Shadows Unveiled

A Symphony of Love

Now, let me transport you back to December 1982, a Saturday afternoon that would become a gap in my love life chronicles. My classmate Nancy extended an invitation to join her at the choir practice held at 'Muungano National.' A seemingly innocent event that introduced me to a world of sophistication. As I entered the venue, I encountered a diverse group of men and women of varying ages, including the familiar face of my childhood friend Marion, who instantly made me feel at home. The initial weeks sailed smoothly, and I relished the company of some charming gentlemen from our neighborhood. 

Among them was a slender young man named Romeo Omari, someone I overlooked on occasion. I had noticed his peculiar fashion choices – dusty sandals, the occasional tie that seemed to embrace his Adam's apple a bit too tightly, and a perpetual knack for cracking jokes. Caught up in the pages of "My Life in Crime" by John Kiriamiti, I hadn't paid much attention to the unfolding social scene. However, one evening, Romeo, breaking through my literary bubble, inquired about my reading choice. 

As we reached our bus stop, he playfully insisted that we visit his house for a cup of tea, throwing in a not-so-subtle threat – my book would be held hostage if I declined. In a move that would shape the next chapter of my adventures, Nancy eagerly accepted the invitation, and off we went into the unknown realms of Romeo's world. As we entered Romeo's house, he wasted no time in playing the gracious host. While he hustled in the kitchen, Nancy and I found ourselves immersed in the music, with not much to do but enjoy the ambiance. To our surprise, he emerged with a dinner spread of eggs, bread, and tea – a peculiar yet charming brinner. 

As the night wore on, Romeo took on the responsibility of ensuring our safe journey home. Despite my residence being closer than Nancy's, he insisted on dropping me off last. This gesture would soon become a delightful habit, as our walks evolved into moments I eagerly anticipated. The routine persisted until one Saturday after choir practice when Romeo extended a solo invitation to his house. With a growing fondness for him, the prospect of entering his private domain stirred conflicting emotions within me. As he suggested we step into his personal space, I found myself teetering on the edge of acceptance, though not without putting up a bit of resistance. Yet, in that vulnerable moment, the endearing touch of his hand marked the beginning of our journey together in love. 

As the holiday spirit filled the air, a bittersweet moment unfolded in our household. Papa made the decision to part with his beloved Renault, a move that left my eldest brother disheartened. Despite not being a driver, he had a special attachment to the car, meticulously keeping it spotless whenever the opportunity arose. In an attempt to console my brother, a thoughtful outfit was purchased – complete with boots, two pairs of jeans pants, and an extravagant orange shirt. However, the joyous distribution of gifts skipped me entirely, leaving me frustrated and, in a fit of rebellion, I decided to run away from home. My impromptu escape led me to Marion's house in Maringo Estate. 

Alas, my rebellion proved to be short-lived. After spending just one night at Marion's, her discerning mother intervened, sending me back home with a piece of advice that resonated deeply. She encouraged me to find a resolution that wouldn't stir controversy in her house, emphasizing the dignified reputation Mama held in the community. Returning home with a newfound perspective, I quietly retreated to my room, seeking solace in the company of books. My presence was mostly confined to the realm of choir practice, a sanctuary of melodies that offered a brief escape from the complexities of family dynamics. 

Meanwhile, mother continued her training in Mombasa, driven by the winds of change ushered in by the introduction of computers in the workplace. Her pursuit of further education marked a transformative moment in our familial landscape. Two months into the year 1983, nothing held more significance than Romeo. He had evolved from being a mere hangout buddy to someone with whom I shared choir practice evenings, followed by nights filled with deepening love. One Sunday afternoon, following our usual gathering, his mother unexpectedly appeared at the door. Her greetings were laced with a hint of disdain as she spoke in her tribal language before turning to address me directly.