May had the feels - of a
sojourn, some fickle light, some laughter, and coffee, and deprivation. It was
a perfect balance of good and better, and moments almost clandestine. Some
situations you could reel about, be mad about, and get excited about, but in
your inner self. There was always that moment that had you thinking about your
life, the wrong choices you probably made, the bills you had to settle, and the
horrendous battle with adulting. With adulting, only your parents care if you
live or die, if you eat or starve, if you go to church or not, if you have a
job, and if you have a roof over your head. They are the perfect weapon
against egregious spirits. As if their supplications do not repel all troubles
furnished against you, those humans ensure that your cup is filled with
overflowing grace, and your basket is full of bread, greens, cabbages, beans,
tomatoes, and maize. They make sure that you are set for a couple of days. If
you are happy, and you have eaten to your fill, they are.
But troubles cosset a
man. Either way, something must kill a man. It is written somewhere in the
skies, in the blue and white, boldly, that a man shall labor and die. And when
he dies, his legacy lives then and in the posterity. Some men die a slow death,
others pretty much quicker. Some are maimed, others are decimated by disease
and pestilence. Others are mauled by predators, others are found lying
prostrate in a pool or a stream with their hands tied against their torso.
Rarely will you find a suicidal note, that they are tired of living, and that
they crave for peace that comes with eternity. Others have their organs
perforated, their limbs missing, and their frame rotting away. Goddamit, what
has become of this planet?
Something cossets yours
truly. It must be mistakes he intends to atone, or the upcoming
football fixture, or the dreams that have not come true to light, or that one
incident some years back that he did not come through for a friend. Nope. Enter
the nurse.
She has a six-foot frame and
ebony-black hair tumbling down her shoulders. Has thin and sensuous lips
running across the width of an indulgent mouth. She is light and effeminate,
grinning from ear to ear at first glance. She smiles placidly, spreading her
beam like the sun would across a cloud. She is confident, expressive and puts
her front foot forward. Where she is seated, somewhere at the Lazarus,
everything about her points to a calm, composed, unassuming and infectious
portrait. When I approach, she pulls a chair to the side and places her bag a
top of it. Well, at the Lazarus, she has a fettered view of the monochrome
western horizon leaning against the ends of the world. Across the street, some
highrise buildings tower, some taxpayers labor, the traffic is hectic, and
beyond the alley, some conmen are cutting deals. Some picturesque there.
She smiles, rises,
and hugs stupendously. I can feel her palm against the length of my spine and
this is getting therapeutic. We sit, bat an eye, and smile at each other without
any apparent logic. 'That is mechanical', Edu would say. For a moment, I have a
measured assessment of her - her hallow eyes move spontaneously, her bosom,
almost traitorous, sits on the expanse of the table, and her nails master some
lustre. She is definitely prepared for this occasion. Meanwhile, yours truly is gagged, horrible and
oppressed by life. His soul is troubled and unforgiving, but he could nibble
some snacks. Maybe he can have the lady as well.
Pleasantries are
exchanged. In the evening, she calls. And calls again, incessantly, in the
nights that follow. Turns out she is a nurse, and nursing a tired soul is her
job. She nurses those diagnosed with frightening prognosis, those in
acute need of treatment, and even those with erectile dysfunction. She loves
her job from the looks of it and goes an extra mile to have her patients
convalescent again. Her passion is imposing and deep, and drives her beyond the
ordinary. She is into critical care, inpatient and outpatient, and anywhere she
will operate from in the morning. She has seen people die in a flash, with
hopes firmly gripped in their hands. She has seen patients slip into their last
stages of enervation. She has seen it all.
When she called two
nights later, she was full of tête-à-tête. She talked about
everything that breathed or walked, and almost entirely about her work. She
talked about the nights she had to put in a shift and those which she
prepared chapos. Hers, she said, were round and soft and if I
needed some she could prepare and bring them over the weekend. She raved
about her childhood friends and the great memories - those that reminded her of
her first love. How he was almost infallible, and charming. How he used to
travel the lengths of the world, battling adversaries along the way just to
conquer her tender heart. She spoke of her parents and siblings with some
adulation. And her friends next door, and how they once organized a surprise
birthday party for her. All I could say [amidst the superfluous soliloquy]
was awwwh. She talked of her humble beginnings- you know the
drill. Sleeping on the floor- cold and burnished- of a room drab and oppressed.
Eating sardines for dinner throughout the week. Running short of essentials,
and airtime. It was no walk in the park for me, she says.
A pause.
It had been about one and a half hours since she called. I was feeling drained and drowsy, but she was not done
yet.
'Do you partake alcohol?’
she asks.
'Casually.'
'Not really. Just that,'
Pause.
'..I love my men sober,
and entrenched in the word of the Lord. I have had many manifestations over the
years, but Lord, give me a teetotaler for a hubby.'
Her tone was measured, no
waste of emotion this time. Silence. A whining of a mosquito. Action
"I want a man who
means business while he is at it. A pint may do no harm. A couple might, and
you may end up with a perpetual battle with addiction. Or with
ascites...remember the kijana fupi round thing?'
'Yeah.'
'Well, ascites is when
your tummy draws in fluid and creates some sort of a pond inside of you. It
becomes large and plump. It is not aesthetically pleasing to see or touch. It
kills esteem and self-concept...unabaki kama mayai tu. And when you
have had enough of it, you bring your rotund belly for cannulation. Then you
might have a second chance to be confident of your own skin and frame. '
I was trying to have my
concentration on fleek but I caved in. I could hear my voice fade away with
affirmation.
In the morning, I wake up
to the snoozing of an alarm. My head is heavy with sleep and thought.
Outside, the city is alive. The sun's rays pierce through the clouds. It is
going to be a sunny day. Just when I am about to step out, the nurse calls. I
cut short the ringing of the phone and make haste. Later, I will reach out. I
have to labor first and deal with the Kanairo nurse
thereafter.
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