I quickly rub my palms against my shirt in a bid to dry my sweating hands, a testimony to the anxiety that had broiled within me from the beginning of the day. The feeling intensifies as I hurriedly walk into Jomo Kenyatta International Airport’s international arrival terminus. Having failed to curse the adrenalin rush within me, I opt for those fake breathing exercises that never work for me. After I confirm that they would be of no use, again, I begin looking for any distraction to bide away time as I wait for her plane to arrive.
The crowd is your usual airport bustle: an older man in a stripped black suit and red tie, probably waiting to be reunited with his now grown up-child; a group of women adorned in the customary blue “Woman’s Guild” PCEA turbans, loudly practising Kikuyu worship songs with my favourite Ngai wakwa ne munene ringing from their throats; and of course, taxi men as I like to call them, lined up in all corners of the terminus while holding various shields with hotel names, surnames, and names of tour companies. And of course, I could easily single out those who fit my stereotypical descripton—thirty-six year old single Kenyan male, fast receding hairline, seeking companionship in a stable woman aged 18-30 leading to marriage.
“Ndege aina ya KQ 778 kutoka Heathrow London imewasili…Flight KQ…” The mechanical female voice tears into my thoughts, bringing me back to the altar of anxiety on which I relented in my self-sacrifice. It’s 9.12pm. Finally, this is it.
***********
I tried writing this story to give to my friend Dush to critic before submitting to Story Moja, but for various reasons, I never finished writing it. However, I read a German book this past month that had the most wonderful quote about waiting, and I would like to share that. The name of the book, authored by Bertolt Brecht, is Der Kaukasische Kreidekreis or The Chalk Circle in English. Here it is:
In English:
So whether you are waiting on the Lord, on someone, on hope, on love, on peace, on the beautification of all things, hold on. Wait. But only wait if God wills it. Otherwise, move on.
The crowd is your usual airport bustle: an older man in a stripped black suit and red tie, probably waiting to be reunited with his now grown up-child; a group of women adorned in the customary blue “Woman’s Guild” PCEA turbans, loudly practising Kikuyu worship songs with my favourite Ngai wakwa ne munene ringing from their throats; and of course, taxi men as I like to call them, lined up in all corners of the terminus while holding various shields with hotel names, surnames, and names of tour companies. And of course, I could easily single out those who fit my stereotypical descripton—thirty-six year old single Kenyan male, fast receding hairline, seeking companionship in a stable woman aged 18-30 leading to marriage.
“Ndege aina ya KQ 778 kutoka Heathrow London imewasili…Flight KQ…” The mechanical female voice tears into my thoughts, bringing me back to the altar of anxiety on which I relented in my self-sacrifice. It’s 9.12pm. Finally, this is it.
***********
I tried writing this story to give to my friend Dush to critic before submitting to Story Moja, but for various reasons, I never finished writing it. However, I read a German book this past month that had the most wonderful quote about waiting, and I would like to share that. The name of the book, authored by Bertolt Brecht, is Der Kaukasische Kreidekreis or The Chalk Circle in English. Here it is:
Ich werde warten auf dich unter der grünen Ulme
Ich werde warten auf dich unter der kalen Ulme
Ich werde warten, bis der Letzte zurückgekehrt ist
Und danach.
In English:
I will wait for you under the green elms
I will wait for you under the bare elms
I will wait until the last one has come back
And thereafter.
So whether you are waiting on the Lord, on someone, on hope, on love, on peace, on the beautification of all things, hold on. Wait. But only wait if God wills it. Otherwise, move on.
karaam sana lakini don't tell it to other people only apply it also tena tu sana.
ReplyDeleteYes mum. :P
ReplyDelete