Baraka.

Chapter 3.

On my way home I meet with Mzee Mamboleo.

" Good evening Mzee Mamboleo."

"Good evening Baraka. What are you doing on the streets this late?"

" Oh I just got back from visiting a friend. I am actually on my way home."

"I hope the kind of friends you have are not doing drugs. I was at your father's office and there was a pretty young lad who was caught endulging in cocaine. His parents were so upset they asked the chief to let him stay locked up. Luckily your father was empathetic and recommended they take him to the rehabilitation center in the next town."

"I can assure you Mzee, neither do my friends nor I endulge in drugs."

"I really hope so because as the only son of the chief of the great people of Tumaini, you have to show impeccable behavior so that your peers can emulate."

"Yes Mzee. I have heard you."

"Bless you son. I will be on my  way now."

He reaches and pats me on my shoulder. I quickly head on before he continues giving me unsolicited advice. Do not get me wrong but I dislike when grown ups just out of the blues give unwarranted advice. I get it. "You have seen it all. Let me be Mr. Joe."

I open the gate. My dad is already home. I hope he is not going to lecture me. I open the door and find him in the living room watching news. Shocking!
"Hello father. How was your day?"

"It was okay son. Where are coming from?"

" Oh father. I had gone to hang out with Malika." If there is one thing I have learnt recently is not to lie to my father. He is a chief after all and ends up finding out to what I have been up to anyway.

" Baraka. I thought I told you to remain at home and study. You got a week to join your senior year. Did I not make myself clear. "

"Yes you did."

"Are you done with your assignments."

"Yes, except Chemistry."

"Go do it now. You will not join us for dinner until you are through."

No sooner had he said that than my mom opens the door. She just came from the grocery store.

"What is going on father and son." She says as she leans to kiss me on the forehead and sits next to my dad.

"Do you know your son left to see Mr. Andrews' daughter instead of remaining here to study." My father informs her.

"Oh how are the Andrews Baraka. When did they come back from Kwale?"
I love how my mother changes the subject.

"They came back two days ago. Mama Malika sends her regards."

I can see the annoyance in my father's face. I excuse myself to go and finish the Chemistry assignment otherwise I may sleep hungry in the Chief's house.

"I really do not like how you are treating him. I am telling you, you are spoiling him."

I barely hear my father as I get out of the house and go to my simba. I lay on my bed thinking of the amazing day I had with My nubian princess, well except when she did not back me up on my dream. I do not blame her though. Most Africans parents instill their kids with the fallacy that the only way one is going to succeed is by going to school, getting excellent grades, afterwards being employed
as an engineer, a doctor, banker and other "prestigious" conventional white collar jobs. I am not going to follow my parents, especially my father's demands. My happiness and passion is much important . I find fulfillment in writing and acting.  This year I was part of our school's drama team and we participated in the drama and music festivals up to the national level. The drama teacher, Mr Wiliam was really good and I learnt the nuances in drama. Although drama varies from screenplay and stage plays in some way, there are similarities.

As I reminisce on Mr. Wiliam's fun moments and teachings on acting, Dhahabu knocks at the door and informs me that dinner is ready. She informs me my dad has sent for me. Huh! It seems he has calmed down. There was no way he was going to let me sleep hungry.

"I will be out in a minute Dhahabu." I tell her.

I join my parents at the dining table.
My mom must have been exhausted from the busy day.
"So how was the store today?"
I ask my mom trying to bring up a different conversation before my dad starts about books.

"It was a good day. We had a lot of customers today. In fact I have left Ian to close shop." She says.

Dhahabu serves pishori, a very sweet rice from Mwea with stew. We still got leftover meat from Christmas that had been preserved in the freezer.
I say grace before we start eating. I am quite the foodie in the house. My father has been so quiet for a minute. Dinner time is usually filled with the events at his office.

"What are you thinking Mtemi?

"Nothing Mama Baraka. I have had a case of a young boy at the office that has really got me bothered."

"Is it about the kid doing drugs?" I enterupt .

"Yes son. How did you know?"

" I met Mzee Mamboleo when coming home and he informed me."

" It is really sad to see kids mess up their life  like that." My mom adds.

" Yes. Really sad. I pitied that kids parents. His mom was literally crying after seeing his son in handcuffs. The askaris had brought him from the cell. He had not even completely sobered up. I am telling you son if you do something like that to your mother, I will kill you with my own bare hands. You hear me?"
Well that quickly turned around to make it all about me.

" Yes sir. I promise you I have never engaged in drugs." I assure him.

"This is why I do not want you to become an actor or poet."
How did this turn out to be about me and my passion.
" You think I do not see? I have seen many of them doing drugs, suffering depression and some even committ suicide."

"I know father, but I will not end up like that. There are also good artists out there who are sober and are very successful."

"Son I do not want to argue with you. I am older than you and have seen a lot in this world. You better listen to what I am telling you."

This is leading us nowhere. I am not going to explain anything to him anymore when he already has this kind of stereotypical outlook on artists. He completely does not want to reason with me. I look at my mom and she nods at me.

"Yes father, I have heard you." I tell him.

We all remain quiet and finish up dinner. Dhahabu clears up the table. I excuse myself and bid good night to my parents before heading to my simba. I change into shorts and a grey vest before sleeping. I say a prayer climb on my bed.
I haven't even done my chemistry assignment yet. The thought of makes me cringe and I cover myself with the duvet.
Argh. I hate Chemistry.