One could possibly sit alone and imagine that these things did not matter. It was perhaps safe, for the sake of one’s soul, to stay out of certain brawls. But the soul and realism still refused to be easily made the best of friends, with a neat point of intersection and consensus. They never had been friends and they probably never could be, as long as the world maintained the structure it so indifferently insisted on upholding. Where the soul needed serenity and purity; the realistic frame of the universe told it that for it to be able to keep its demands, the body which was the house of the soul needed what it takes to keep it in shape. This situation appears to have forced the soul to inevitably bow to the wants and commands of the body. That was the philosophy that Beni originated when he was taken to task about these certain issues.
The basic things that one needed were few and appeared simple when named in Social Studies classes: food, clothing and shelter. These however, in the strict sense of their basic meaning, had failed to fulfill the wants of the human spirit. As he came to the end of his monologue, one could sense the discomfort and, perhaps, a sense of betrayal that seemed to be eating into his person. But beyond these apparent discomfort and sense of betrayal, there was something underlying but visible in the conviction of his look. A yearning to create space for himself. A natural craving for space.
Like kingdoms which sought to expand their empires while protecting what was already theirs, Beni’s soul seemed to have reached a point where it could no longer avoid being plagued by the imminent morbid desire for space. And creating this space could not be achieved by following the prescriptions of the scriptures. Neither could it be attained by the fickleness of the spirit and the somewhat false purity of the soul. The only possibility of acquiring this space lay in three things. One’s commitment, versatility and vigour in the economic rat-race. The making of hands dirty in the struggle to own things, it appeared, presented the risky yet golden chance to please one’s soul and the souls of the significant others.
“Whatever you do, just know you are dealing with politicians,” said Pastor Kariuki.
“I will be. But remember a risky investment bears the best results. I can’t keep on being afraid while people move on with their lives,” Beni replied.
“My greatest fear of the future has to do with what we will tell our children,” added Elias.
Elias had been looking out of the window all the time Beni had been talking. It was when he made the remark that it occurred to everyone present that he had not been merely looking outside, preoccupied with the snow-white spectacle created by the migrating butterflies. Clearly, he had not been gazing at scores of children dutifully making their way to Sunday school. Visibly unsure of the implication of Elias’ words, Pastor Kariuki looked at him inquisitively.
“I mean, will we tell our children that they will be leading the life they will be living because we were afraid?” spoke Elias.
“Think about that. Even as I wrestle with my soul, I know it is right to remain honest, but is it appropriate?” Beni added.
“Fellas, got to be moving. Have to prepare for the adult service.” Pastor said.
The rest of the group rose and left too. When he remained alone in his house, Beni was sure that had not been one of the usual Sunday meetings they held in their plot. Such meetings happened each week in the morning. Sunday was the only day the male residents of the plot got to meet and catch up on the happenings of the week. On this particular morning, Beni’s best friend had coincidentally been present. This friend had noticed a note on the table. Upon picking it, the first few lines on it told him that Beni was being invited to a business deal by the mayor’s son. That is how the conversation had begun.
As he walked to the bathroom, Beni promised to leave the conversation behind. The bathroom was his place of meditation. It is here that he made and broke major decisions in his life. He decided which girl to pursue and which numbers to delete from his phonebook. In this bathroom, Beni had composed many poems, none of which he had written down yet.
Here, still, he came up with the first sketch of the novel he always thought about writing. The bathroom, so filled with artistic inspiration, had unfortunately played the biggest obstacle to his ambition of writing his novel. This was because every morning, the characters and events in his future book kept changing. In one case, he decided to kill the character he had so painstakingly created for a whole week. Because of this circumstance, Beni’s ambition to get published remained an elusive endevour.
He closed the door an hour later and made his way to the stage. The angelic voices of Sunday school kids singing floated to him. They stood in a circle with their teacher at the centre. While the rest sang, three others, apparently too young for their minds to register what was happening, played hide-and-seek. To these three younger ones, the imploring voices of the older kids could not erode the sweetness of play. They made Beni think of the bliss of living in ignorance. And he almost smiled as he considered their hide-and-seek game a sort of inadvertent hiding from the call to go to heaven. That was the message of the children’s song, “Matunda ya Mbinguni.”
In their delightful innocence, they drove Beni’s mind to an uneasy imagination. He wanted to go back to his days as a child; days when there was very little to worry about: waking up for school, exams and punishment. Childhood had allowed him to dream. In childhood, he had fancied answering when asked what he wanted to be when he grew up. Growing up he had, but problems had set in when he realized that none of his dreams had the intention of becoming true.
He chose a lonely spot from which to wait for a vehicle to Maralal town. From that point he noticed that the usual traffic in and out Village Connections Bar had started. Sunday or no Sunday, life goes on, he thought. One of the men got out of the bar and dared the Christians singing in a nearby church to bring God to spill his beer. Even with his crowded mind, Beni considered that both talent and inspiration were lacking in the drunk man’s words. But the words proved what his friend liked saying: “On Sunday, there are two types of people in the world, those who attend fellowship and those who attend swallowship.”
He was glad when an NGO Landcruiser he had waved stopped to pick him. He was in time for the meeting at Yare Camel Safari Club.
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