I wouldn't want to sound jealous, but it makes no sense that these girls have to spend a fortune on a new wardrobe for their graduation when they will be spending the better part of the day flaunting their ugly but highly coveted black graduation gowns. There are enough signs that today, just like yesterday, the previous day and the entire week, will be as sunny as hell. Judging from what is going on in this washroom, within the next few hours, these girls will be unleashing the worst of stenches.
“Are you wearing jeans on your graduation?” One of the girls asks me. I notice that it’s not just her, but all of them are dressed in trouser or skirts suits, the ones that dictatorial companies force their employees to wear all week long as if it’s the clothes that make a company productive.
“Have I broken a fashion rule?”
She doesn’t answer, but within that small crowd I can hear one of them whisper,
‘Damn, she’s so rude, and arrogant. If only she had been a little nicer, I could have lent her something classier.'
Technically, I am not a rude person, neither I’m I arrogant. Those two presumptuous terms are affiliated with me by people who do not meditate at all, or who misjudge a lot. Such people are created to believe of themselves as being outgoing, social and extroverts. In reality, they are nothing but a bunch of annoying know it alls. They know how to talk, but never have an idea how they ought to act. When they come across a quite person; a person who meditates, thinks before speaking, empathises rather sympathises, and one who would rather have their actions do the talking, they refer to them as being meek, an introvert and anti-social.
That person is me.
When they are introduced to me for the first time, they think,
‘Awww, she’s so quiet, angelic, can’t hurt a fly.’
For a while, they continue holding that presumption of the angelic me, until one day, they mess with me. As soon as I hit back hard enough, they claim that I am being rude when in reality; I'm trying to protect my precious ego from their venom.
From then on they refer to me as a pretender, a silent criminal, or a rude and arrogant person, which I'm not. I am a person who knows when and how to let loose and make use of her defence mechanism. But since that defence mechanism is coming from someone who was initially presumed to me too naïve to hurt a fly, it turns her into a viper.
Today marks the beginning of a new chapter in my life. I may not be as happy as I had planned, but I definitely have a reason to celebrate the end of the many struggles I have had to endure for the past two decades.
It would have been lovely had my family and distant relatives showed up to witness the big milestone. I am the first and only person in the family to get a bachelor's degree. How I wish everyone had come, including my cousin Charles who has been enjoying the limelight for years after becoming the first in the family to get a Diploma.
Mama would have been so happy. This is not just my degree, but our degree; mine, hers, grandma's, and every woman in the family who sacrificed her dream to bear children for her husband, play the role of a wife and forget all about her childhood aspirations and ambitions. We may have never talked about it, but I know that she has always had big dreams for me. I am hoping that wherever she is, she gets to tune to the TV station the graduation ceremony is being aired on, and see me, or hear my name being called out.
Father too would have been proud. Not that I care, but it would make a difference hearing him say something good about me. Thinking of it, I'm really not so sure. I was the best student in the entire district during my KCPE but, he had anticipated me to lead in the Province. During my O-levels, I had emerged among the top 100 in the province. Still, he was mad that I didn't pass well enough to bring his favorite newscaster home to interview me; of which he would have spoken on my behalf.
I see the many rented mini-vans driving into the compound filled with happy fans of these young ladies and gentlemen I've been studying with for the past four years. Most of them afforded either a Second Class Upper or Second Class Lower grades, yet, their people are proud of them. If only I had been born into a different family, they would have even booked me a ticket to vacation in Zanzibar. They would sing embarrassing songs in my honour which I would hate, but years later, I would cherish.
The graduation ceremony is over. Everyone is exchanging hugs with their family, friends and other fans who want to know how it feels to wear this awesome gown. They are taking photos one after another as they receive bunches of flowers, congratulation cards with cash stuffed inside and several glittery blingblings being adorned around their necks. On my hands I have just my handbag, several certificates, two envelopes I'm yet to open, and the three VIP invitation cards I was supposed to give the three most important people in my life, none of whom turned up. I have not even a single stem of rose flower on my hands neither do I have any blingblings. I have never liked them, for they make one look like a Christmas tree, but today, with everyone adorning not just one but a couple of them, I feel jealous. I'm even tempted to buy some for myself.
“Are you also one of the graduates?” A middle-aged man who’s standing with his extended family presumably waiting for his child to show up asks me as I try to creep unnoticeably from the graduation grounds.
“Yes I did.” I answer him.
“Really? Congratulations.” His wife tells me.
“You could easily pass for a high school student. Congratulations." The man adds.
On a normal day, his statement could have landed him into big trouble with his wife. But who cares, everyone is in such a good mood today.
I’m thinking to myself, at least I got one stranger to congratulate me! Now I can walk in to the restrooms, remove the gown, and walk out of the crowd without anyone having pity on this poor soul that has been stood up by her family on the most important day of her life.
Sera has invited me over to her graduation party later in the evening but, I don’t want to be a part of another person's celebration. I should be the celebration.
“Neema, Neema!” I turn to see my lovely sisters running towards me screaming my name. This is unbelievable, and such a wonderful surprise.
“Where have you been, we have been looking for you everywhere.” Asks Soni who is almost running out of breath.
“I didn’t know that you guys were coming.” I answer as the two throw themselves on me, hugging me so tightly like we've been separated for years. Not far away I see Caro, looking at us. My sisters feel the discomfort and pulls back.
"Is she your friend? She's the one who told us that she had seen you come this way." Ciku tells me.
I watch as her family walks towards her, but she still doesn't get her eyes off me. I decide to make the first move and wave. She responds with a wave, and a smile. The precious moment is soon interrupted as my sisters continue bombarding me with questions.
“What was in the envelope? Was it money?” Soni asks, taking the envelope off my hand and starting to open it herself.
“Aki you look so nice! I'm so jealous. Everyone is so proud of you!"
"Kwani who else is here?" I ask Ciku.
“It's a surprise. Wait and see…” She responds as they both drag me to see the surprise they have for me.
“Hey wait, here’re your photos! Should we buy them, or snatch them and run away.” Asks Ciku as she stops near a wall where hundreds of photos shot during the ceremony are displayed.
The ambitious photographers had taken a few photos of me throughout the ceremony of which now hung on a wall amongst other students' photos. I look lovely in all of them, and it feels so good that someone had captured this special moment, though without my consent, and was expecting to sell them to me at a much exaggerated price.
“Uncle Muriithi also took others, but we have to wait before he can have them processed and printed." Soni tells me.
Interesting how being smart can make you everyone's darling. My amazing family had hired a 14 seater mat
atu to transport everyone who mattered in the family to my graduation. It feels great to have everyone want to hug me, adorn me with the ugly blingblings, take a photo with me and as for those with heavier wallets, buy me flowers and shake my hand with money, literally.
Are they this happy because of my success, or because I got rid of the dishonour I had brought upon the family.
They may be celebrating the fact that I am a girl once again; childless and husbandless. Or maybe they are truly happy for my success.
We are all sitted in a circle sharing jokes and with everyone wanting to share a special memory they have of me. Father isn't left behind.
“And here’s to those who dare to dream, and make their dreams a reality.” Uncle Muriithi starts toasting before we get disrupted by a ringing cellphone. It continues ringing as everyone who has a similar ringtone checks to see if it's their phone.
“Whose phone is that?” Uncle Muriithi, the self-appointed MC asks.
That’s my ringtone, but being just another one of Nokia ringtones, it could be anyone’s phone. My bag is too far from me, and since I normally don't get day calls, or even booty calls, I don't mind checking.
“Neema, is this your phone?” Mama asks as she keenly looks at it from top to bottom, as though looking for my initials.
“You don’t have to pick it. Let them leave a message.” Soni says.
“Kenyans don’t leave voice messages.” Ciku tells her.
"I was talking about leaving a text message you..." Retorts Soni but she is cut short by father.
"Why don't you answer it? It'll only take a minute."
This is so precious of a moment to leave behind in order to pick a call. On the screen though is a 020 number, meaning that the call is most probably coming from an official office line. It could be a job, or something greater. After all, I am made to believe that I am some sort of a celebrity now that the ceremony was being aired live on TV. By me having been the lady of the day, I won’t be shocked that someone wants me to join their company. I already have a more than great job, but I won’t really mind being poached by a better company.
I decide to answer.
“Hello…yes, this is Neema…what is this about…yes, yes I did…what kind of problem…a mix-up…but that’s impossible...how did it happen…a switch…I’m sorry but that’s impossible…I don’t want to talk about it…are you sure about what you are saying, do you even have the proof…I am calm…of course I understand…mhm…okay…”
Mama interrupts me to ask what the call is about, I say nothing. She doesn’t insist but goes back and sits.
“…let me call you back…”
I go back to my sit and to my surprise, everyone is staring at me, expecting me to share the news; bad news, good news, or in this case, the very unfortunately unexplainable news.
“You don’t have to keep it from us, we are your family.” Uncle Muriithi assures me.
Maybe this is it, the time to prove whether they can really stand by me.
“That was the hospital calling; the hospital from where I delivered.”
I notice that their once joyful faces all turn gloomy at once.
“They tell me that there was a mix-up, and that, I was among the women who took home another woman's baby. My daughter is still alive.”
-THE END-
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
The last piece of poetry 'The rose that grew from concrete' is originally by Tupac Amaru Shakur.
My heartfelt thanks to everyone who contributed towards the making of this book, both actively and passively; you all know yourselves.
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