Shadows Unveiled

Grounded Dreams

 Big brother Joey secured a contract job at the airline but soon returned home complaining about the unpleasant odor of jet oil. Discontented, he decided to quit after just a month. Following suit, Brother Jake left his position with the athletic team, citing a mismatch with his discipline. Even my sister Jud, who had an opportunity to join the airline, grew impatient with her role as a cleaner after a mere month. She adamantly declared that there was no way her father could be a boss while she held a broom. 

Despite Papa's resistance to me seeking employment in his prestigious workplace, Mama persisted and convinced her airline friends to give me a chance. Perched on the edge of an interview desk, I was ready to embark on a journey that would unlock the door to my own version of 'Alice in Wonderland.' As fate would have it, I breezed through the test not once but twice. Leaning back, I observed with a touch of smug satisfaction as my fellow interviewees struggled against the relentless ticking clock. The invigilator's bell rang, signaling the end, and papers were hurriedly submitted. Confidence exuded from every pore as I awaited my turn to dazzle the interviewers, convinced that I held the key to my enchanted destiny. 

With a smirk on my face, I sat with crossed legs, waiting like a champion on the verge of victory. But alas, my moment of glory hit a snag when the verdict came in—I had everything they desired, except for one elusive item: the legendary KCSE certificate, - the Kenya Certificate of Secondary Education. Imagine the collective sighs of frustration mixed with the sobering realization that achieving a goal requires more than just dreams. I kicked myself for assuming I went to school merely to fulfill my father's wishes. The sting of regret was real. 

In a bizarre twist, I recalled my brilliant exam strategy during the ordinary level exams—I wrote my name and index number, nonchalantly placed my pencil aside, and blissfully drifted off into dreamland. I had repeated this ritual for most exams, thinking it was a stroke of genius. Remember, I wasn't alone in this peculiar approach as the mastermind, my sibling had endorsed the idea. Looking back, it was undeniably the most absurd thing to do, but at the tender age of 16, wisdom was a distant acquaintance. Yet, despite my unconventional academic journey, the dream of becoming a stewardess burned within me. I swore to myself that, come what may, that coveted job would be mine in this lifetime. And so, the adventure continued, with lessons learned and dreams resiliently pursued. 

While Brother Joey seemed indifferent to changing jobs, I couldn't afford such luxury. He moved through apprentice roles in Joginder Singh's company, the labor office, and continually rejected jobs for seemingly trivial reasons. Feeling deceived, I sat on my bed that night and cried. I've left behind dancing and shifted my focus toward making amends at home. I've become the best cleaner, willingly taking on cooking duties. However, my tolerance for the men around me is still far fetched. It's another sad Christmas in 1985. I don't anticipate receiving any presents, and I see no reason to celebrate. Determined to make a change, my New Year's resolution was to return to school. 

My dream of working as a stewardess in the airline industry and living in America kept me motivated. To achieve this dream, I knew I needed to change my approach. Despite Papa's persistent refusal, Mama supported my decision. She agreed to cover my fees and enrolled me at St. Mary's High School in Nairobi. On my initial day at school, the headmaster presented me to the teaching faculty, mentioning my return after four years of technical college and working in different companies. They greeted me with a mix of admiration and a hint of envy, which I couldn't quite comprehend. Later, they confronted me for describing the pronunciation of a teacher's name as 'something like it,' considering it an insult. By that point, I had grown indifferent to others misinterpreting my actions and couldn't be bothered. I apologized and simply walked away. 

In the whimsical world of St. Mary's High School, our headmaster doubled as both a math and biology tutor. Before every class, he'd theatrically declare, "Anyone not in the mood for mathematical magic or biological wonders is welcome to exit!" Fueled by my love for numbers, I eagerly embraced the mathematical mysteries, but when it came to Biology, I decided to take an adventurous detour. As I sauntered out, I couldn't help but feel like a character in a quirky school drama. The subsequent lessons felt like a stroll down memory lane, but with a sprinkle of newfound excitement. It was as if I had stumbled upon the cheat code to breeze through my academic adventure – a delightful piece of cake in a world that seemed to savor the unexpected.

However, by the second month of school, the urge to go dancing returned. Dancing had been my way of releasing accumulated tension from the week, providing a means to clear my head and return to school on Mondays feeling rejuvenated. Mama was not on board with this. She resurrected Papa's ultimatum, intending to pressure me into quitting dancing. I couldn't comprehend what was wrong with everyone; all I wanted was to dance. 

Returning home from school, I discovered a new title added to my resume – Chief Chef for a party of twelve, every single day. To add a dash of irony, five perfectly capable teenagers were expertly mastering the art of lounging around, binge-watching TV all day. And like clockwork, the moment I stepped through the door, they'd summon me with the audacity to request their meals pronto. Tolerance level: zero. 

Despite diligently tackling my homework two hours after school, ensuring I was prepared before heading home, the chaos of rush hour often held me hostage until after 5 pm. Needless to say, this daily dance with tardiness was not a hit with Mama – her fury knew no bounds. After a couple of weeks, Mama returned home and cooked but concealed the food in a locked cupboard. She instructed me to fend for myself. For a week, I survived on black tea and went to bed, but she hid the tea and sugar. 

In the second week, I resorted to drinking salt water and was tasked with figuring out how to get bus fare for school. This proved to be my breaking point, and I couldn't navigate my way through it. Desperate, I walked to my neighbor Lydiah's house and poured out my story. We both grew up in the same cul-de-sac, but Lydiah was the youngest in a family of four, with two older sisters and a brother. In contrast, I belonged to the older siblings in my family. 

Lydiah often escaped reprimand for her misdeeds, largely due to the guidance of her elder sisters, Agnes and Lucy. Even when she opted for dates instead of attending school, no one raised an eyebrow. Her parents, being much older, seemed to overlook her actions. She and her entourage were the masters of the morning transformation routine. Decked out in their school uniforms, they'd hop off the matatu and that's when the magic happened – the long skirts were swiftly folded at the waist, transforming into stylish minis, and the school shirts underwent a quick metamorphosis.

The morning commute became a runway for their fashion wizardry, leaving onlookers in awe of their sartorial prowess. The school dress code might set the rules, but Lydia and her crew had their own fashion game to play. They would then go to movie theatres or spent the day at Uhuru Park. Other times, they hung out in Matatus till it was time to return home.