By Mwangi Macharia
A smile lit mama’s face as she pondered on Mr. Mukandi’s question. I was dying to hear how you met mama. Mr. Mukandi maintained a straight face as if sure of what was to come. With composure he surveyed the smile on her face she took a trip down memory lane. His eyes slowly dilated as a smile gradually endowed his face. Mama’s smile had always been infectious. I could hear the soft gulp as Mr. Mukandi swallowed saliva.
“We were young…” mama began. Her eyes were dancing, excited by happy memories but the dancing stopped, replaced by clouding tears. Her smile was erased as she slowly shook her head. Mr. Mukandi’s face melted into sympathy. His face was a mire of confusion, he too was caught in the magical moment of imagination. He shook his head as he slid slowly from his sit. He seemed possessed papa.
Tears began to roll down my eyes as I saw mama hurting. Her heart beat resonated with her sobs. I could not contain my mucus. Mr. Mukandi drew closer to mama’s seat and as if without his knowledge he was embarrassing mama. I could see Mr. Mukandi’s eyes turning red. A trail of water formed on his face. He was weeping over what he knew not. “I am sorry I should not have asked that.” Mr. Mukandi said as he gave mama a slight peck on her forehead.
They had forgotten I was there.
Consumed in an atmosphere of romance mama struggled to break from the evident tight embrace of Mr. Mukandi. She slid her hands lightly from his shoulders to his palm where they held one another. They gazed into each others eyes. The story was silent. For in their eyes a series of events that I knew not of seemed to be unfolding. “It’s ok” mama assured Mr. Mukandi after a long session of searching each others souls through their eyes. “It is time I released this issue.” Mama continued.
“His name was John. He was young, handsome, well built, the dream of every girl.” This she said as she painted with her eyes. Her neck swayed slightly from side to side as she described you papa. You could clearly see she loved you.
“John…” wait a minute! How shameless are you papa? How come, you would drug the name of the famous writer of Revelations into mud? Did it occur to you that you just needed a prayer to get a revelation for yourself and mama? Or better yet you would have been blind as John the writer was.
“John was a nice man, one who loved the Lord. He was the type that even angels in heaven would scream in your favor as a lady, if you got him.” Mama said this as she smiled and detached from Mr. Mukandi’s embrace. She wiped her teary face with the sleeves of her sweater. Her voice was steadier than before. “He was all I could think of every time I went to church.” Giggles suppressed her sobs. “He was the keyboardist. His voice was that of a bird. His passion for worship made me love him more.” Mama dropped her face. “His face glowed as he led worship. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.” Mama said this as she raised her eyes. Her sobs were clearer this time. “I rarely concentrated on God. John was the answered prayer.” Giggles emerged all over again suppressing the faint sobs.
I could not believe this. Papa was a church person. Worst of all he was the keyboardist. The one who ushered people into heavenly realms. Was your God blind? Or as confused as you? Anyway I still fail to understand how it all worked out for you. This was shocking that mama could speak this well of you. After all you had done to her. Yet she understood she would gain nothing by speaking ill of you. The harm was already done. I still marvel at the woman mama is. Who among our generation can afford to speak well of the boyfriend that left them pregnant or even heartbroken without any physical evidence?
They curse, call them dogs and other disheartening words. Yet at the end of it all they will not bring them back. Neither will those men get frustrated. For they have moved. Gone with the wind. Why don’t you make peace as mama did. Talk well of them, pray for them that they hurt not another. Remember one lady’s dog is another lady’s prince charming.
Mama took a pause, she was lost in thought.