Skip to main content

Wet pillars


If someone ever tells you that in chasing dreams then you need not rest, nor chase anything else, then you will have met a liar. Or a prophet. Or a fake motivational speaker. Most likely, two of these.

For, there will be moments when those dreams become elusive and frustrating. In that, you will need something else – a distraction. Or, a detour – a longer route to the dreams.

You do not give up on dreams. Not that easily. But you detour from them and return with a new energy.

She never had to sit under a fake motivational speaker, so she knows all there is to chasing dreams. From an actual practice.

“The thing is: I had my life planned.”

She gave herself deadlines: marriage? Yes, I want that thing but not before getting my Master qualification. Children? Yes, those tiny little angels; I want them too, but only after I am properly married. Love? Yes, that too. Overflowing. I want it. Anytime. Anyhow.

And, of those, love was the first one to come. It found her while she was busy chasing her dreams.

She was driving faster in that maximum-60-kph lane in the Masauko Chipembere Highway. Minding about the destination. Then, she got stuck in traffic.

The thing about traffic jams: at first, they do not look so bad. They are just like a bad flu. Yet, with time passing, they grow worse. You realise it was not just a bad flu. It was a corona virus attack. You are most likely on your way to become a number – a bait in a news headline.

This one, the queue, grew worse. Nothing was moving but in that other lane. She wanted to switch lanes. When she looked outside, her eyes met his stony face. In no smile.

She wanted to get his attention, but he was in no mood. He was, most likely, a student of a liar and a Prophet – just focusing on his dreams. She let him go. Until they bumped in a shop.

“It was his eyes, the way they looked,” she says of what she saw in him for her to strike up a joke on the road incident.

“I told him that he should be looking sideways…”

And, he was taken aback when she spoke to him. Most likely woken from his dreams – the ones a Prophet and a liar advised should not be broken off from.

But he was quick, he picked up on her quip and they struck a conversation. If this was fiction, they would fall in love there – or exchange numbers. They did not. They parted, like the strangers they were.

And, this is where the story gets long and complex. But, by some design they met in that shop around that same time. Talked casually as they witnessed – yet ignored – the familiarity they were developing. Eventually, they exchanged numbers. And, because I have a small space to tell this story properly, they ended up in each other’s life.

“It was his ambition that struck a chord when I eventually dug in into his space.”

He was not easily distracted – like you, and me, on Facebook.

“That, and the pragmatism.”

As a rule, or just for control, they shared expectations, aspirations and dreams. He was encouraging, even when he said some would need to be adjusted to fit into their plans.

Then, school came – for her – after over a year of dating. 

“I was applying for scholarships, and he was always encouraging. Would even recommend some to me when he could.”

When he shared the news of school with him, he was not so eager. He did not even feign joy and shower congratulatory messages. He just asked a simple question:

“What about our plans?”

They had discussed marriage, of course; had discussed kids, in the prospective future; but it had not been that intense for someone to forgo an opportunity. Yet, here he was acting as if it had been a constant talk – like the prayer before a meal.

She assured him, told him everything was intact. That they just needed to work out a plan, a workable one.

He was not enthusiastic.

“It was a drawn conversation. Sometimes it became an argument. I nearly gave up.”

And, it was at his suggestion. Exhausted from the back and forth conversation which made him say nothing although he said everything, he simply told her to forget the school.

“Let us build our life here,” his words.

It was a friend who told her to ignore him. And leave – if he wanted to bring the conversation to that.

“But, dreams,” the friend said, “pursue them girl.”

She conveyed the message to him. Not as blunt. But he got the message. She was not giving that opportunity away, at least not for him, she would take it then fly away and eventually return to him.

He accepted, begrudgingly. Said they would manage it.

“As long as you won’t sing PhD after this.”

She told him she would not. Master, and that was it. She wanted a family. Not just papers.

When we met, she had returned. With the paper. And a story. But, the story did not come back with her. She came back to a story.

She did not come back to him.

“Why, you realised your realities did not match or?”

“No. It was not anything like that. He was actually the one who left.”

He did not do it like they usually do it. He welcomed her and told her that the year she had been away had given him a period to reflect. She was not the type of woman he needed in his life. 

"You asked why?"

She did, and he only gave flimsy excuses. No! Not anything to do with the dreams. Just reasons really that cannot be sold anywhere. 




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

For my love

I won't be there when they lose themselves to the ecstasy of the muse and burry themselves in the passions of politics. I won't congregate with them under the dark thursday night as they fail to see the dangers lurking on the corners in their stupor of art I won't join them as they scratch the nose of the roaring lions and leopards with their skill of writing in their ignorance of danger I will be here, dear composing sweet verses and lines that will sound as mellodies to fill you with happiness I will lie on your lap and wander into distant worlds before coming back with beautiful poetry in the chambers of my heart I won't join them dear for my poetry is of love (Is for you) and they say: they don't need it for theirs is political. Instead, I'll be with you and watch my nation being sold at a low price while our love blossoms!

The hate that hate produced: the John Chilembwe story

1915 : a middle-aged man in his mid-forties stands amongst a group of his loyal followers. They are about 200. Perhaps, it is a chilly rainy night with the silence of a graveyard surrounding the church. “The white man has sat on us for so long,” declares the tall man with obviously a mild temper. “We need to do something, we need to act. We must send him packing from our land.” Possibly, the men listening to him shake their heads in unison. Others are yet to comprehend what is driving the man of God in front of them for they have known him as a quiet man for a long time. Thus, the story of John Chilembwe’s rebellion begins, in the January of 1915, years long before the wind of freedom and change begins to sweep in the 1960s. Many years before the bells of freedom begin to ring on the African continent. John Chilembwe, writes Robert I. Rotberg in a 2005 Harvard Magazine article, was not a radical man such that nobody could expect him to stage a rebellion. He appeared...

What would Jesus do?

The sun was just beginning to burn the shores of the Sea of Galilee. Some weeks before, four fishermen had been fished from their trade by the carpenter’s son to be his disciples. They were now with him. Sitting on the shores of the sea they had always regarded as a home. Their past, forgotten; hope erected in the future. Jesus, for that was the name of the son of the carpenter whom the church had denounced, was busy preaching to his congregation. His voice was small, his frame was little – almost frail. The cloth he had used to wrap his body in was dirty such that in within his congregation you could hear some little whispers of people wondering what made this man believe he was the son of God and not just Joseph, the carpenter. His voice had no charisma. It lacked that magic and fire that John the Baptist (now in prison) had had in those days when he had baptized people in this very same sea, calling them of the wicked generation, calling them to turn away from their sins...