a love story of sorts

         Its Saturday again and I can’t wait. I sit, apprehensive; not knowing what to expect. Will he say anything? Will he notice me? The dance begins again, and I don’t know which one I am. Am I the graceful dancer, led across the dance floor, or is this a different kind of dance. Am I the prey lying in the path of a predator, dancing the dance of death, dancing the dance of survival….

He says hallo, and my mind is silenced, drinking in those four letters, like the mighty saber of Zeus in the midst of a squabble of the inferior gods....

I slowly close my journal, the poem for spoken word night all but forgotten.  I am stunned at my own  inane fascination with this mishap of a man. You would think it would be a stud of insurmountable appeal; tall, dark, handsome, confident, self assured. Alas, no!

He adjusts his granny glasses, as the other hand unconsciously strangles a lock of unkempt dreadlocks sticking out at the nape of his well worn mohair hat. He is tall; lanky, almost stringy in appearance, with piercing mahogany brown eyes that turned shocking amber when he is brooding. It is the eyes, I conclude as he stares at me with a look which is a mix of utter disgust and complete bewilderment. I realize then that he had been going on for the past ten minutes or so about the internet connectivity problem in his Uni’ pad. Shaking myself back to reality, I scroll through the 10 options to fix the problem. Skipping the first few asinine ‘Have you plugged it in?’, ‘Have you registered with the server?’….seeing as they would rile up an already irritated geek; not something I wanted to see in my ‘prince charming’. I quickly direct him to Mr. Nyamiera, my supervisor, who looks like a scrawnier, stringier version of him. “It’s the eyes” I reassert as he slumps off  to Nyamiera’s cubicle. I watch him go, completely ignoring the tall curvy wench that is impatiently tapping my desk. The wench's name is Sue, who for some reason unbeknownst to man has made it her life's calling to ruin my perfectly heavenly days at my work-study stations. It doesn't matter if it is the Multimedia help center or the 24 hour study centre; she has a knack of always being there, in my face!

“If you are done ogling the 3rd  year maths ogre maybe I could get some service here!”

“It is biostatistics!” I snap as I give her one of my death stares. It unfortunately only serves to put a horrible knowing grin on her face, accompanied by her pretend-sweet “whatever…” Great! Now I was going to be the talk of the coven. I decide to painstakingly go through all the options in detail, ensuring I am as annoying as possible. It takes about 5 minutes before she gets up in an exaggerated huff and storms off to the team leader's desk since apparently I am making her late for a date or something. I whisper a grateful prayer heavenward. She is my last customer of the day and his highness is still talking to Nyamiera. I pull out my Springer texts in Statistics, flop it open with overdone flare and resume studying, periodically snatching glances at the pair. After 10 minutes of attempting to read what my mind could only discern as gibberish (Why was I taking Biostatistics again!) I give up. I figure I have only two options: succumb to ordering Biostatistics for the absolute beginner, which would cause red flags among my classmates, I having pretended  to be quit knowledgeable on the subject , or... doesn’t he give tutoring for 1st year students...

Abruptly, just as I think it, he looks my way. It would seem I said  'Eureka' out loud and he along with the rest of the room is looking at me with barely suppressed amusement. I pretend to have understood some cardinal law in statistics and begin scribbling furiously in my notepad, thankful of the fact that my dark mocha skin wouldn’t show my embarrassment. After a moment or two I stop doodling and plan out my scheme to get him, starting with applying for tutoring, making sure I get him and not scar-face Kayamba. Scar face is of course not his real name, his mother went with Jerome Akaya Kayamba. The name scar face is not intended to be derogatory per se.  He has this large ghastly scar that runs from his left temple to his chin, broken by groove of his left eye. Pretty much every body refers to him as scar face or SFK for short. I don't know when it started nor if it is a spin off the Lion King vilain Scar-face - Kayamba having a strickingly similar scaring. That aside, in my opinion, he knows as much about statistics as I did in my third year of high school. I am rather convinced he only got the job due to his uncanny photographic brain that can memorize anything under the sun within minutes - In other words he is a super crammer. There was also a rumor going round that he is quite the slavedriver.  I had to get his highness, not only for the obvious reason, but also if I want to not look like well, the coven in class, he is literally my salvation.



I look up to find that as I was spelling out my diabolical plan he has already left. With an exaggerated sigh, I put my books away and stare wistfully at the wall clock, wishing I could somehow make the remaining 2 hours of my work study disappear. I pull out my iPod and scroll down to Patrick Lumumba’s greatest speeches podcast. I have a public speaking contest coming up soon and the money is really good. Other contestants are probably listening to the likes of  Obama, Martin Luther King or Mahatma Gandhi.  I however wanted to keep my speech in house. Thus I decided it would draw inspiration from our very own homegrown orators, particularly Lumumba. He may be rather garrulous and a bit long winded at times but I believed if I combined him and the great orator, the Late Wamalwa, I had a conceivable chance of winning. Taking out my notepad, I stare in amusement for a moment at my doodling. As the first blast of  "We have crossed many oceans, we are not about to drown in ponds..." I begin to take notes.



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         The line is larger than I thought it would be. At the head is none other than the coven: Sue and her cohorts whose names no one bothers to remember. They mostly function as parrots, repeating everything Sue says or does. I can't tell whether they are here just to get under my skin, seeing as they are tourism and hospitality majors with non examinable minors in maths. What really gets to me is how they arrived before I did; they are never early for anything academic, and to be at the top of the line?! I bite back the bile rising in my throat and wait impatiently shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I send God another of my EMS delivery prayers, hoping that there will still be space for one student in His Highness' quota - I have taken to calling him that or Esquire,  his real name in my mind being rather unbecoming of the prince charming he is supposed to be. Prince Superfluous Omondi Okeng'o. Another case of ill-advised parents looking for 'unique' names. The desk clerk, a fellow work study and brilliant chemist called Zora (now that's proper creative naming!) finishes with the coven. As they walk out, Sue catches sight of me and smiles her Miss University smile, damn! I had a feeling she would find a way to get back at me for the media center affair, but this...

I finally get to the top of the line after another 10 students and Zora looks at me apologetically. She doesn't have to say anything.

"There is still space in Kayamba's group..." 

For five good minutes I weigh out my options, but finally desperation wins out. I decide if I can somehow attain a B grade with SFK in the midterm, I can somehow bump it up to a A- if I get  Esquire for the 4 weeks semester break.

"I am really sorry Pet, I really tried to hold it, but Sue wanted spots for the whole coven! Even Amanda and she majors in Sports & recreational science! Its like she had a vendetta out on someone!"

I quickly blow it off trying not to give away the fact that I was the intended target. I love her and still owe her though for trying.

"Anyone we know picked SFK too or am I the only one dying a slow death this term?"

The moment I say it I regret it. He is sitting right behind Zora filling out some forms, within clear earshot of our conversation. I had not noticed him there before and though he didn't look up from his work I am sure he heard me. I cringe and try to ignore the fact that I had just insulted my only hope to pass biostat's class. I turn back to Zora and she is giving me an unreadable look. I hope I am seeing things because it would seem I offended her with what I said, which could not be true. We all made the same judgment of SFK, didn't we? I decide it is probably because she was aware he was behind her and the whole loyalty thing. She is one of those bloodhound friends, fiercely loyal; the reason she is my most trusted one. Strangely Zora continues to be cold as I sign up for tutoring, even when I start up a discussion on the weather or her favourite topic, election year. I make a mental note to bump it up to two Saturdays' extra tutoring money; it was never fun having Zora angry with me, even when it was completely uncalled for. I finish signing up and sheepishly slip away without having to say anything to SFK, barely saying goodbye to Zora. I feel her disapproving eyes follow me out but I am running late for economics with the crazy professor who likes being 'creative' in his punishments, so I shrug it off.



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         To my ire I was 10 minutes late and he was already well into his usual opening monologue. I tried to slip in the back unnoticed but Hawk eyes caught me out. I am now standing at the end of his desk, calling down the rain as he likes to call it, infront of 60 snickering classmates. I spend the next forty minutes before tea break strongly considering dropping out of the class and other less savoury thoughts while trying to catch what he was saying  through my irritation - and to think economics was my favourite subject!  At tea break Hawk eyes has me join him for coffee which of course translates to no lunch for me (or supper for that matter). Like every student that was ever late for his Monday class, I will have to buy him a double mocha cappuccino with golden syrup and topped with cinnamon and crushed almond. It is aptly named nectar of the gods for two reasons: it is immorally good and  insanely expensive! We sit down in the corner booth and he picks up the menu. I send another EMS skyward, hoping he will choose anything else! Sadly, after barely glancing at the menu he promptly calls the waitress, a cheerful plump teenager called Nnyakhani - whom I tutor on weekends for her TOEFL/SATS exam. She is hoping to do her undergraduate degree abroad - She looks at me sympathetically as he takes his order; nectar of the gods and a queen bagel?! I must have really made him mad. I ask for water and brace myself for the tirade sure to come..

" You know Petneira, you have never been late for my class. May I venture to ask why in God's good name you would think I would excuse you, especially as you tried to wiggle yourself into the corner unnoticed?"

The question is posed with such a quiet but steady voice that I know I am in deep. Many others have been late but have always come in through the front and tried to excuse themselves directly. They have always had to do some embarrassing thing or other, but as I think of it, never as long as I did. I think it best to remain mum as for the life of me, I cannot think of any worthy answer. The lecture last through out the coffee break and finishes with him ordering an energy drink with extra ice to go, which I also have to pay for. Cursing at my day's good fortune, I pay the bill and rush out to beat him to class. The rest of the lesson goes smoothly and I get to sit down and take notes. I am still smarting from the bill and am only able to write notes in the last 20 minutes. I make a mental note to borrow notes, knowing there will be a R.A.T (random assessment test) in the next lesson. At the end of the class, Hawk eyes, not satisfied yet with the punishment I have already suffered calls me aside and gives me extra homework - a 20,000 word report on the economics of time, really?! As I leave the class I am right ready to cry when I spot Zora waiting for me in the courtyard, still giving me the look. I hurry over, pretending to be oblivious to the stare and begin a long monologue about what I have just gone through but before I can even get through the first few sentences she interrupts me.

" I really can't believe you!"

I am taken aback by the forcefulness with which she says those words. Zora is never one to raise her voice let alone shout. I have never seen her this mad before, and I have known her for 15 years! I ask her to tone down her voice and talk rationally but this only serves to make her even more mad. She screams at me for a good ten minutes, making the professor's punishment seem like a holiday. She ends with a command to go and apologize to Kayamba forthwith or she will never speak to me again, then proceeds to stomp off without so much as a good bye. I am completely at loss at what has just transpired and I am quite shaken. I rake my brain for anything other than my off handed (though quite offensive if I think about it) joke that could have set her off like that. I decide for the sake of not losing the best friend I have ever had to find SFK as soon as possible.



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         I had learnt from Jeremy, a tutor at the student help center and good friend of SFK that he likes to slip away to think in the Arboretum on Saturday afternoons. It is 3.30 pm, the tutoring session is at four  and I have been searching Arboretum for nearly 2 hours now. By slip away Jeremy should have warned me that he meant disappear. I am frustrated and completely spent from my search. I give up and begin to walk dejectedly back toward the entrance when I hear someone call my name in a raspy voice. I turn and there stands SFK. I am quite ready to kick him in the shins and be done with it, but since I promised Zora ( who is still not talking to me) I pull out my sweetest smile.

"Hi S...Kayamba"

"J told me you wanted to see me"

I swallow at the look of distaste on his face.

"Yes, I need to talk to you about the other day. I owe you an apology for what I said."

"Well, lets hear it"

I go into a long monologue about being sorry to have implied that I wouldn't do well if he taught me and how I believe he is truly my only hope. After my lengthy and in my opinion quite sincere apology he still has the hard look on his face. I am bewildered .

" So you are not apologizing for calling me scar face?"

I am blank. I had no clue this was the reason Zora, and apparently he was upset with me. Before I can recover enough to make some kind of apology, He walks off . I try to catch up but to no avail. After about 300m I stop, out of breath. I walk slowly to the side of the road and plop down frustrated. I just did not get it. I couldn't understand why they were so mad. I mean, didn't every one call him that, well, not to his face, but surely. He couldn't possibly be so annoyed over a little teasing. After about 20 minutes, I get up resolved to explain to Zora that I tried to apologize, I did my part. I was running late for my tutoring anyway.



I reach my room and find Nnyakhani sitting on the doorstep. I apologize for keeping her waiting and explain to her about Kayamba. I fumble with the keys for a few seconds, before finally getting the door open. As I invite her in I notice she is rather quiet; usually she would be rambling on about her week or apologizing about the thing with Hawk eyes and offering to pay for supper. She remains mum even as I offer her tea and when I ask about her week. I stop and look at her; the expression on her face looks like a cross between anger, indecision and exasperation. Not her too!!

"Umm… 'khani, out with. What is it?"

"I can't believe you are that kind of person Pet! You heartless, ignorant....!!"

She stops, biting her lip to stop from crying. Okay, I know this is bad.

"Please, tell me! Tell me why I am heartless and ignorant. Please! I know I was wrong to say what I said, but the reaction you guys are having is way to excessive. I tried to apologize! Thats why I was late! He just stormed off. Please, help me understand!!!"

"Are you the only clueless bafoon in the whole uni?"

I ignore the insult and wait for her to explain. At least she was talking to me, unlike Zora. After what seems like eternity - apparently she was deciding on the prudence of explaining to me why they were all going nuclear over my offhanded remark - she sits me down and begins to explain.

"You want to know why?" She says in a low irritated tone,"Do you know why he has the scar..."



I collapse on a chair opposite 'Khani, stunned as she finishes the last part of her story. My heart is right ready to burst inside my chest and tears well up in my eyes. I let them fall down my cheeks. I can't believe it. I am completely lost for words and ashamed of myself. I realize now why they are so mad; I deserved worse. Nnyakhani stands and comes over and hugs my shoulders as I cry quietly, the anger gone out of her.  "You really didn't know....."

After a while I sit up and set my shoulders. I know what I have to do now. I wipe the tears from my eyes and ask Nnyakhani to sit down and we start the session. At the end, she offers to buy me supper but I ask for a rain check. I have a lot to do. I give her a hug and thank her for telling me.

"Nnyakhani, could you invite Zora to the poetry thing tomorrow, she is not talking to me, but I really want her there. And if she could bring him along.." She nods in understanding and walks off, the bounce back in her walk. I smile and go back in. I take out me notepad and look at my speech. It was in for a lot of reworking.



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I sit at end of the first row, where all the other contestants sat whispering among themselves. I knew they were talking about me, but atleast I knew this time, it was to do with the bizarre out fit I had chosen to wear. They probably couldn't decide whether it was the novelty of getting to see my right arm and leg bared for the first time, or the ghastly scarring that covered about 80% of the skin on both of them. After what Nnyakhani told me, I knew I had lost touch. I was taken back to the night responsible for the scars. It had been so long that the memory had faded a bit. Now, as I looked at my right side, I realized I was not self-conscious about it I any more. I felt proud to wear them, a badge of victory over evil. As I waited for my turn (I was last, yeah, the whole Petneira thing) I periodically look back at the crowd. Sadly, I still couldn't spot them anywhere. It hurt a little bit, I really wanted them to hear me. I shrug it off, knowing the grape vine will get my speech to them eventually.



"Last but not least, Please give a round of applause for Petneira Glondel Chepyego!"



I close my eyes for a moment, this time sending a thank you prayer to God, then walk slowly up as I bask in the applause. It stops abruptly and whispers errupt in the crowd as the spotlight falls on me and everyone sees the scars. I wait a while for the whispers to die down, and smile at the crowd. I breath in deeply and start....



"Careless speech, wreckless words - a whisper, a snicker, an offhanded remark. The power in them only the bearer knoweth not.

Many of you here are aware of the knickname, scar face, afforded to one Kayamba. I believe however, you have all had the prudence and common sense not to call him it  to his face. However I, in a spat of verbal diarrhoea that I cannot take back, did just that.

See, I had a lethal mallady. I had become complacent, ignorant, air headed if you will. I had forgotten the power in words, in speech. Though I knew not at the time the reason for the origin of the name, the scar on his face, I should never have let such words leave my mouth. What however was more criminal, I did not see the evil in my words, and my prognosis was dire. I have however come to learn the origin of the scar, and I am not only ashamed, but shocked at how far I had fallen, how much I had become amnesic to something that was so close to my own heart. I had let the scars heal and be covered up with obstinate ignorance that grew and gave fruit to carefree naivete. I was awed that I had forgotten the words that had once been etched in my memory...



It had been a good day, the harvest was bountiful, and we were in a celebratory mood. It had been a hard year but, as a single mind we had turned everything around and now we sat basking in our good fortune. We slaughtered 2 goats and and gathered in the verandah, joyfully thanking our maker for his blessings. At the height of the celebrations, we gathered around a bon fire and sang songs of old, of thanksgiving.

That is when they came. They surrounded us and began to strike, with machete, club and stones, they tore into us. Why they were doing this, I knew not! I watched as our men tried to fight them off to no avail, and were cut down viciously. They set our stores and fields of harvest aflames, torching our house as well. They kept shouting " stupid foreigner! Thieves! Land grabbers! Stupid foreigner, we will teach you today!"



I did not understand why. Why were they so angry, what had made them hate us this much. What had turned them into such monsters! One came for me and my grandmother ran to my rescue, hugging me into her and holding me tight to her breast. I felt each blow as they cut her down, with machete, clubs and kicks. I heard her mourn, with each blow. I could not cry anymore, my voice lost from screaming. She never let go of me,  even in death, and they threw us into the bon fire, assuming us both dead. I felt the flames slowly eating my side but I was too numb to feel anything anymore. After what seemed like forever, the sound of them started to fade away and finally dissappear. I heard the sirens in the distance as my consciousness slowly ebbed away.



It had been before an election. Degenerate leaders using divisive and denigrate speeches, convinced the masses to turn on each other, neighbour on neighbour, resulting in a blood bath. Our crime had been being different, of the wrong tribe. I still did not understand. We had lived there for 5 generations. We had bought land, we had married and had children, in harmony. How could words of  a few men change those that had been our neighbours, our friends, into bloodthirsty animals. simply words?



Their words never left me even as I left there forever, they handiwork forever with me, and in me. The scars their ever present calling card. And even as I grew older I was never allowed to forget, with my peers giving me the names " scar face, nyamachoma, walking barbeque, mummy". They did not know why I had the scars, they did not know the story, but with their careless words, they constantly reminded me of what I had lost. Their words were like a knife digging into my heart, till I could bear it no more. I chose finally to cover the scars. I wanted a life free of their memory, free of the constant reminder of the power of words.



Slowly, they forgot about the scars, and I gradually became normal. From time to time, my peers wondered at the peculiar clothing I wore, and my utter refusal to go swimming, but nothing more, they forgot and I forgot.



Then came this week. It would seem that my need for forgetting the scars had grown into full blown amnesia. I did not realize that in forgetting, I had allowed myself to become one of them. Those that were careless, heartless, thoughtless; letting their words pour from they mouths without a second thought. I realize now that I was wrong. Wrong to forget. To hide that which would ever remind me of the power of words. To keep to myself my story, and in the process allowing the cycle to continue, the cycle of ignorance and naivety.



No, today I stand here to remind myself of the power in words. I must remember. It is time for me to tell my story and to show the scars again. I must never forget. And hopefully in so doing, never ever let this, happen to anyone else."



As I finished, pointing at my right side, the crowd had gone deathly quiet. I knew it had been a gamble, but I felt good and for once in my life, truly free. As I bow, the applause starts and grows into a roar of hoots and clapping. As I straighten I realize I had received a standing ovation, the first of the evening.

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         I finally got home after much furor of collecting the 1st prize. It was one of the best things I had ever experienced. The only downside was that it would seem Zora and Kayamba had decided to skip the contest. I sit at my desk and place the trophy down. I begun to sob. I wanted more than anything to share this moment with Zora. She had been with me through so much, been there for me when people had called me names because of my scars. We had been through the wringer together. I realized that was why she was so annoyed with me. I had become like one of those people who had teased me, who she had fought for me.  I realized how I must have hurt and disappointed her, she having gone through worse than what I had.



She had lived through the genocide in Burundi and fled to Kenya with a group of refugees, she the only surviving member of her entire village. She had been taken in by a Rwandese family that had renamed her Zora and taken care of her. We first became friends in primary school, after one day when I was being bullied about the scars and she came to my defense. We both lost and got a thorough beat down. That day bonded us together and we were inseparable ever since.



And then there was Kayamba. I thought back to what Nnyakhani had told me. They had come for him too. He was only 11 then and had just gone through initiation into manhood. He and his initiation brothers were into their third week of training and their circumcision wounds had just healed. It happened on the 3rd day of the week when they were coincidently in the height of celebrations, partying away. I figure they had thought that was when we were least expecting them. They attacked him and his brothers just as ruthlessly as they had done my family. The scar on his face was from where a makeshift sword had slashed across his face. It was one among many, on his back and arms, hidden as mine were beneath clothing. Her words never stopped ringing in my head, playing over and over.  He had been a little apart from the group when the attack started and they had not spotted him. He could have gotten away unscathed and could have run away. He had however, spotted them going after the youngest of the brotherhood, just 9 years old, and he just couldn't leave him. He had rushed in using his hands to field off most of the blows and fighting his way to the boy, protecting him like my granma had, his actions saving the boys life, leaving him with scars.



The sobs finally quietened to silent tears. I dragged another handful of kleenex from the box and wipped down my face and sighed. That is when I realized I was not alone. I must have been so caught up in the moment and what had happened, that I had completely missed the pair sitting at the edge of my bed. I almost jumped out of my skin crashing out of my chair before I realized who it was.



"Zo..Zora..., how..you...um...hi"



The hard look had melted from her face and she looked at me with the same look I remember from when we had first met. Sitted next to her was none other than Kayamba. I could have kissed her right there.



" Hi guys, um, I owe you both the biggest apology. I am so so sorry."



Before I could continue, Kayamba interrupted -  who to my amazement was not scowling at me like before but was actually smiling!



"Petneira. I already got it many times over..."

I looked at them both, I had no clue what he was talking about. Seeing that I didn't seem to understand what he meant, he went on to explain that after more nagging than he would ever want to receive again in his life, 'Khani had convinced them to come to the contest. They had slipped in at the back, in the shadows, just before the second last contestant. They had still been pretty mad but 'Khani had said that they would understand once I was on. He took my hand and led me back to the chair and sat me down.

"Zora had told me about her life but she never mentioned about what you had gone through. I thought you were just an uptight, thoughtless, air-headed, arrogant, moronic...

"I get the picture!"

"However, I don't now. Thank you for the speech.That was apology enough for me. That, and watching you sob like a baby. You are a terrible crier, I mean really..."

I wanted to punch him and hug him at the same time. Zora was busy giggling herself silly.

I was happy though.

I made them dinner, and we had a long touching conversation and I realized how amazing he really was, even when he never stopped making fun of me. I saw them off  and went to sleep at about 2 a.m., smiling like a cheshire cat. He still promised to help me pass statistics, and prove himself to me. To my angst, he also promise to work me like a donkey - well, it was not a big price to pay, considering my crime.



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         I switch off the iPod as I he comes in. I had taken a second shift in the 24-hour study center, partly to pay for a trip to Mombasa and partly because he came to study here  every Friday. I  take out my books and smile as he walks my way. He had noticed me a couple of weeks ago when he came in and since then had started coming over to study with me, though he swore it was because my computer had the fasted network speed. He sits down and says hallo, and for a few seconds my mind pauses, every nerve in my brain committed to memorizing everything about this moment, the sound of his voice,  as he says those four letters, the look on his face, the way the muscles move as he talks. I shake myself as I realize he has caught me staring, grinning at me. I shift my gaze to my books and pretend to start reading. After a while I look up and he is engrossed in his books oblivious to the outside world.

I drink him in.

I love his eyes, a lovely chestnut brown, with a beautiful dark ring right around edges. He has wonderfully long lashes and the perfect mouth, his face the most handsome thing I have ever laid my eyes on. I really don't know how I had missed it before. I hardly ever notice the scar anymore.

He feels me staring and looks up grinning that smile I have come to love and live for.

"You really should study, I don't want you tarnishing my good name as a tutor in the exams next week.."

I smile at him and nod. I close the Economics! what its all about! hand-out and open my statistics book. I look across the room and notice Sue sitting with His Highness. To imagine there was a time I would have given anything to be her. I chuckle to myself and get back to studying; the midterm won't pass itself.