…a crashing,
No, it’s more of a hush…like a whisper,
A soft breeze against one’s earlobes at dawn.
There is a sound, I know not how profound it is, only that my heart knows it ought to be still, and my spirit ready.
There is a sound, as warm and bright as the rising sun
It is a mellow as spring
My spirit tells me it’s time, time to get up and make magic
Time to dance with the wind, walk with lightning and soar with Eagles.
You are like a garden,
Your potential a mystery, you only give what you get.
So, I work until my heart shatters at dusk,
Listening, expressing, touching…anything I can to awaken you…
And you…
You my love look at me under the moonlight glow and smile,
You say, “I never asked for this,” and right there my soul drifts into the dark.
Unknown to you, unknown to me…it lingers only to remind me that not all gardens have to be tilled, some grow wild.
Smile…
It’s what my eyes behold when I pull out the phone from my bag. This is the third text you’ve sent me today.
You are like an uncomfortable space I inhabit,
I act like I loathe you yet I yearn to be in your presence.
So we have had our back and forth this year Stardust,
Isn’t t amazing that we are compelled to be sweet by timelines drawn by men?
You laugh at this, that easy laugh, I’m home.
Where are you Stardust?
When will you get here?
I know you are like a raging stream, always in a hurry yet ever changing.
Stardust, I want to be angry at you, angry with you, angered by you…is this normal?
You laugh and say, “Love, the Universe knows how much time each living thing has in the space we inhabit, you know, if your time’s up, it is and nothing not even a life-support machine can keep you up and running. See, men are sick.
We truly are because we thought it would be wise to name, label and restrict what the universe gave us…so we have days, dates, seasons and now everybody here is wishing me a merry christmas- and unlike you, I tell them it is a commercial season to get people to spend what they have without a thought…something that should be done every day!
Love, you always say that the part you love about Christmas is the part where you see everyone…and it sucks because we have eleven months to visit people, we have leave days to make at least two trips or set aside a day for this, but no…we wait till christmas to overfeed and overspend. I am getting ahead of myself, I’m just bummed that I never got to come home, to drive down and see you…
I’m a jerk. What are you doing with me? I guess it…no, it hurts, and more so when I know that it’s no excuse because every year I have 365 days, so if all I ever needed was just one day to be with you, then this one day that’s left is a reminder of all the 364 that I had.”
“What should I get you this Christmas?” you ask, and in between puffs, I compose myself. I collect my thoughts and sort them out as one would rice.
Lately, I seem to stumble upon my words, as I gaze into your eyes.
It must be the haircut.
Or is it that you seem vibrant, radiating an aura of sheer joy…or content, I don’t know. I never know how long your bliss lasts. I’ve never cared much about prolonging them.
“Get me whatever you decide upon, I’m not so big on Christmas,” and I lie back, my eyes roaming the ceiling as you puff your thoughts away…how is it that you take a long drag when you are afraid of speaking your mind? I keep my eyes on you and you smile.
“You have a certain power over me and you act like you don’t know you do, and that smile right there, that one…where your right cheek bulges and your eyes twinkle, it’s the best look you can ever wear.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“I don’t know, maybe I do, but sometimes like right before you looked my way I was thinking, why is it that hearts can break in more than one way yet they have to heal in the same way?”
“And…”
“You know what I am talking about Love, you may smile now, laugh now, or better yet, talk to me now, yet there are times when a slice of pain brushes your heart and I get a glimpse of it in your eyes, that stuff scares me. To know that I did that…is it worth it love, being here and now, back in my arms, is it worth it? Can I get you flowers for Christmas?”
I look into your eyes and instead of the black pool I always get engulfed in, I find myself thinking of yellow flowers and my head throbs…this is how I’ve learned to stay, apologies, moments where you’re remorseful and unlike you, I devour pain.
I let the hurt simmer and serve it chilled in words.
How is that we take one step forward and galaxies back, Stardust, did you know that a cage is still a cage, it matters not whether it’s in gentle hands or not.
I look at you and to stop the throbbing in my head say, “I want you to hold my hand this Christmas…” you smile and before I know it, I am in your arms, right where I should have been before you started all this talk of Christmas.
“I can’t do this Mark. I am not like you and you cannot expect me to turn a blind eye to all this, what I mean is that, a part of me will always be weary of your actions. I’ll be the kind of girlfriend who listens in on your conversations when I know it will do nothing but hurt me, and I am not for that, why hurt myself when I can ease myself of the pain?”
“What would you like me to do?”
“Get another job or something…anything but what you do.”
“I have worked on this for five years, created contacts, partnerships with hospitals and pharmaceutical companies, it is not an investment I can walk away from just like that.”
“Well, I guess that’s that then.”
“It is I guess and as much as I try, I have always known that I cannot have it all. Christine, let’s get you home. Thank you for taking the time to think this through.”
“Mark…”
He smiled at me, got me to my feet and we walked out of the restaurant hand in hand. Each step I took felt lighter, but when I got to the car, I could not bring myself to breathe.
My love had me and let me go like I was the wind.
What would he say for himself? Was he not going to ask me to re-evaluate my decision, or maybe at least beg? Six months of emotions and he was going to step back and watch me walk away, just like that? Why was I even at odds about it? I was the one who chose to step back from my love, why was I perplexed that he was not fighting for me? How was he to fight for something that wanted to be free of him?
But, it was not just something, it was me.
This was my love.
This was him and I…two people, two souls, one who lived in an alternate reality, who wanted the gifts, love, caresses and protection but not funded them. Oh my…my love was nothing like the riot act I knew about…my love wanted Mark under my terms and conditions and if they did not apply, then my love wanted out.
Had he made any ultimatums on his love?
As the driver made his way to my apartment, all I remembered were the times when we’d be at a party, at an event, anywhere in public and I’d catch him staring at me. His eyes, his body shifting ever so slightly to acknowledge my presence.
“You are quiet Christine, what is going on in that head of yours?”
“Nothing, I am just tired.”
“Don’t worry, we are almost there. I’m sorry I kept you up so late.”
“It’s okay, I am off tomorrow so I am not worried about getting sleep.”
“Sure.”
He did not utter a word until the driver pulled up right outside the flat where I stayed. Mark had been here thrice. He stepped out of the car and held the door for me and walked me to the stairs.
“So, you’d better go in and get some rest Christine, okay?”
“Mark, are you not angry or disappointed?”
“You made your decision Christine and I promised that I would respect it, I guess I’ll think about it when it finally sinks in, but for tonight I am more concerned about your well being.”
“Forget it Mark, what well being? How can you be so calm? Why won’t you fight for me or for us? Are you just going to let me go like that? Like I never meant anything…”
“Christine…sit down, just sit for a second and breathe.”
“Why should I breathe?”
“You’ll die if you don’t.”
“This is not funny Mark.”
“No, it’s not, but I change my mind. You are not a single rose in the dark, you are more the thorns that serve to protect the bud but often get in the way and hurt the petals while they’re in bloom. You put yourself down when you are conflicted Christine, now, let’s get you inside your apartment and you’ll sleep on this and wake up feeling refreshed tomorrow.”
“You are crazy.”
“You love me for it Christine and for the record, I never said I gave up.”
“Good, because here’s the deal, you do what you have to do, just don’t tell me about it, because I know from time to time my mind will come up with all these negative outcomes. But, I want you Mark and I want us to work.”
“We’ve been working Christine, haven’t you been around?”
“Shut up and stop being so charming!”
“Hey, at least I am charming. Goodnight love.”
“Goodnight love.”
I locked the door once he’d stepped back and walked to my bedroom, the radio was still one just like I’d left it and with a slow hum, it hit me. I had this love and I chose to keep it after knowing what it felt like to want to throw it away. My love had never left, it had only been undergoing an evaluation, but I was too invested, too optimistic to want out and Mark…he had his love.
Tell your love to stay where it is, I have mine.
Aziza felt the girl’s rage when she returned from the mainland. Lawama, who stood like a loyal steward, beside her, bowed when Aziza met his eyes, but even then, he was calm.
She looked at the girl and asked the guards to leave the room.
The girl’s rage was overpowering every being and as their queen all their fears and anxiety manifested in her spirit.
“You are upsetting the balance of the waters little girl.”
“The waters cannot be moved Aziza, how then can I be upsetting that which cannot be moved?”
“You talk like you’ve seen ten moons, but remember your place little girl. Now tell me, why are you so fueled by what would consume you from the inside?”
“Juhudi is blind and he is dying.”
“He is mortal, that is inevitable.”
“I know, but a part of me feels like I am responsible for whatever has befallen him. Aziza, can I see him and be with him before he dies?”
“Is that why you are like this?”
“Yes, wouldn’t you be angry at yourself if the one who raised you was dying while you had the gift of immortality?”
“You are like him little girl. You tell only what you choose to, but Lawama will keep a close on you, you may fool the world but you will never fool me.”
“Thank you Aziza.”
Swazuri stepped back and walked out of the room leaving Lawama in the company of Aziza. The sun had graced the mainland by now and she knew that Juhudi would soon take his last breath. She would bring the wrath of Ghadhabu on all of them, starting with Aziza.
She grew into her role. She knew they expected her to lose, but she only lived for the day she would get back to the mainland and see Juhudi.
The old woman, Aziza, was the one she bowed down to, in this realm. Her green eyes glistened here and whenever she asked about Swazuri’s training regimen, all Swazuri could do was say that all was well. She loved waking up to join Lawama in the battle ground, she loved sparring with the other warriors, and slowly her heart closed on the memories she had of Juhudi.
When the world went to sleep Aziza would sneak up to the surface to watch the Prince of Sirens play his flute. There were nights when she would send a wave towards him to acknowledge that she’d been pleased with him, but even then, the Prince never seemed to see her or accept the waves that she sent his way.
On this particular night, she approached Aziza with the request to visit the mainland.
“You do not belong there. This is your home.”
“It is my home indeed, Queen Aziza, however, all I ask for is one night on the mainland. I will return stronger and ready for the next stage of my training, please do not deny this humble request of mine.”
“If you so wish, then, I will accompany you.”
“No, the mainland is not worthy of your presence my Queen. Please, I need to this alone.”
“Fine, you will be accompanied by Lawama.”
“Thank you Your Majesty.”
Swazuri waited for the moon to awaken to her glory before she resurfaced on the mainland. Juhudi was seated on the sand, his fingers, working the flute that he called his own, his heart heavy and how weary he’d grown. Swazuri walked up to him and gently laid her head on his lap as he played, she had listened and watched him all these years but here he was and his sorrow too grave for her to bear.
When he stopped playing he touched her hair, his fingers weaving their way into her hair. “My Princess…are the gods mocking me, is this you Swazuri?”
“Can’t you see, it’s me?”
Swazuri sat up looking into Juhudi’s eyes but where she’d once seen blue now she saw white.
“What happened to you Juhudi? Can you really not see me?”
“You still ask too many questions, little one, the years have done this to me. You are of another realm where you do not grow old and weak, but here on the mainland, we grow into our frailty as the years go by.”
“Juhudi, you are a Prince! A Prince of the Sirens, and we both know that the Sirens do not grow old and weak, tell me, who did this to you?”
“You have grown into your powers Swazuri. Promise me one thing…”
“Anything Juhudi, what is it?”
“Promise me that you’ll not believe anything they tell you about your mother. She was a Queen by her own right, though not of the sea, but of the lake on the western side of this land.”
“What are you saying?”
“Your mother was Ghadhabu’s grand daughter my little one. All these years, I thought that time would come when we would all understand the ways of the goddess, but it hurt me when I learned of this, so they struck her for choosing to have you…they should not have, but they went ahead and did it, oh how the waters deny us sanity.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I could not tell you too that the one who trains you is my younger brother too, and the one you bow down to, my mother. I can speak freely now because my time here has come to an end.”
“What did they do to you Juhudi? Tell me and I will make them regret ever crossing my path, I will drown them in their own quest, just say the word and I will make them pay…all these years, and yet no one told me, no one told me…”
“I fell in love with a mortal. She had blue eyes. Sirens never came to the surface and when I was forced to choose between my heritage and her, I chose her…and for every child she bore, the goddess would send my brother when the child turned six, to train them in the fight against Ghadhabu.”
“So…you are my Father!”
“Forgive me little one…for seven years I loved and lost and the cycle would continue, the goddess mocking me, punishing me for loving a mere mortal, until Ghadhabu intervened, and now I cannot live to see what will become of you.”
“All these years…”
“Little one, listen…when my time comes, take me to your mother’s people and there will I rest. I have played this flute unto the goddess for centuries and what did I get in return? Pain and misery. Now, go back with Lawama and fulfill your quest, my little one, your mother would be proud of you. Swazuri, you are a Princess among men, a goddess among immortals, never forget that. Now go before my brother sends a wave for you.”
Aziza knew he was outside her hut as soon as the sun graced the skies. She removed her white robe, folded it and threw it into the golden chest beside her bed. She rubbed some soot from the koroboi on her face and then put on her black gown and carried her sack of trinkets out.
“Shikamoo Aziza, hujambo!”
“Marahaba!”
“I saw you watching us yesterday and I am sorry I could not come to you then.”
“Juhudi, is that you? Well, go and dance away, the moon is shining on the people on the other side of the Indian Ocean.”
“Aziza…you are the only one I talk to because the world is changing, the waves hit the shore harder every night, and the girl, she is going to summon him here again. I do not know what will become of us if he comes for the girl.”
She waited for him that evening, watching as he sang unto a goddess so envious that she’d struck her own daughter. He sang until the sound of the flute merged with the waves that hit the shore.
The little girl was sleeping beside him. Her wild hair would be filled with sand tomorrow, but it was her eyes that she yearned to look into.
The women at the market spoke of green eyes. The men thought it was like the ocean. No one cared much for a mad woman and they talked freely, their fears coming out of their lips in hushed whispers. She had seen the girl.
She had known her mother would never behold another sun if she left the Coast, but who could have stopped the hands of the goddess? She alone was life. She took as she pleased. She struck when she saw fit, but here was a girl, the one, she saw in her dreams.
Swazuri.
Princess of the lost souls.
Daughter of the Indian Ocean.
A girl among men, a goddess among spirits and a vengeful spirit in the land of the dead. She was here and even as she lay asleep curled at the feet of Juhudi, Aziza knew that no one would stop her once she set on her vengeful path.
Aziza stood when Juhudi stopped singing and he reached out for the little girl. How could he not see the force in the girl?
He who sang to a goddess should have known that he would be punished for loving another.
She lifted her veil and stared at him. Juhudi bowed, his hold on the little girl unwavering, but even as he walked back into the mainland, Aziza knew that he was a man doomed to love the one who belonged to another.
Our journey started long before my feet could meet the ground. It must have been past nine o’clock at night when we heard the chants outside your parents’ house. Your Father, Omutete, stood up and approached the door but it was your mother who knew it before they begun.
She pulled me aside and said, “You have to promise me that you will protect our daughter, listen, I know people think you are lazy and a drunk, but she needs a Father and you are the only one I trust. Do not even mention my people, because ever since I came here they have not bothered to visit me or send their best wishes. My own mother has forgotten me, but what would you expect of them given that I married beneath their expectations? Now, listen, I have wrapped some ten thousand shillings in this lesso and packed a few clothes for Maria. You have to go with her and protect her. I will not ask anything of you again, and Juma, you should not come back here. These people will take everything away from you when you can have three meals in a day.”
She placed you in my arms and threw the strap of the bag around my neck and pushed me out of the house through the small back door that led through the cow shed. I stood there for what seemed to be my whole life, thinking of a cold glass of busaa and a few women singing my praise. How could I have told you the truth then? For years, I went back to that night wondering what happened but nothing comes to mind. So, I held onto you and walked away carefully making my way through cow dung and maize fields until I got to the road where I boarded a matatu to Kisumu.
They said that my brother and his family were burned alive and their property destroyed by cattle rustlers, but I know that those were not rustlers. They were Omuchai, my brother’s rival, and his men out to avenge a business deal gone wrong. Weeks later I heard it on the radio that they believed I was also killed in the fire because I had gone to visit my brother that afternoon. Maria, I told you that our journey began long before my feet met the ground, but I was never prepared for the life of bitterness that followed.
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