by Sanya Noel
had an interesting head, this man. Overly sized and contoured to the
extremities of a higher power’s artwork. But it was not just the shape or the
natural sideways inclination of his head that struck you at first sight. His
nose was a miracle. Narrow, pointed and rising from the blackness that was his
face, it stood out like a jagged hill, beckoning the winds and clouds of flies
that accompanied him. I reached into my pocket to check if I had a
handkerchief. His corner always reminded me to check if I had one. He sat on a
broken Coca-Cola crate on the street edge, darting his eyes here and there,
intent on getting his days bread. It was a tool of some sort, that head. There
were those with stumps in place for arms by the other corners too, but this
one’s tool of trade, if I could call it that, was his head.
The
head was a common sight though, one I had grown indifferent to. I had stopped
being concerned now. Nobody, not even he would make me pay any attention. I and
my troubled mind, with Lyra demanding to go back to college and with my father
calling from back home, insisting that I had to send the necessary. No.
paying attention to this attention seeking sympathy demanding beggar was too
expensive an issue, and dropping a coin or two into that bowl was the last on
my mind. But on this specific morning, my mind refused to even acknowledge his
presence. His head did not strike me. Not in any manner different from how
normal heads struck me. There was no shocking effect to it. I had seen it yes,
but no acknowledgement came forth. Not any longer.
however always a reminder. I had barely walked a few yards from his
not-on-my-mind place at the corner when my phone screeched, a tad bit louder
than usual. It was Lyra. “Honey, you forgot to take your yesterday meeting
notes,” she started, “and the flash disk with your drawings from last night is
still here too.” I hated meetings. Showing up late meant all the eyes boring
into you, and Mr. Bowman would never let you off lightly. Architecture, they
had said, was a well paying job. One would be able to support himself and his
wife and daughter. One would also be able to pay his wife’s college fees and
his mother’s chama fees and his
old man’s daily evening comfort at Mama Kawira’s with fellow wazee, they had gone on. That
you don’t have to struggle so hard to get a job, they had also said. Maybe they
had been right. Maybe they had just not meant that it would be in Nairobi when
they had said it. Little wonder it had taken me two years to find a job.
was waiting at the door, smiling as I came forth. She was freshly dressed, hair
combed and lipstick done. What was up now? She seriously wasn’t expecting me to
warm up on such a chilly morning, or was she? “I have them with me,” she
welcomed me. Her tone was troublingly cool, like she had been meditating on a
statement or a thought. “Joel,” she began again. I hated it when she called me
that; she only did when she was dead serious. But her face said it all anyway.
There was an embattled calmness to it, like a sea waiting for the waves from
deep down to reach the surface. “Will you come inside now?” She smiled
reassuringly, like everything was cool.
abandoned college education still bothered me. It haunted us all. A mechatronic
engineering fourth year dropout, she still had aspirations of going back to
college. ‘Maybe pursue mechanical engineering, it is less taxing, and I can
take care of Lydia while at it. Or even better, just do a business course.’
That this was an eventual resolution still hurt badly. Campus pregnancies
messed up peoples’ careers big time, but not their entire lives. I mean look at
us, were we that bad?
TV was muted, like she had become bored with the morning shows. I suspected it
had been in that state for quite some time; she had been thinking. I sat across
her, the coffee table in the middle. These were our normal positions when we
discussed our house issues, like boxing ring stances, Lyra at her corner and I
at the other end. “Joel, you know I love you.” Then why are you taking me through
all this? I almost blurted. But of course I knew she loved me, she treasured me
and Lydia to the heart. I was damn sure of it, and loved her in turn. I loved
Lyra and adored our daughter, Lydia. “Edwin called this morning, says he may
have to sue but hopes he won’t have to.” But why had the son of a bitch been so
quick to bail us out? Stand up for me when I had to take Lydia and Lyra to
hospital? So as to hold it over my head? To win Lyra’s favor? He had never
really gotten over Lyra after all, even after Lyra told her the pregnancy
wasn’t his, giving him a relief after the chicken almost peed in his breeches
when he learnt about it. “But that is not why I want us to talk,”
on, I’m all ears.” I was growing impatient. Mr. Bowman would surely bore a
finger sized hole through my skull today.
what is it now?” She looked at me straight in the eye, but I had that feeling
she wasn’t really looking at me. She must’ve been concentrating on my nose or
something. There was something terribly amiss. I hated this talk already. “I
got the email, Joel,” she leaned back and looked at the ceiling, “MIT have
confirmed it.” My mind was far away now, not at any specific place though.
I heard my voice ask.
morning, they’ve given me a fortnight.”
what do you think? Are you ready? Willing? Are you……” I let it trail.
glistened in her eyes, but not a single drop fell.
is Lydia. The question is Lydia.”
left her standing there. She did not know what to say. I did not know what to
say. There was work to be done. There were drawings to be submitted and
meetings to attend. There were workmates to joke with and a boss to watch over
my shoulder all day. I hated myself for my life, I hated Mr. Bowman for being
so mean and intolerant and….. I hated the world with its grouchy grey weather.
I hated the wind for beating relentlessly at my face.
the corner hunched on the edge of the street sat the beggar with the
interesting head. He was grinning now. Why was he so amused? Was he in the know
too? I pocketed and leaned forward, resting my chin on the scarf around my
neck. As I passed him, I swear I heard a voice, part a howl, part a laugh,
quarter a sneer, the rest a titter. That morning, the whole world laughed at
beggars.
is a poet and story writer. He is currently in his final year of university
studying engineering at Jomo Kenyatta University of Agriculture and Technology
where he also heads the JKUAT Poetry Club, a club of creatives and students
with literary interests. He is working on his first poetry anthology and at the
same time also working on his first short story collection. He does engineering
designs besides reading and writing and enjoys doing competitive athletics
during his free time.

