A fictional series

Last week: Kita remembers her childhood experiences when her mother’s new boyfriend and his sons had moved into the two bedroom house where she lived with her two younger brothers Hezron and Shem….

….We’d found ourselves sharing our already crammed room with Carl and Christopher. I was nine…. Suddenly I’d had to contend with two more boys who were not even related to me. Christopher was a class above me and Carl was in junior two with Hezron.{{more}}

…“Kita, ley we go nuh,” Hezron had persisted that fateful day…

…Minutes later we were jumping over church wall and running toward the clear, vibrant flow of water…. Soon Christopher, Shem and Carl had come into view…

…“Yo nah fine e water ah get muddy?” Christpher had asked. I’d observed the changing colour of the water, the coconuts and other debris…. I had shrugged and continued playing….

It’s amazing how the past can travel twenty odd years into the future…. It doesn’t even make sense that I am so preoccupied with that day; when today is my d-day. … Election day.…

…My phone rings and I am sure it is a call about a result… But instead I hear Christopher’s voice coming over the line, tired and cracked.

…“I’m just calling to see if you are ok,” I hear him saying.

“Christopher… please… I can’t deal with you right now…” I disconnect the call and collapse on the couch as my mind drifts again from the quiet, waiting town to that day at the river….

Growing up I remember the river being a friend. The perfect companion: cheerful and rambunctious when you wanted to play; a gentle massage on your feet when you wanted to sit quietly on a stone and stare, reflectively, at nothing in particular. Yes there were times when she had swollen up like fat Miz Liz cussing us for her guavas… yes there were days when she’d turned brown and dirty and rushed into the downstairs of the church, defiling it with her filth.

No doubt she’d had her tantrums; but never in our presence. We were the valley children…. The river belonged to us and us to it.

This is the mythology that we’d subscribed to as children and so we’d had no fear. We’d carelessly continued to play as the invisible rain in the faraway mountains bloated her with water and undigested waste.

I’d turned to look at Hezron picking up almonds on the bank; Shem and Carl splashing one another in the shallower parts; then at Christopher who had stopped swimming and was standing still, looking down – like I had – to measuring the water. It had risen from our hips to our waist. Ironically at the very same a cry had echoed through the air and as we’d turned to look we’d been knocked off our feet.

I’d been taken under, kicking and punching as the muddy water filled my mouth and nostrils. I’d felt my hand grab onto something… it had turned out to be a coconut branch but it’d been dead… limp… I’d tried again to resurface; but the water had been rolling and pulling me downstream with fierce force…. Somehow my head had, for a second, come above water…. My vision had been hazy, my ears had been clogged; but I’d vaguely recognised someone running along the bank…. then before I could cry out I’d been merciless dragged downward again.

I remember a silent thud; my body had been bashed against a stone but I could not conceptualise the pain…. I’d suddenly realised that I couldn’t move one of my hands… I was tired… I was hurting… confused… I needed to rest. I gave up…

“Shem…” my lips had moved uselessly in the water as I begun to drift off…

The ringing of the phone startled me out of my morbid recollections. The election results had been coming in. We had two seats, the other party had one. I was still awaiting word from my constituency; but as I pick up my phone its Christopher’s voice again.

“So why you go and put down the phone on me Kita?”

“Congratulations!” I softly declare.

“It’s strange we are on opposite sides; yet when I win you are the first person I want to celebrate with…”he replies.

“Christopher you need to celebrate with your woman and your son….”

“Kita, why yo so angry with me?”

There is silence as I contemplate his question.

“Kita?”

“Listen I have to go. I want to leave the line free for results,”

“Ok. I just want to say though; apart from all this madness going on right now… I know it’s

that time of year – coming up to Christmas. I know you thinking about what happened. I

think about it too; but we have to let go now Kita. Yo fight everything and everybody to get

here – ignoring my pearls of wisdom. You have to give up this baggage now; because you

can’t be a good prime minister with it.…”

As I hang up the phone I reflect on his words. I go out onto my porch for fresh air but once

again I am a breathless nine years old being dragged and battered by a big, angry river…

More next week