“The song is The Lost Get Found by Britt Nicole. The book is Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. The time is late quiet night, save for the bearable running tap noise. And the bulb is flickering: Now dim, then bright and dim again. A meal? Well, no meal. But there are 3 orange peels already and one used sheet of Royale petal soft tissue. Is this the year I write? I will call it the Plane Year. The year I fly.”
These are imagined words probably playing in Edna’s heart and mind as she sits late into the night. Her pregnancy and insomnia religiously releases her at 1 am, everyday, before which she takes the time to read the Bible and write her book.
Dinner comes late, if it at all does. No exercise, less sleep; less than 6 hours a day, against medical wisdom. It is not healthy living but who cares. It can only get your goat. As long as the fingers are on her laptop; a Lenovo R60, which like a good mother has seen her through all, lonely moments included, 1 am is always a minute away. She can wait.
Not that she is lonely, but of late she’s taken writing with a new energy. Not idle writing but writing for the publisher. After every 2 chapters, she emails them to me to read, review and send back my comments.
When an egg hatches, it brings forth a chick if that egg was a hen’s. If a crocodiles’ a croc is issued and similarly if it was a puff udder’s. Edna is cut from a ‘pure’ cloth and she has been clean, grew up good with an aura of respect and positive influence wherever she went. You have them in your neighbourhood: those that define goodness; those on whose character, actions either stick to, if moral or bounce against if immoral. By their walk, they help parents emphasize as attainable, their expectations of their own children. They are the lamps to the streets of parental guidance. You know them and maybe are one even. The bright, neat girl with the best hand writing whom every boy falsely claims she touched him, and hence loves him and hence is his girlfriend.
That was my friend Edna for you. She and the late Kate played in that “off-shore” league in primary school. We’ve known each other all our lives. Her mother, a nurse, ‘midwifed ‘my mother when I decided it was time I was let out of that warm womb and as good neighbours our parents even jointly bought a desk when we were joining class 1 in 1989. That was primary school. We went to the same university in Eldoret, for the same course even though I later changed faculty.
Edna has never struggled to be true to this good girl screen. Life to her just flows and whatever pedestals her philosophy of life has placed her on, it’s by no effort of her own. She is not an angel but neither is she that much of a devil as you and I, but still her age-mates bowed. I don’t think she has ever clubbed even.
All of a sudden the world is skinning her! Reason, she has a “bun in the oven,” 3 months to a June wedding, dowry negotiations done, lovers and haters ready to party and a million and one young girls 100% inspired.
In my look of it, a bun in the oven is nothing to a whole 29 year old. It shouldn’t be. I mean, when a person is long out of all schools, has been working for as long as jobs have been around and has her life on a certain OK path, it’s not like when they were adolescents. In what or whose way does such a pregnancy stand in?
You have very few friends in this world. Your phone book maybe full and only a few, a scaring few of these people are saying or can do anything worthwhile. This is bitter and shocking! Well, she flopped, she failed many who expected more, she knows it and wished it never happened.
About 3 weeks ago when we met outside Nairobi’s Yaya Centre, sadness was her. I noticed the bulge, felt my 2 second long what? moment and we hugged. She was one hack of a crushed being. There was a tinge of fear but confidently we chatted, told me she was now working in the DHL office just close to our office. We quickly agreed to play catch up over Dormans’ coffee where she told of tribulations.
You probably haven’t lived betrayal, but nothing is as heart smashing as seeing your friends and family melt, and melt in glee at your time of need. You hate and hate. You discover them and delete them from the good side of your brain.
But some are of the nature that when blamed incessantly they snap. My dear friend has snapped and doesn’t give a damn, who says what, which I believe is the best way to go. To be happy and satisfied you sometimes have to be defiant and tie your donkey where you choose to. If you are of the type that requires ashes to rise, then “bad” situations are more inspirational than volumes of 777-Secrets-To-Success books.
In your defiance your mission becomes one to prove people wrong. You inspire yourself quietly. You give people time to slander and malign and meanwhile you turn your hate towards them into energy. You rise against all odds. When you finally stand up and dust yourself, you validate the courage and resilience you never knew was existent. You have slammed those revolving doors.