Yamaha - A short story about the pursuit of passion

"Come here, let's play." She said to me. I remember that day like it was yesterday. It was the only thing she said to me. My father and her mother were old friends. I always wondered why they didn't end up together. When I was older, he told me their worlds conflicted but they stayed in touch. He wanted me to get to know her daughter. He thought we'd get along well and play together.

I wasn't big on playing so that day when dad brought her home, I tried to talk.
"What's your name?" I asked her. Her eyes twinkled as if to the ring of a high note. She didn't respond.
"Well, my name's Shaka." I said. "And sometimes, my gwandma calls me babangida. Sometimes I wonder where it comes fwom?"
"How old are you?" I pried further. And for every time I pressed, her eyes would twinkle and light up. It was amazing, but she didn't say a thing. Then I asked her something that seemed to make her sad.
"Where's your daddy? How come I never seem him awound?" This time her mood changed. It grew tense as chimes being blown on a patio. I noticed it and changed the subject,
"Would you like to watch some tv?" She didn't move a muscle. I presumed she wasn't interested. So I stayed and kept her company.

Dad kept bringing her home. And  Sometimes we'd sit in silence. I was shy, and she didn't say much unless I triggered her to speak. A memory I grew fond of in our time spent together was when we'd sing "titanic". She'd laugh so hard every other time I'd call it that and then correct me and tell me, 
"it's called, my heart will go on, dummy! The movie is called titanic," Then she'd start singing,
"Every night in my dreams, I see you..." She had the most amazing timbre. My heart grew warm every time she sung. Then I'd join her,
"Taraa raa tareee ruuu... " I'd sound like a giggling hyena but she never seemed to care..

School started to get tougher for me. I saw her less and less so our relationship started to fail. We grew distant. It broke her. We'd try to play when I'd make the time but it wasn't the same. Our priorities were unparalleled and before I knew it, her and her mother left town. 

I didn't see her for thirteen years. When I look back life seemed rather purposeless. I seemed to be gradually falling through porous clouds. Plummeting towards a dead end. Then one day, during my first year of university in India, I stumbled upon purpose. I was looking for a roommate.  I was trying to find a way to cut costs for my new place. I happened to find this online platform called olx where people have profiles with their info and share what they are looking for. I stumbled on a profile that said, "Yamaha." Held the phone to my face because I didn't have my glasses. When I looked at the profile picture, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I thought,
"this can't be her..."
But I was also convinced It was her. I was elated. I thought to myself,
'how did I not know her name was, Yamaha?'
I had to find out for sure if it was her. So I picked up the phone and called.
"Hello!" I said.
I could feel my stomach rumble like a trill. I couldn't help but feel like she wouldn't remember me. Like she would be mad at me.
"Namaste bhai!" A man picked up the phone
"Helloo, I'm sorry sir. I don't speak Hindi..." I said.
"me kya kar sakta hu apke liye?"
"Sir, Hindi nay. English only."
"Ohoo,Ohoo - Sorri. Vwhat you want?"
"I'm looking for someone called Yamaha."
"Yamaka?"
"Nay! Yamaha, Yamaha, vroom vroom. Like the motor bike, no?"
"Aahh. Yam-haa. She lives here only.  But she went out. I'll tell her you gave call."
"Okay, Okay. Thank you." I didn't get to talk to her that day, and I realised I didn't leave any information about myself. I decided to give it a day and leave it to chance.

The next day as I took my usual stroll home past my local restaurant and the neighbourhood mosque from school. I playfully balanced along the edge of the sidewalk until I received a call that threw me off.
"Hello," she said
"He-"
"Hi. I received an inquiry from this number yesterday. May I know who this is " she added.
"It's me. Shaka!"
"Shaaka?"
"Yeah, Shaka. Babangida?"
"I'm sorry it doesn't ring a bell." My heart sunk to Beethoven's no.5 symphony.
"Well, you probably don't remember me." I said. "Ayeh, I called in because of the ad I saw on olx. You said you were looking for a 1bhk and you were willing to share."
"Aaahh, yeah. Great! Can I come and see it?"
"Yeah, def! The address is no, 5. Arshiya Manzil, Btm Layout, room 4. Call me when you get here."
"Ooh! how GReaT! I'm in Jayanagar. So am a twenty minutes bus ride away. I'll be there soon." She hang up. I strolled the final distance towards my place reminiscing.

A knock on the door jolted me up from my afternoon nap. It was the mail man asking if I had ordered a package. I looked at him speechless for stirring up my anxiety like a movie trailer.
"No, bhaya. I didn't order anything. Try next door, or upstairs."
Just as he was leaving. I saw Yamaha trying to knock at the neighbours door. I couldn't believe it was her. I stood and looked at her in awe for a moment. She had this dingy black bag on her that said, "yamaha". She looked stunning as a Pavarotti showcase.
"Yamaha?" I called out to her in a mellow tone.
She turned round, froze for a moment like a fermata. Then came towards me. My arms were wide open. She smacked me on the face.
"That's for being the first person to break my heart."
"I thought-"
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Take your arms away, I'm not hugging you. I don't know you."
"Bu-"
"Can. I. see. The room?"
I was puzzled. I waved her into my place and said.
"Sure... Just don't break anything."
She ignored me and walked in. She took a quick tour of the small place, placed her bag down and made home in the sitting room.
"So where's the stuff to break? You only have a bean bag and guitar in here."
I rolled my eyes at her and asked,
"What do you think about the place?"
"I LOve it!"
"Really? I thought it'd be too small for you "
"You should see the place I was staying in." She shook her head.
"It was a clown car at best. This would be like  moving into a mansion. Besides, I low key found out that my landlord got someone to give him more "value", So he gave me notice."
"That sucks..."
"Oh well. At least we found each other, right? When can I move in?"
"Today, if you'd like "
"Well, how about that." She touched her bag. "I. Have. All. I. Need."

Voices in harmony, we quickly sailed into wonderland. Every other day was filled with a pleasant unexpected guest like melodies to musicians. For many weeks her and I spent many hours in the mornings learning to play fur Elise. She'd teach me all I needed to know. Then I'd make my way to college. Sit and await the day to end so I'd return to her.
"Why are you always rushing to go back home, one of my college mates would ask?"
They'd never understand, so my answer was always ambiguous.
"I have stuff to do." Then I'd side track them. I always felt like an outcast around them. With her I found comfort in figuring out who I was. Even if I was like a note that didn't fit in her scale. She'd chromatically find room for me.

Most evenings were the same. She'd often ask me a similar question that would make me reflect on my graduate pursuit. This one evening it took the wrong turn.
"How were your lectures?" She asked as I tried to fix myself something to eat after a long day.
"I HATE it there." I said
"You're a rebel, hunh?"
"How?" I said. "Even if I hate it. I still wake up every morning and leave you here to go, don't I?"
"Well, why don't you do something about it?" She probed. It ticked me off and my tongue started to let loose.
"Easy for you to say when you've had it figured out all your life."
"What does that mean, Shaka." She said to me with a slight roar in her tone.
"Pssh, you've been singing like an angel ever since I met you. I bet for all these years you've spent all your time with 'fellow angels' doing angelic things. And here I am, a late bloomer with no plan and a conflict on how to use my time."
"Wow! Shaka, wow! So you think I'm grand, huh? HA! Well, I'm sharing a 1bhk apartment with you. Read between the lines. If you keep going around with that kind of attitude, you'll never figure anything out in life." 
I had more to say that night but I realised I was directing my anger to her for the cards I had been dealt by life.  So I cut my tongue short like staccato, left my meal on the marble counter top and went to bed.

That night I thought about quitting school and joining her. The urge was so strong but fear was stronger. It told me the odds were against me down that road, and that I should stop acting like a blonde broad. It got the best of me. I wept for a moment then slept. The next morning, it was business as usual. She never held a grudge. So we picked off were we left off.

After five solid years of us spending a precious amount of time together. It was time for us to go back home to Kampala. We both knew the day would come. We both knew it was a turning point.
"So what's next?" she asked me.
I almost told her I wasn't a fortune teller.
"Well, honestly. I don't know?"
"What do you mean you don't know? You always have things planned and figured out. But when it comes to us, you. Don't. Know?"
"I mean-"
"Come on, Shaka. We've spent all this time together, and that's it? It was a mere college affair for you."
"That's not-"
"I don't know what's wrong with you guys."
"look, Yamaha! Stop getting ahead of yourself. "
"Well, say something."
"You won't let me put a word in."  I said with a high pitched tone.
"Okay, so what do you have to say?" She said with a sarcastic undertone I didn't put much thought to. And I told her;
"Look.  I want to be with you. We've built such a strong bond. And that's really all I'm looking for. You've also helped me find passion. So life without you would be empty."
"What's the but?" She jumped in.
"Well... " I said.
"Anha...?"
"Is this all you want to take away from the conversation?" I asked.
"everything else before the 'but' ceases to matter after the 'but'. So don't blame me. That's just how it is. So... what's the 'but'?. She asked.
"Well, you do know we're from different religions, right? You see what I did there. No 'but"
"Enh... Tomatoe, toe-ma-toe. So what does that have to do with anything after so many years?" She inquired.
"There's going to be conflict. Us family, kids. Ever since we've been together, I've had conflict.
"help me understand what kind of conflict"
"I don't know, conflict."
"Riiight" she shook her head. "I know you're afraid but can't you at least come up with a better excuse."    She said.
"Babe, it's not an excuse. Have you met a Muslim family? If I walk in with you anywhere it's like an abomination. And with all the hours I spend caressing you like you're some kind of grand piano. They'll start telling me I waste too much time with you. I won't hear the end of their reckless comments."
"So are you living your life for them?" She asked.
"It's not that, but you and I both know we live in African societies. We're nothing but selfish if we throw out our families"
"Yeah, I get that, but-"
"But what? Besides... That's just the half of it. I'm a practicing Muslim, and being a Muslim, I'm not allowed to do all of this. there's bounds I'm not supposed to break. I know right now I'm breaking them and putting my desires first. This doesn't mean my soul isn't burdened. It is. It's just my love for supersedes everything."
A pregnant pause rose amid us. The conversation then took a softer turn, after which I sung to her a love song I had written.

We moved back to Kampala with our hearts set on giving it a shot. 2 years in, the troubles I anticipated arose. I turned into the family "mudongo." A word which is supposed to mean musician; however, it has long since turned into a derogative statement to insinuate that one is a joker/time waster/ fool. Despite this, we are supported by our immediate family. It's a blessing. And once in a while my mind still visits the things that burden me. They are arrow heads, the barb makes it hard for me to extract them. So once in a while, like a song I tried to keep far away in the banks of my mind, they come back for a while.

Recently, she broke down and opened up to me about something that has been troubling her. I had just returned from a trip upcountry looking for trading opportunities. After I took a breather and made myself something to eat, I sat down besides her and she said,
"Honey, is there something wrong with you?"
"Why?" I asked.
"You're changing. You don't give me as much time as you used to. And it's not about me. I'm just concerned about your well being."
I sighed deeply to let out an air of exhaustion and I said,
"Look, I understand why you feel cheated of time. And I agree. I miss our halcyon days when we'd spend hours and hours together but things have been flaky since we got back home. And you and I both know we need the money I'm trying to figure out how to make. So I'm just trying to keep us afloat. I just hope one day we find a balance."
And she said to me,
"I'm sorry, darling. I don't mean to take it out on you."
We went silent for a moment, and she said to me,
"Come here, let's play."

Barely Dylan

Barely Dylan

I used to worry about being the best at poetry,
I wanted to go down in the books of history,
Among those that were the writers of our time,
The covid-19 generation writers of our nation

Ayeh, while I tried to arrive
as I butchered the English language on my grind,
My heart grew weary and wanted to sing,
So I used my poetry to write songs,

I used it to craft melodies and tell stories,
I soon became forgotten because I was mistaken,
For a budding singer that once tried to be a poet;
An aspiring Dylan with impaired vision.

Now,

Nabirye

"NABIRYE!" Her mother called. It was 3.30 am, the sun was still on leave and crickets rubbed their wings together to chirp. Nabirye was fast asleep trying to recuperate but her mother wasn't having any of that.

"Olowoza chai aida kwe kola yenka?" Do you think the tea is going to make itself? Her mother asked. Mama Nabirye had been through hell and back so never gave her only child any room to slack. They did everything together.

"Mbe mama," no mother, Nabirye responded under her breath. Afraid of her mother throwing the habitual shoe at her if she tried to talk back.

Nabirye pulled the mosquito net from below her mattress where she had tucked it and slowly dragged herself out of bed. They lived in a kasisira close to the skirts of a famous swamp area near Kyoga. It was peaceful for them but the distance to the city centre was a nightmare.

"Yeh lwaki tolongosa sapatu Edo ekifo kyotukubira kelele?"
Nabirye's blue sapatu were torn on one end of the right, so she dragged about as she attempted to move. Her mother had grown exhausted of telling her to fix them nonetheless, every morning, it was the usual complaint. Nabirye had grown numb to it so paid her no mind. She dragged along to the outside where she had stored water in yellow cooking oil jerrican for future use. She dubbed the water over her face, pulled out a stick from the pockets of her dress and used it to brush her teeth. After freshening up. She walked back into the kasisira.

"Maama," she called upon her mother.

"Tuja fumba chai ki leero?"  Nabiyre's mother run a tea business in the city centre. She made a mean cup of tea for the city men that did all the manual labour and had to be in town before the break of dawn.

"Buli eido tufumba ki?" What is it we cook everyday? Nabirye's mother responded. She wasn't much of a morning person. So there was always tension in the house between the both of them before they were fully woke.

"Gya oteku sigiri." Go and light the charcoal stove, she told Nabirye as she prepared their clothes for the day. Nabirye dragged her way back outside to put charcoal on the stove and light it. She stacked charcoal atop the grill, put a couple of papers into the stove's chamber, lit up a match and Burnt a green poly bag which she shoved right into the chamber. The papers lit, and she continuously added a few more till the charcoal caught fire. She kept waving down at it with a small piece of iron sheet until the stove was lit and ready to cook. She walked back into the house, picked the soot filled kettle and took it outside to the stove. She picked the Jerry can filled with water and poured it into the kettle and let it sit for a while.

As the water boiled, Nabirye picked up the broom made out of sorghum straw, and swept the yard  in the dark before she would be told by her mother. It was another one of her morning chores. One she always did after putting on tea. After which, she had to clean the house as her mother made snacks that she sold to her clients.

After they were done with their chores, Nabirye and her mother dressed up and left home by five thirty to make it into town right after the break of dawn.

Their morning walks were silent strolls towards the rising sun. For them the beauty of the rising sun was sign of another day in the hard knock city. Nabirye silently dreaded it, but had to study because she knew her mother had invested in her. Their hope lay in her succeeding in school

When they got into town, they went their separate ways and Nabirye walked to her school and her mum to the centre where she sold her tea. School for Nabirye was a breeze. She was smart and hardworking so she picked up things quiet easily. This day was different.

The morning was a cup of tea for her until the next session after lunch came her way. Nabirye was seated in class, and felt a sharp pain in her stomach. Her first period had come, and she was unaware of how to deal with it in the moment. She was embarrassed to tell her friends so she kept silent and her mood dampened as time went by.

"Nabirye, what's the problem? Teacher Isabirye  asked her.

"Nothing, sir." She responded.

"Then why yo are lookingi like samsing is bazaring you?" He added.

She couldn't point out her situation and her teachers concern was genuine because Nabirye was among the good children. The pain from her stomach took a toll on her over time, so she eventually raised her hand, and her teacher walked up to her. When he walled her way, she stood and tried to whisper in his ear not to let her friends ease drop.

"Sir, my stomach is probleming me"  she passed her English tests, but when she spoke, her English failed her. So she was shy to speak  among her friends.

Her classmates at the front of the class started to giggle, the giggles grew louder till the back, and when she turned. They were laughing at her and pointing at her. She got embarrassed thinking they had heard her speak to her teacher. She put her picfare books into her black polythene bag and rushed out of the class crying before her teacher would give her permission.

"NABIRYE! NABIYRE!" Her teacher called out to her. But she didn't turn back.

"Ploosi" teacher Isabirye called Nabirye's neighbour.

"You follow her and find out de problem."

When pross made it outside to try and catch up with Nabirye, she was long gone. She had run to the school latrine area, and sat there to shed a tear until the pain washed away. She gathered herself, held her black polythene bag tight a round her chest and decided to make her way back home.

She knew her mother would make her way back home late, so she decided to use and alternate route to cut her journey shorter but her mother's voice kept ringing in her head,

'Eyo tobitayo, waliyo agayaye eyo aganwa endaga'

She was worried about the warming as it rung in her head but she was too down to take the longer route. All she wanted was to get home.

As she made her way through the dirt path filled with gullies to the side because of the rains, she meandered as she watched how the city dwellers went about their busy lives. Close to the exit of the pathway, it narrowed and was filled with shrubs and there was a group of goons that were playing omweso to pass time. Her heart startled in the moment, and her mother's words echoed.

'Oba ndireyo?' Should I go back? She thought to her self. She had made it to far to go back, so she held her poly bag tight and moved forward.

"IWE!" One of the goons barked,

"Biki ebyo ebiri mu kavera?" he added. He was prying over what was in her poly bag. He got up, spat green slime from his mouth to the ground and reached out to reach for her poly bag. She pulled back and said,

"NDEKA!"  the boys started to get roudy, some through the green leaves of mirunji from their supply at her to tease her. She stood her ground in the moment, it made them furious because she wasn't being  submissive. The boy then shoved her and she fell face flat to the ground, and they started to make raucous noise to scare her. One of the boys noticed the stain of blood on her dress and said.

"Onto aidwireh musayi tumwendeza ki, ye?" She has blood all over what are we going to do with her? He said. Then it struck her why her classmates had been laughing at her.

As if her day wouldn't get worse, they started to kick her and tell her,

"Vva wano, twalele omusayi gwo!" Leave this place and take your blood with you. She felt embarrassed and powerless and a man from the distance shouted to the boys.

"OMWHANA MUMULEKE!" He came dashing towards them, some of them scattered to save themselves but one. The leader of the gang that started teasing her.

"Oja kola wo ki?" The boy asked the man as he approached. He stood his ground and wore a senseless arrogance to aid his bravado. When the man reached he jabbed him in the stomach and pushed him to the side, and in that moment, the boy retired.

"Oli bulungi?" He asked as he tried to hold her up. Her mind was baffled, she could barely keep it together. When she looked up, she realised it was one of her mother's clients, in that moment; a guardian angel. He walked her to the main road, and saw her off till she disappeared in the far distance.

The walk home took another toll on her, when she reached home, she took off her dress, placed it on the floor and pondered how her day had gone before she had slept off as a solution to numb her pain