The sunlight dancing on our faces, bringing a warm end to a cold night, made us smile. We both leapt out of bed, minutes apart, anticipating a beautiful, warm day. My sister tucked her short round frame into her physical education gear and pulled up her socks, giggling as we sang our happy tune. With my back to her, I sang along, giggling at the difficult bits, tugging my thin hair with our Afro-comb. I stopped and stared at the wooden comb, remembering happy days at the Coast, where we went swimming every afternoon, soon after a tetra-pak of cool, flavoured milk. The sunlight continued to dazzle and dance across our room, as we raided ourselves for breakfast and another fun day at school.
We rushed downstairs, skipping a step where we could. I bounced into the hallway, with my sister’s red cheeks glowing at the effort to catch up. We ate our breakfast of bread and milk, then dashed back, to brush our teeth. Our mother humming away, as she served out our breakfast, then humming away again, as she watched us leave again. Father peeks over his morning newspaper, stern and without so much of a smile. Oblivious, we rush out and bound back upstairs, racing to get ready and leave.
My sister giggles, her cheeks glowing a soft orangey-red. Her nick-name, Ka-Nyanya (Tomato) reflecting her face’s soft red fiery glow. She bounces around, singing as she picks up her tiny school-bag, eager to get to school and learn. I watch her eyes twinkle, as she arranges and packs her reading, writing books and pencils neatly, ready for the day, as she does everyday. I scoop my own books off the edge of the bed, into the middle of my small school bag and hear a small crunch, books crashing onto my pencils, eagerly zipping up the canvas and whirling it onto my shoulder. My sister watches with concern, her tiny dark brows peaked in impatience and annoyance at My untidiness. I look past her dismissively, then suddenly call out, “let’s go”, uncaring for the state of my bag and belongings, as I race on ahead, out of the room and bounding down the stairs.
‘Tomato’ squeals and runs after me. We are out of breath , as we jump down the last steps, gunning for the front door. Mum is at the door in two quick steps, ahead of us and promptly turns to us, laughing, as though she was part of our game. More laughter. Dad walks up behind us, door slamming behind him, with a disapproving look on his face. We make our escape into the car, waving hard at him, making our goodbyes. He waves and manages a smile, then turns to run up the stairs and prepare to leave separately.
Mum drives us out of the gate, waving back at Dad, as she looks at us in the rear view mirror. As soon as we are out of sight, she tells us a short story. The rest of our drive gives Tomato ample time for nearly a hundred questions. Mum answers each one patiently and with a smile and Tomato’s gleam with every questions and answer. I marvel at her mind and listen intently. Before long, I am lost in my own daydreams. Soon, Mum is singing along with us, as we navigate the brief traffic into School.
Our friends arrive soon after we get there. Mum is waving us goodbye and one of the nuns scoops up Tomato, giving her a big hug, as she squeals in delight. All her teachers adore her and so do her classmates. Her shy nature keeps her cautious and watching every interaction. The nun puts her back down and briefly places her palm on the top of her head, wishing a good day. She strides off to class and I turn to look for my own friends, as I too, run to my class.
The day moves quickly, with one good class after another. At lunch, I find and smile at my little sister. She is fine and chatting away with another girl in her class. I busy myself with my friends. We play every game we know after lunch, then race to class, as the bell rings. The school day draws to a close, and the nuns ask us to sit and wait for our parents, in one of the classrooms. We read, colour and write our waiting time away.
The man walking around with a mean, angry expression is my father. I see him from the classroom window. His reputation precedes his demeanor. He flashes a smile at the teachers, then glares around the room, seeking out my sister and I. Our teacher, regaining her composure, stands up, aiming to interrupt him and take charge of the room.
Father gruffly shares our names and I catch my sister’s anxious expression, as she cringes and moves further back into room, hoping to stay a little longer in the safety of the class and camaraderie of her friends. Her sweet six year-old heart pattering faster, as she composes herself and shrinking into the background. Her head drops, as she stares into the floor, trying to avoid his eyes. Her face expressionless, her eyes displaying the terror in her heart. The teacher, watching this, gasps from the front and tries to smile reassuringly, at both of us, as as she motions my sister to her side.
At the front of the classroom, the conversation ends and father rises to his feet, striding out of the room, head held high; defiant but silent. He stands outside the door, staring into space, eyes cold and heart practically still. His expression, a reflection of his difficult upbringing during the brutal and cold colonial state of Emergency in Kenya. Living with unresolved hurt from his schooldays at the Catholic boarding school, in the central Kenya highlands, surrounded by scared, scarred African teens, desperate for an education. Each student living in constant terror of losing family, on falsified charges under a retaliatory colonial government, characterized with paranoia and fear.
The teachers calls out my name, then my sister’s. I rise to my feet, slowly, hesitating. My sister nearly stumbles, her small round frame quickly regaining balance. I look back her, beckoning her to join me. She keeps her head down, dreading every reason to leave the warmth and comfort of this loving and stable environment. I see her and feel her pain. Boldly, I walk through to the back, clasp my sister’s hand in mine, drawing her close to me, with a smile on my face. She smiles back, then nearly stumbles when father pops his head round the door. I hold her hand tighter, reassuring her we are fine. She smiles and moves forward with me. The rest of the students watching us, worried for our welfare but unable to offer a solution, sit resigned in a momentary stupor. Our teacher smiles at us reassuringly and tells us she will see us tomorrow. We smile back and step out into the corridor and the big scary world, waving our friends goodbye, as we step into father’s cold, militant world of narrow perception and misconceptions.
Short Stories & Poems by WarmBreezeBliss 