Marion

The Maize Fight

I turned in disbelief and made my way straight to the maize vendor. Withthe cash I would have paid the Bodabodafor Marion's transport to my parent's house, I decided to treat myself. I looked at the 10 streaks of maize on the roasting jiko and declared, "All these are mine."

"All yours man, if you have the cash," Mukoto the maize vendor said. I handed him the hundred-shilling note.

Looking around, it dawned on me that I had messed up. Three pot-bellied short men exchanged angry glances towards Mukoto and I. Mukoto's sin was that he had taken them for granted as they already paid and had been waiting in line for their maize to be ready. My own was that I had insulted their intelligence by demanding to be served ahead of them as if they had just come to bask on the jiko while counting maize seeds on their cobs.

"My people, this young man has just experienced a serious heartbreak. Let him eat his heart out. My stock is still here. You'll all get your maize," Mr. Mukoto said with optimism.

"Mukoto, don't joke with me. Is his heartbreak more than mine of losing a wife, kids, and a house to a lawyer?" One pot-belly said, almost shedding tears.

"But, man your pains were self-inflicted. How can you leave your wife in the village just to visit once a year...women have needs, my friend. You looked for fame and money without considering her desires. Are you even sure that the children you keep bragging about are yours?"

The man couldn't bear the mention of children. With his short left leg, he jumped as high as he could, hitting Mukoto's right hand holding a systematically roasted maize, shining with glimpses of hot pepper and lemon droplets. The maize flew in the air as the man struggled in vain to stand again. Unfortunately, his short leg returned landing on the roasting jiko. The maize heads scattered all over, paving the way for the hot charcoal to attack whomever they would. Mr. Mukoto's slim body was already on the ground while I stood there like a wounded gecko.

The other two pot-bellies turned on me, reigning blows with all the might they had to leave their miserable lives. The place became a wrestling ground. I had no energy to fight back. If anything, I somehow needed the beating. My soul was already bleeding from Marion's unexplained departure making my body numb to any pain. I could see coals of fire tearing my shirt, and touching my ribs but felt no pain.

Women screamed as some picked the half-roasted maize cobs, munching as if to console themselves. Men laughed hysterically. In our village, people don't stop fighting. We are civilized to know that instead of someone bragging about your strengths and insulting others when an opportunity arises, you should prove that through a fight. That way, you know better who you should ever dare. However, it is expected that each member of the village respects everyone.

My phone rang. The ringtone is usually Marion's sweet laughter seasoned with chimes of a broken glass. You know a woman is yours when no matter how dry your jokes are, they move her jaws uncontrollably, squeezing tears from her feminine eyeballs. One day, I had been recording her free-spirited laughter when she accidentally broke a glass of apple juice. She loves the idea of it being my ringtone.

The dust had well settled since the cruel departure. Marion's voice commanded silence. I picked up the call and before I could say anything, she said,

"Darling, that wasn't your message. Please come to town tomorrow. I will explain everything."