UNDER SIEGE (A Story Of Hope)

by Ciuri Di Badia

  In an urging diction, Tommy broke the existing silence with a complement.

  “Birma, you raises me up when am down especially when you smile at me, I usually feel good no matter how low I am”

  “That’s nice; I like all my friends happy. That’s why I do my best to ensure that they are happy”

  “Am glad I have you. Am really elated”

  “Thanks Tommy, you are also amazing; you’ve had a positive impact to my life.”

  “you know, we have become so fond of each other that that closeness we share is like that of rainbow arch colors; they are so different yet they coalesce together to form an array of such spectacular beauty”

  “You are right Tommy; we have grown to be so tight”

  “Birma, we can garnish our friendship by making stars to twinkle over our unison. We can augment our friendship with passion”

  “You see, I love you. I discovered it when I couldn’t get you off my mind”

  Birma looked at Tommy’s eyes. She smiled and then said.

  With a serious tone, Birma said “Well, if you love me its good. However, love is two way traffic-you give and receive at the same time. For now I can’t promise you anything, because I am not interested in any kind of correlation. So, let us remain the way we are; friends, good friends”

  “But Birma, for a start, we can at least change our line of friendship. Let us make it more profound”

  “Tommy, maybe the way you’ve put it can be possible, however, a love relationship is out of question”

  Tommy continued protesting and seeking a redress in different tones. Birma however was still adamant that there should be nothing beyond what they had been all along and the incongruity went on.

  The recent developments were not up to Tommy’s expectations; they were just the odds that come after the word however. However; they say, is a very heart breaking word that takes one to the other side, contrary to ones expectation.

  The defiant Tommy continued with his pursuits.

  “Look at that nebula, it seems so distant and yet so peaceful. It is osculating the sky just as you do in my dark heart; Birma be the nebula of my word and I the dark universe upon which your light spackle”

  Birma sternly looked at his face. Fuming, she said

  “I think that you are too pushy. Stop rubbing it in. You also seem not to understand my stand. Persistence won’t change my stance. I am one of a kind, in that; I don’t change my stance easily. At times, I don’t even change them at all”

  She paused for sometime waiting for Tommy to speak. To her surprise, he kept dumb. So, she continued rudely.

  “I am not interested, as I said, in your witty affair. Why don’t we stop flogging this dead horse and perhaps do something constructive”

  “Yeah dear, I think you are misconceiving my intentions. Think about it……..”

  He was cut short by Birma who chimed in and said

  “There is no better way of saying this, but I have to say it nevertheless, I suggest that we let go of this topic and go back home”

  Arrogantly, Tommy retorted “you tell me that. Let it be. What you have to know is that you can cheat everyone else but you can never cheat yourself”

  They walked in silence back home. Neither of them uttered a word, not even a simple part-phrase like have a good night. They both parted ways as soon as they crossed into the compound. They both went to their respective flats. It was the worst stroll either of them had ever had. An experience that each wished would evaporate as a bad dream.

  That’s how their evening unfolded; with anger and arrogance. It was one of offers and turn-downs, one of walking out together, silently and walking back together, silently. For them, it remained as an unforgettable episode, of arguments and contentions, of proposals and rebuffs.

  Sometimes people refuses requests and offers, not because they don’t want or like them, but because they just want to feel important and wanted. The repeated requests make them feel more vanitious and substantial.

  That night, Tommy mulled over his recent encounters with Birma. It distressed him that she was proving difficult and a non-conformist. He thought a lot about her and resolved not to let her defeat his Machiavellian ego. Tommy grappled and grappled; he sought right and left with no resolve.

  When positive options are not feasible one goes on to explore zero options. It comes to a point where one runs out of the zero options, well, it’s time to employ negative options.

  ‘Although it is said that even ‘god’ is not bright enough to catch a woman in love, it should not defeat me. Birma should not slip away from me. I need to do something to overcome her, to make her mine.’ Tommy spoke in a soliloquy.

  They say that the decision of what to be done during a moment of trouble justifies the means to the end. That decision will define me as a girl-getter or a girl-looser. So, let what is meant, be, and what is not meant to be, not.

  That brain-teaser brought Tommy to memories of a story that he had read from a blog written by an African author. Tommy had revered that story and held it high with esteem as one of his paragons in the game of wits. It always taught him to be more optimistic and innovative in the times of challenges.

  The story featured a woman who had committed infidelity and somehow managed to outwit and beat an outright trial of a dogmatic culture.

  * * * * * * *

  Chapter 4

  There was once a woman who was called Wambui, a quintessential African beauty who lived in a small, rural village in Kenya. Her husband, a typical traditional man, was called Kamau.

  Kamau was a drunkard. He strayed all over the village during the day leaving his family unattended as they could have expected from him. He spent most of his time in brewing joints where he basically took indigenous aperitifs and home brewed liqueurs that were considered by many locals as natural family planners. They made a man devoid of libido and therefore not desire the act that brings forth procreation.

  Kamau left a lot to be desired. Being unromantic, lazy and uninspiring, he sufficed to be the kind that sleeping pills are made of.

  Most of his evenings ended in trivial conflicts with his wife. All those were attributed to his drinking and non-contribution to his family’s upkeep and his wife’s conjugal rights.

  Just like many women in Raha village, Wambui was a chain-monger. She and her friends spent most of their afternoons talking in cynics about their husbands and neighbors.

  On one afternoon, after chit-chatting on all the matters that were top in the village, she started recounting to her women folks the plights of cohabiting with a ‘non-performing husband’

  In a monologue, she said “I live with a husband whom I consider as a eunuch; he does not rise to the occasion and do it. I don’t know if his member has permanently flubbed or whether he has just lost the desire. He was one man whom I considered as a do-gooder. At the time we got married, he was an awesome player. Nowadays, he is an aestivated crocodile”

  She paused for a moment before continuing. In frowns, she said “I even got the impression that he is a full-time masturbator or a frequent visitor to those good-for-nothing, husband snatchers [the harlots]. I fail to understand how a man can leave his wife in frigidity while they are confined in a pack-down-the-box marriage”

  She vainly chided and nagged him for a long time, until one day when she decided to acquire a parallel booty-call. The secret lover emancipated her from a confinement by her own frigid hormones. His name was Munyotu, a relatively built man who performed beyond comparison. Munyotu literally meant a thirsty man; and when his parents gave him the name, they probably predestined that he would someday live up to it.

  The two nymphomaniacs used to meet when the husband went away and make love all day long. They did that from time to time until such a point when they were over-exited with sexual satisfaction.

  For months, it went on and on. The quarrels between Wambui and her husband waned as she and her illicit lover built confidence in what they did. They no lon
ger had worries of being found out. They had banked on the experience and they were almost sure that being found out was out of the question. Their closest threat was either of them giving out of the liaison, however, that was not probable in the near future.

  No situation lasts forever. Change always comes. With time, the husband regained his ‘potency’ and started demanding conjugal share. She usually declined to meets his needs; giving phony excuses that ranged from tiredness to loss of libido.

  The husband was starved for a long time, so long that he could not take it anymore. His unwavering patience and humble expectations started running out. It left him with very incomprehensible feelings of contempt and indifference. He was in a tight fix, in that; he was battling with his inner feelings and at the same time trying to please his wife by agreeing to her pleas.

  His most strong conviction was that she was probably having an extra-marital affair, perhaps a liaison with those hot-blooded men who tickles the breasts of deserted wives. He confronted her with it and she strongly refuted the allegations.

  Kamau, still unsatisfied with her defensive explanations, decided to seek the guidance of the holy one. He arranged for her to be summoned at the altar of their god and swear her faithfulness on it. The god’s alter was a place where people went to attest the truth of the matter. There, she was supposed to avow that she has only known one man in her life; her husband Kamau.

  When she consulted with her secret lover on the matter, he became so timid that he couldn’t even come up with an idea of how to save them from the wrath of the god. He knew so well what would happen at the sacrosanct altar. In the event that Wambui lies, she would be struck down immediately. After that the gods would turn back to him and strike him down too. To Munyotu, their demise was unavoidable. The rage of the gods has never failed. He knew it so well.

  With temperance, Wambui implored to Munyotu not to worry. She urged him to do exactly what she instructed. She came up with a viable plan that was bound to save them from their own shit.

  She asked him to fake as a groom on the d-day and wait for them along the way to the altar. While there, he was supposed to pretend that he was tending to his horse’s blinkers that were to be strapped on a woolen bridle. Despite his minimal knowledge in equestrianism, his lover expected him to undoubtedly do all that horse-handling in a way that it won’t raise her husband’s eyebrows.

  The day for the reckoning came. The husband and the wife set out for the altar in the morning. They walked for miles while having a very scanty conversation. They slowly trekked over undulating ridges as they traversed through the valleys that lay between them. Hours passed before they approached the path that cut through the plain where Munyotu was waiting.

  When Wambui saw Munyotu from a distance, she pretended to be debilitated and not able to walk any further. It was time to employ her plan. She had a gut feeling that the husband would fall for it. Out of his sheer ignorance, the husband, determined that they must reach the holy place to perform the mythical ritual, tirelessly urged her to push on with the journey. Wambui could not bulge; she pretended to be dying beat even more. The trick was working. The husband could not notice that she was trying to get out of things by trying to get more and more tired.

  In his perplexed state, Kamau looked over the hill- perhaps in a protest bid to estimate the distance that they yet had to cover. In his rescue, he saw the horse-man with his charger by his side. As a culture in the village, the horseman looked disheveled; more so with his breeched jodhpurs. His character was that of a sluggish person; that was evident when he was fastening whoa that was strapped on the steed’s back.

  Kamau waved at him for attention and then beckoned his close. Munyotu walked slowly, holding his agitated mare by the halter. Kamau implored him to carry the sickly woman on the back of the horse. They then had to proceed up to the holy-shrine. Since she was short and wearing a teeny-weeny, poodle skirt, it was difficult for her to jump onto the lofty saddle. She was therefore elevated by the willing hands of the ‘jockey’

  First, she stepped on the stir-up, and then put her hands on Munyotu’s shoulder to get her on a firm grip as she raised her left foot towards the pannier. He supported her by his left hand as she finally put her right egg on the other side so as to seat on the leather saddle that had been leashed on the ponies back. It was simple, yet so technical for a person like Wambui who was not used to scaling beasts

  Before they proceeded on, Wambui way-laid her husband and asked the horse rider to give them a moment so as to have a tête-à-tête.

  She pulled the husband close and whispered in a monologue

  “There is a problem; you see, when we were about to start our frantic journey, I was in a hurry to get titivated that I forgot to wear my hosiery”

  She paused for a moment and then continued.

  “As the horse man was elevating me to seat on this saddle, he accidentally saw my woman-hood”

  The husband contemplated about the whole situation before he replied. As he begun to speak his voice was relaxed and suggestive.

  “That is not a big deal; you see, you just have to include both of us when declaring your fidelity” the husband giggled with extempore.

  They proceeded with their journey in a steady pace with Munyotu leading the way. He held the horse by the halter. He was filled with fear as he did not know what was in store for them.

  For the husband, he felt a bigger man for having solved the puzzle that the idea of the horse begot. At some point, he even thought that it was a ploy by his wife to avoid going to the shrine. He felt proud for outplaying her. Poor him; I wish he knew the truth. His wife had out done him ten fold. Her trick had finally worked. The husband had fallen into the trap-wholesomely.

  They continued with their pursuit in trio. Nobody was uttering any word. Wambui kept herself glued onto the halter; thinking of how the future will be. She felt egotistical as the plan she had conceived days before was working. She was truly a queen of wits. Not even her husband nor the secret lover could play her match…..maybe their traditional wizard and medicine men would; of which I doubt.

  Munyotu kept his cool as he silently felt guilty for all that was happening. He only imagined how it felt to have another man pinning somebody’s wife. That even made the guilt to escalate. The pains and worries on the inside pounded harder as he reminisced how his paramour had catered to him. He wished that he could undo all that….but it was too late.

  When they reached the holy place, she confidently walked barefoot to the altar where she was expected to mumble the dreaded declaration. It was time to know the truth…the stage had been set. It was Wambui to face the gods. She began her declaration in a confident voice as both Munyotu and her husband looked on. Several other curious bystanders looked from a distance. They murmured with each other as Wambui continued to avow her side of the story. It went something like this.

  “I Celestine Wambui, swear before god that no other man besides my husband and that man with the horse there, has either seen or eaten from ‘my garden of fruits’. If I am lying, may you lord release your wrath and kill me and whoever I may have fornicated with without further ado.”

  There was a sudden silence that gave way for gods poised action. They earnestly waited for his response without an immediate response. They waited and waited but nothing came out of the revered god. After enough time while waiting, it was clear that the wife had made her point as it was going her way….at least as per their traditions and cultures.

  The husband’s worries settled. He got convinced that he had a faithful wife and started apologizing to her for his doubts and purporting that she was cheating on him. He also lauded her for her purity.

  By using her minds, Wambui managed to hold off all allegations that Kamau had made against her. It gave her more authority and control as Kamau slowly flunked with inferiority. Kamau apologized again and promised not to doubt Wambui again.

  The curious onlookers whom had earlier assembled to see god in action s
lowly dispersed; perhaps disappointed that they did not witness what they were hoping for. But, at least they had a story to take home. A story about the little drama they just witnessed….and a lesson too unimaginable to learn…. incase any of them was contemplating of summoning his or her spouse to the altar….they should do better investigations, lest they end up like Kamau ….in apologies….much worse; in apologies to the villain and her cohort….the horse man.

  Having accomplished what brought them there, Kamau paid the ‘jockey’ handsomely and they begun hip-hoping back home. Ironically, Wambui’s fatigue was gone. She seemed energetic as they walked steadily towards their home. As they say; if it starts well, it will most probably end well.