He became it, imbibed it in his formative years, and was now it. Slammed doors, spoke harshly, and even had a sadistic streak. My young man, with cold eyes made me understand that he had on several occasions beaten up boys or men who stood or sat too close to him. This time though, it was directly to school because he was already late for resumption. His father turned him over, and flogged him mercifully, then bundled him in another vehicle and sent him back. If they were relieved to see him, they didn’t show it. The rapist, seeing that he was in a fix made up and relayed to his parents, a story of stubbornness and truancy. Alone.Īs would be expected, there was a furore over his having gone missing. The next day, he boarded a bus with some change he still had in his pocket, and made the long journey back home. That night, he ended up in a small corner of an unknown street somewhere where he dozed off. This 11-year old boy ran out into the night in a city where he knew no one. He struggled fiercely, and somehow escaped. Of course, the boy didn’t understand it, not until he found himself face down on the bed, pants partly down.
This ‘Uncle’ came in and started making overtures. It was only minutes later that there was a knock on the door. He was shown his bedroom into which he happily entered, anticipating the adventure that would come the next day when he would be taken to his new school. He met the man as arranged, and was driven to his temporary new home. My lazy self is just transferring this post from fb today ? ) (Yes ke! Tooting my horn louder than the sound of the trumpet ? on the last day ? )
A few more years with you, and I would have been made a saint ? ? Thank you Mummy! I couldn’t have turned out better. Loving siblings, family, friends, acquaintances, strangers…embracing new people, new encounters…new experiences…expanding…expanding… Her in her open, totally expressive way, and me in my grumpy, ah-nor-send-you fashion ? One thing that cannot be denied is our loving, and not just of one person, oh no! ? that one person would be totally overwhelmed. Deep down, she knew I wouldn’t be conventional, and still so similar – fragile, yet strong assertive, yet dainty strong-willed, yet yielding hardworking, but sometimes simply tired entrepreneurial, stylish!Īlways occupied, always busy, looking, trying…something new, old, different… I know how she wouldn’t be surprised at how I turned out. I remember how when we visited family friends and I buried my head in one of those ever present books, she’d tap me and say, ‘Not here. I remember the books she’d bring from her office library and how I’d bury my head in them, day after day, never tiring of reading. Send back some snow in your next letter! ? I especially love the one she sent from London while on a three month fashion design course where she asked, ‘Do you envy me? ‘ Every single one she wrote to me while I was in secondary school. ‘I don’t need it, I would mumble grouchily with a scowl, hoping to keep her at bay. I remember her sometimes futile attempts to get me to wear dresses and worse, carry purses. I remember her vain attempts to draw me out…sitting by my side and asking, ‘What’s wrong? ‘Īnd I would answer bewildered, ‘Nothing.’ This sullen first child of hers…sometimes effusive, sometimes elusive. I think back now at how I must have worried, even confused her. I remember all the times she was baffled by me.