Her excessive make-up clearly stated that she was single and ready to catch a fish. Her pout exposed her rosemary cheeks and her green-blue eyes produced echoes of nature - water and forest and denoted new beginnings and growth in her life. Her eyes were peaceful as a breeze drifting downwards the red sea, she had beauty in her.
Her chartreuse perfume sang through the room creating a resonant note when she moved. Her soft skin made it pleasant to look at her and her glare declared she knew what she was doing.
She leaned forward, ruminate then finally administer her thought. 'Tell me about your father', she asked in her honeyed voice.
The words came as a sword jagged right through my navel up to my throat. I gasped as if it were my last. My tears burst out down to my lips and finally all was relieved. All these years have I been aching for someone to ask those simple words.
'Papa, was a man lost in his thoughts. He was a happy man, he was my friend, the only person I would get lost in my dream around', I said.
I relived my moments with Papa. I pictured the boisterous memoirs we had, that sunshine smile that peaked in the most treacherous times but it made the yoke bearable because he wore special for his offspring and his kind gestures gave us goosebumps everytime we were with him.
His sincere love touched us as spring water crawling from the rocky mountain waterfall soothing the most driest parts in the valley.
I revisited that autumn morning. The leaves, breaking off their twigs ambling the air in their own given pace and crackling under times' feet as it walked into the darkened path of winter. Starting to change; vibrant colours of red, orange and yellow are slowly replacing the shade of life.
The last berries of summer glistening as the sun rays brush them like rubies on a tiara. The dusk moment visited my street, wind whistling through the grumpy olive trees caressing my skin as I was on Papa's shoulders.
We ran around in our long attires while Unathi had just went to the shops with Mama. We kicked the golden crisp leaves with our whole-filled socks, frost tingling underneath our toes like feathers from the duster.
'Listen to the owls as they preach to each other; hear the swishing of yew leaves and a small squeak as the owl finds its prey', he said with a brush of sound.
Huffing and puffing, we starred into the rich sky, leaping over a rushing stream, droplets of water splashing from the foliage hugging the presence of the weak sun.
Calls move in the air, we turned around to look. We did it again, finally found the source of the calling. It was two small Whistling Cockatiels, rubbing against each other in the wind. Gazing in wonder, we moved toward them. Papa tripped and brittle bark crumbled as tackles the tree.
I dwelt in my thoughts watching some boys loitering to Theya Preparatory School. My heart melted, they seemed happy, careless meandering to the gate yet happy. I envied them, my heart yearned to be like them but us 'girls' couldn't be educated.
I ran to the palm tree next to the school gate, I climbed and moved towards the classroom window. I stared as the lady dress in a white Kjeta - traditional dress - address the classe brimming with male students.
They scabrously took out their books and attentively heed to the lesson presented to them. The lady posed a question and the hands poised like blackwater tree growing towards sunlight for heat. The teacher abashed aimlessly selects a candidate to answer.
The boy pushes he chair out, stands and eagerly answers. He answered wrong but the show of hands. She gives scrawny looking lad at the back, apprehensive he answers quietly, the class laughs at him thinking he got it wrong. The teacher gently asks him to repeat his answer, he answers steadfast and he got it right this time. The lady walks to him and pulls out a Liquorice worm.
Jealous, the boys frown and I giggled - a loud giggle. The whole class attention was at me. Puzzled and trying to avoid the matter, I moved to my dismay I fell a glorious fall. The lady rushed to my attention, she dusted me off and smiled at my courage. She whispered 'Come back next time but quietly'.
This to me was entertainment, I wanted to be like them. Everyday, would be the same routine, dress up, writing utensils and off I climbed the tree and recorded all I learnt.
I recall my heart being not settled significantly in that hour and he asked.
'Teska, what bothers you', Papa asked with concern.
I looked at him and asked innocently yet firm.
'Papa, why can't girls go to school?', the question dropped from my mouth but this time I could not hold it back, determined to get an answer I stood there.
'Why ask that button? Are bored of playing soccer with me, I would understand after all I am a well-worn man.', he said wriggling away from my questioning.
It was clear the subject haunted him, he wanted a better live for his daughter, a future they could look up to not be ashamed of. Yes, we often read books but our minds were bothered by the emptiness. I mean why would God bestow us with minds? Why would he give us the only thing that could free us, yet our thoughts are compressed by the Katalibans rules and regulation unto which men should administer their wives.
Females could not witness anything, if they did see evil, heard evil they ought to carry on as hapless mute citizens. We had no voice, if we questioned the authority, hell broke lose and death was our prize. We saw it all the time, females beheaded in the village square in front of a crowd, the family would stand in front to witness it all. After take their dead wife-mother-sister-daughter', wash the body, pamper it meadow foxtail in a box, set it ablaze and dumped it in a river in a basket.
'I am tired of being a domesticated mushroom, waiting another day for the same old routine. I want to learn, Papa'
Silence rose from the roasting midday, the sizzling ground made a noise between the processed thoughts. He collected himself and smiled, that very moment I knew he had a plan. A plan were all parties were to be happy at sunset.
He stood up and said, 'Buttercup, don't you want to play dress up'.
Puzzled by the words he uttered. I thought to myself, what happened to Papa? Doesn't he know dress up is for common girls? Unathi and I were most certainly not common, we were tomboys - happiness was with us when we played football and Jamet - touch rugby.
I followed him with worry.
'Sit down today I have something for you', she said with excited.
He blinded folded me and instructed me not to peak and be patient because from today onwards all shall change.
Snap, snap and snap the scissor went somewhere on top of my head. Strands of hair falling on my shoulder, I feared for the worst. 'Hang in there sweetheart', he shouted.
He took the blinds off my eyes, there was I beautiful with short hair. He styled my hair - I had a bowl cut. I looked like a boy and we cracked ourselves together endlessly.
'Now you look like a boy, friday morning I will sign you up for school', he announced wildness 'What should we do with Unathi's hair? Would Chonmage do just fine?'
'Chonmage? What? She would go crazy', I answered with laughter behind my voice. 'Uh-huh, I know! How about an afro?'
'Bowl cut will be fine', Unathi entered the room, shocked what had happened to me.
We laughed helplessly, dusting off the dead hair on my shoulders.
The following day, we went to watch Kjeya, a national football tournament. We had saved most of our lunches from this great battle, football made sense to Unathi and I unlike dolls and dressing. We wore our Hamshire football jerseys and anyone dare ridicule our team we tackled them whole-heartedly.
The day was fairly pleasant, a beautiful autumn day, tree exposing their nakedness while the leaves curl up and die. Happiness was in the atmosphere, people singing old Guhgat hymns ready to witness gods play ball on the field. This was hope for them, a distraction from the coldness of society, the games were a gift to the tribe a peace offering to whatever we believed in.
Papa, was particularly excited about this glorious meeting, he danced the whole morning kissing mother's rose lips passionately like Romeo yet mother was no Juliet as she was stunned by this awe-striking moment.
Spontaneous, he made us breakfast, Hampanti j'hat urameta - oatmeal with dried peaches, berries and sunflower honey. 'This will kickstart you for the match ahead, my little peanuts', he said in animated voice.
'Hakek jahue jetej yetao huema Uman?', mother asked - Why the sudden excitement Uman.
'You don't know?', shocked Unathi closed her eyes.
'Its the Keyta football tournament, which whale swallowed you? Its the most biggest thing to happen here in Athlonela', I announce in my commentator gestures.
Mother was not engaged in football or new what it meant. She always said, its a bunch of men chasing a ball, kick it, then enters the net then all person, boy, girl, young and old goes insane. We always laughter at her confusion and teased her about being a common tribal wife, she would rage like a headless chicken. We had the best times as a family.
I felt my heart pounding in my chest, I looked around and I saw all the people walking towards the stadium, the fans of singing in the ticket lines, one side of the road the other fans on the other side of the road. All I heard were people chanting football songs for miles and miles away, even though both sets of fans are supporting a different team we still feel the same rush of excitment and adreneline, getting more intence the closer we get to the stadium
The gates were opened and they felt adrenaline pumping through there body getting deeper and deeper more intense every step they took, they sae how divided they are from the other fans they realise that even though they support different teams they understand what they are both going through, the complete rush and thrill of walking into the stadium not being able to here anything over the loud close, and distant voices of the the fans chanting songs.
The stadium was filled beyond its capacity. The Kataliban soldiers patrolled around the stools making sure all was correct.
The whistle went of and the crowd roared with passion. Hamshire, played for a win and this time they were not to back down. The excitement made the officials nervous as they knew the Kataliban would discipline the spectators.
Football can easily catch the unknowing eye of anybody. It is the greatest sport in the world because of the roaring of the mexican wave, my personal opinion, and the strategy of the game. Through rain or shine, day or night, hail or sleet it really doesn't matter what the weather is to the supporters. No matter what Mother Nature throws at us, we were all about to have fun.
We went to buy food as we waited for the kick-off. The tuck-shop offered unhealthy, fatty, and grilled food in its godly goodness. People tend to bring elephant size containers filled with multiple fat burgers, chips and all kinds of comfort food because this was a battle. The only thing on supports minds are football and singing.
Everyone sounded like eight year olds but that did not matter we were of one mind and one heart.
As soon as the anthems were over, the players shook each other's hands in promise of a fair game and took their positions for the game. With the sound of the whistle piercing through everyone's ear, the game started.
The ball was busy for the whole game. It rolled around all over the field, attracting the opposing players who tried to get the ball.
Both teams were very competitive in their plays and tried not to make any mistakes. They were very organized and kept their formation solid. However, mistakes were inevitable. Players lost their focus soon, putting their team into great dangers. Soon, goals were given up on each side of the pitch. Tensions grew more and more as time passed, reaching for the last minute.
As each minute passed by, the players became paranoid. The players, as well as the crowd, were desperate for another goal for their victory. To cheer their own players, crowds began shouting for their team louder than ever, as if there was a rock concert.
Gaining support from the crowd, the Hamshire players tried harder, but they were unable to get the ball pass the opponent's goal line as if there was an invisible wall.
The opposition, Maramat score three points and we had nothing.
'Hjah yair gatahr ahaha nahayi hagdha uiatya', my father screamt to the defender - Wake up man or we will lose.
Soon, the given time and the extra minutes were over. Everything was up to penalty shootout to decide who was going to be the winner to win the ticket to the final.
The Kataliban soldier came before my Papa and asked was the problem rudely. Papa stood up, 'What's your problem', he asked. The official lifted his sniper rifle and punched Papa with the gun's butt. Blood gushed out his forehead.
The crowd defended Papa and all attacked the soldier. Gunfires were everywhere and everyone streamed out of the stadium leaving the players on the fields unattended. A few were wounded and none died that moment, the whole game was destroyed by a stupid act.
We briskly went home. 'Bustard, I am old even to be his uncle', he said with anger 'Never in my life have I thought I would be humiliated by a boy'. Breathy and brittle he sounded because of the no ending pain from his wound.
'Who raised those animals?', a supporter shouted while moving out of the stadium. It was all over, we never knew who had won. The festive season was drained by power-hungry animals, the mood spoilt and only left was the stench produced by angry sweat.
'Papa, next time. At least we saw the Hamshires and we spent time together', Unathi said grating.
The whole spirit was ruined and for the first time I witnessed Papa at his worst. The festival was not like in TV when we watched it at Keketa's pub. The Katalibans have certainly taken over from that day the streets went dry at the river nile.
'You almost whipped his butt', I said. He looked at me with that matter-of-fact faced and broke it to pieces of laughter.
'You certainly have a bug's eye in situations', he said plummy. We walked home ignorant of what had happened but we knew tomorrow was going to be a beautiful day because we were going to taste wisdom.
'Do you miss those moments', the therapist asked. I through my thoughts around the room dodging the piercing question posed at me. All I heard was Papa's adenoidal voice lingering behind me, so appealing it sound so real as if he were here. Peaceful and fruity like those voice commercial on radio. Rich it was, it gave birth to my hopeful childhood.
I had missed him and wished he were here. My bones cry out in happiness as a shock of the air from the air conditioner entered and my aches and pains fade away as the session ended.
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone.
