picked from Surgery. Bhavin continued with his role as the group representative, assisted by his right hand lady, the able Maureen. The rest of the crew remained the same: Lucas (the naughty boy), Junie, Lynne, Muyira (my twin), Ekiru, Mahaa, Souha(drama queen), Ruki, Mutiso, and Rono( the latecomer).

Over the few weeks we were in 7B we enjoyed some very quiet moments. We had wonderful registrars eg Hassan (the very charged funny guy who thinks Wajir is in Somalia). The consultants have neurologic deficits, no wonder it is a neurology ward. Ndege, one of the consultants was very sarcastic. He once told Bhavin that if he was asked to describe an elephant he should not start by saying it has 99 hairs on its tail but rather start by describing its enormous trunk, ears and tusks.

We continued to depict our blondness during the ward rounds. I remember Njai was once presenting a patient with high sugars, ketones in blood and metabolic acidosis. When asked for a diagnosis he gladly shouted sepsis instead of diabetic ketoacidosis!

Anyway I now have to move on to the subject matter of this story. During our stay in the ward we got to interact with people outside this medical school such MO interns, nursing students and Clinical officers.

We had been in ward 7B for two weeks when she made a grand entrance. We were doing a major ward round keenly listening to Souha rap her patient’s history when the tapping of her high heeled shoes announced her arrival. From my advantaged view I saw all the dudes in the group look up. Even Muyira (who is usually unconcerned and unmoved by such matters) noticed her. Everyone seemed stunned by her great looks. Momentarily Dr. Onyango stopped listening and inspected her. If Kulecho was with us he would probably have written another piece on beauty from the east. She was hot. Her face had this pleasing look that was attractive and impressive to look at. Her dimples were better than those of the beauty queens we see in miss India contests. Her smile was warm and golden. Her personal physical attractiveness was one of its kind. I guessed she was created using the purest clay with a perfect finish.

Her eyes were amazing. They gave me this notion that she could see through all our hearts. They were probably the most beautiful eyes I had seen during my twenty three years of life under the sun. Her nose was molded nicely, with very pleasant lips at a reasonable distance beneath it. Her ears were also very well fine tuned. I counted a set of three ear piercings, on which some beautiful silver earrings were suspended. Her hair was black and long, completing the view of a perfect creation.

She had a light chocolate complexion. I was tempted to analyze her beyond the face but Dr. Onyango suddenly regained his composure and shot a question at the mesmerized Bob. The rest of the ward round was uneventful, but I caught Bob stealing side glances at her whenever an opportunity arose.

I could see he had seen and fallen in love with what he had seen. He admitted that he had never seen such striking beauty in his life as we had a palaver over lunch. He was eating what has become his favourite meal in the mess: fries with steak. We suggested that he could invite her for lunch or better still admit her in his room on the fourth floor of block B for complete active management. He just smiled wryly though I could see the thought excited him.

Over the next two weeks he did a background search. The information he had suggested she was the clinical officer intern in our ward. He opted for a strategic approach to this hot catch. It was a well thought of plan, but its execution was untimely. We had two more weeks in 7B when he launched his missile. He was loaded with a quiver of arrows, hot pick up lines and sharp confidence that no game could resist. I noticed they would be in the backbench of the ward rounds chatting amicably or giggling at each other childishly. He would faithfully report his progress to me as an attempt to make me jealous. He had gotten her name and was doing very well in creating a rapport. He was yet to get her number.

During our last week in 7B something extraordinary happened.  She failed to appear for a major ward round.  As we moved from room to room Bob kept staring at the crowd, hoping that she would show her beautiful face. At one point he asked if I had spotted her. As his hopes for seeing her dwindled, a young man announced that he was the new C.O. intern. I saw Bob’s face drop with disappointment. It then struck him that she had left without saying goodbye despite the fact that he did not have her digits.

He complained bitterly about the recent turn of events. His mood became labile as he recounted with nostalgia the few chances he had to advance his game plan.

Later that afternoon another dramatic event happened. We were sited around the table close to the nursing station listening attentively to Dr. Sokwala teaching about cerebral vascular diseases when she made a sudden appearance. She approached the desk cautiously. She talked to the medical officer intern briefly before looking in our direction. Lucas, Muyira, Mutiso and Rono were aware of her presence. For a moment there was a blank stare as her eyes met Bob’s.

All of a sudden I saw Bob rise from his seated position oblivious of the effort Dr. Sokwala was putting into the teaching. He walked majestically towards her. Then I noticed that there was a significant shunting of blood from essential organs such as the brain and the kidneys to a very peripheral organ which serves recreational functions! He was clearly burning in the fire she had lit.

At that point I remembered the words of my wise grandfather when I was still a young boy growing up in the village: Give a man half a chance and he takes it!

Since then I have not heard a word about her. My guess is as good as yours as regards the events that followed.

 

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.