Take two

The gloomy twilight sun unevenly silhouettes itself along the briskly swaying trees as it nippily creeps into the distant hills. Literature class has come to an end fairly early, but the awful student transport service has ensured I'm still in school this late. Weary looking undergraduates drag their suitcases on the freshly made pavements. One girl’s suitcase wheel comes off. She groans, whips her long lovely hair, then muffles a swear word. A suitcase jam forms behind her, the more impatient ones being hauled over the girls’. The university is being evacuated. Presidential elections are looming, so every Omosh, Mwas and Matendechere is to go home and vote - at least that is what the university claims.
The great day is three nights away and the country’s atmosphere is a blend of enthusiasm and tension. The election board’s campaign deadline is a day away so aspirants are in a final rush to get the public to vote for them. The bus pulls out sluggishly and heads for the schools’ main gate. Helicopters with banners fly under the evening sky as radiantly colored posters with beaming faces peel off on the electric poles and walls for all to see. This particular one seizes my attention. It has a smiling lady’s face on it. She looks young, in her mid-twenties maybe. “VOTE STELLA MUREITHI RUIRU WOMEN’S REPRESENTATIVE FOR REAL CHANGE” the poster reads. Her broad eye-catching smile has me entranced. “She is gorgeous,” I think to myself. The bus’ strident honk snaps me back to reality. We are at my stop already! 

PEACE

I pause for the guy in front of me to alight, his red colored shirt yelling out his political stance. A few other students come down before the bus speeds off. The town looks pretty much like a set from a horror film. Only a handful of people can be spotted. Most folks, a friend tells me, have gone back to their native homes in fear of a recurrence of the post poll violence that rocked the country back in ’07. It precipitously hits me that I'm over two hundred miles from the place I'd call my "native home". I shudder a little.

“Why did I not go home like the others?” screams a voice in my head.

I hasten my stride a little, before a  gruff voice interjects my rush home. It's the lady from whom I purchase my vegetables from. 

“Uhoro waku?” she inquires with an expectant look in her eyes.

“Niwega muno mum.” I respond with a wry smile on my face, my dark, lakeside skin betraying my thick, phony, Kikuyu accent. She smiles back, exposing her stained front teeth, then adds, “Siku hizi umeimprove, eh?” I slowly nod and walk ahead.

I'm barely past my plots main gate headed for my house when a small boy runs towards and jumps on me. He grins. He has his nighties on already, and then I notice his red cap. I tell him how good it looks on him, sending him into bashful giggles before his amused mother walks to me and after short amicable greetings, takes him away.  I feel for my keys in my back trouser pocket readying myself for a fight with my rusty padlock. After my triumph, I enter the house. My neighbor’s radio is on so I guess she's in. Through the squeaky wooden slat that serves as our wall, I bellow a good evening to her. She shouts back and after a laugh we shut up to listen to the news.

“Nothing new!” I mutter to myself as the newscaster wraps up the communiqué and sends a boogie-woogie South African rhythm ripping through the airwaves. 

*

It's a half past ten, I lay on my bed unable to sleep. Supper has been splendid. I think I ate too much. “Tomorrow is Friday.” I think aloud. My mind wanders. I think about that girl I talked to earlier in the day. Belly? Becca?...ah! Becky! She's called Becky. Then I think about the assignment I've been given in school. I'm just getting drowsy when I hear a loud bang outside, probably from a burst motorcycle’s tyre. I shudder.

“You should have gone home,” I think to myself.

Streams of thoughts flood my mind before a reassuring feeling comes through and perishes the thoughts. “I know there will be peace,” the feeling says. “I trust my neighbors with my life. I’ll give them a second chance, yes I will.” I smile and close my eyes. A dog whines outside.