The crying game / A sole for a soul

Sometimes I feel like breaking down and crying myself into a puddle of tears. This morning was such a time. It all began when that dreaded contraption called ‘the alarm’ went off at precisely 4.00 am, signaling time to rouse from my hard earned slumber. If I had my way, which I usually don’t, I would have squeezed a few more hours of sleep and made a dash for work at the last minute. 

Nevertheless, this was a special morning  because it was my day to play mummy to my baby sister, Anna. So as the good parent figure I am, I had to escort to her first day at University. This involved, among other things, waking up at an ungodly hour to get Anna ready so that she would not miss her bus to Bushenyi. As would be expected, she was fraught with nerves and anxiety. I noted this because of her frequent trips to the bathroom which were succeeded with rambling, sighs and yet more rambling. Every time she would emerge, her chubby dark face was streaked with tears; she would open her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out. I understood only too well: she was terrified.

I tried to take her mind off the imminent journey to this unknown town so far from the comfort of home and the bosom of mummy (the real one). So I launched into my ‘happy-go-lucky’ self and forgot for a moment that I should be the stoic, serious and mature one in the family(read cold like a stone, and as funny as one). She had to feel ‘good’ about the situation; after all, it was a big achievement and I wanted her to remember it that way. 

However, my attempt at humour failed to make an impression and was completely lost on her. Then it dawned on me when I saw the ‘Funny-Dunny’ looks she cast my way as I tried in vain to make her laugh: her blank stares warranted a change in strategy, so I resorted to reminiscing about our childhood. At last I saw a little spark in her eyes that I had not seen in a long while. You see, when we landed in Uganda, a small part of us died. We left it behind in the rolling hills of the Transkei, that je ne sais quoi – the love to play, the desire to remain young. So you can imagine my delight when I saw just a glimmer of it in my sister’s previously dead eyes.

I recalled the days when we rolled in grass without a care in the world; bake mud cakes, chase puppies, and fight. She was more than my playmate; she was a faithful sidekick in mischief, a reliable confidante and above all, my best friend. More often than not, she was also my voice of reason, there to stop me dead on my tracks before I launched into a diabolical plot that would get my behind whipped silly by mummy. In spite of her protests,I would always drag her wherever I went. I would often look behind to be met by those big, black eyes, set in a chubby face, staring back at me. We were inseparable in mischief and in love.

But today, I had to bid her farewell and will courage into her failing spirit. At that very moment, I saw those big, black eyes set in her childlike face again. It was worth the hustle I had gone through to get to the the bus park.

It is not an excuse, but responsibility is a relatively new concept to me, particularly having to care for another human being. Due to my irresponsible ways, I forgot to make the necessary arrangements on the eve of Anna’s departure. Simply put, I had not called the cab guy to book an appointment for the morning. Fortunately, my aunt intervened and the cab guy called me to make the necessary preparations. So it was all systems go and operation ‘Get Anna to Bushenyi’ was finally on; except that I (again) neglected to buy airtime to confirm directions and time with the cab guy. Whoops!That would only be the first boo-boo in a series of events leading up to my nasty morning. 

Shortly after I received the call from the cab guy, sleep overtook me. So I told Anna to serve supper because I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer (possibly the subtle effects of the beer I had consumed in copious quantities earlier). And the night went on smoothly: we ate, gossiped a little and then I nodded off to dreamland. 

4.00 am sharp, and Anna sprung out of bed like the Energizer Bunny as I hugged my blankets closer to myself. She was up and about in no time, whizzing from room to room, busying her hands with this and that. An hour and half later when I fully roused, the house was spick and span, which awakened feelings of shame at my laziness. How I wished I could be as domesticated as she is, but that is a story for another time.

I begrudgingly hit the shower and then threw on a pair of jeans and a hoodie. Dear reader, I add this seemingly trivial bit of information because the carelessness in which I dressed made me neglect my choice of shoe. Soon after, my phone started to ring incessantly, breaking the already little concentration I was giving my dressing-up routine. I promptly answered because I didn’t want to miss the cab guy’s call (no airtime, remember?), but as Lady Luck would have it, he hang up before I could say a word.

Now this is where whoops number 1 came back to haunt me. There being no airtime on either my phone or Anna’s to call the cab guy back, guilt hit me as Anna’s big black eyes bore into me: “I told you to get airtime last night.” So to save face and to give the impression of a responsible adult, I grabbed the nearest pair of shoes I could find, then my handbag, and dashed out of the house at 5.40 am precisely to hunt for airtime.

Inwardly I was hoping the damn cab guy would call again and ask for directions. But he didn’t, so I trudged on the dusty long path toward the shops. As soon as I reached the crook of the road leading to the shop, a boda-boda zoomed past leaving me perplexed in a cloud of dust.

All the way to the shop I was cursing the silliness that me made fall into a drunken stupor instead of getting airtime. I finally made it there, only to be accosted by early morning drunks exhaling fumes of stale beer on me and inhaling my perfume in return. Their yellow teeth glistened in the daybreak light; their beady eyes, heavy with lust, bore right into me. I was ready to judge them harshly, until I remembered that I was at the shop at that ungodly hour because of my love for tipple, just like they were.

Fortunately, Super Auntie came to the rescue again. Her unexpected call was a godsend: she had the wayward cab driver at her residence. So I hopped onto to a boda-boda to fetch him and direct him to my house.

Eager to end this early morning saga, I egged the cab driver to go faster. Then in the same spirit of haste, I harassed Anna into getting her property into the boot faster than she could keep up with. As is her nature, she was moving slowly… way too slowly for my new-found enthusiasm, so I grabbed her suitcase and hobbled to the boot. In no time, we were off; down Mutungo Hill, through the Kitintale ghetto, into the empty Central Business District and to the New Bus Park to deliver my precious cargo, baby Anna.

I suspect the cab driver was also looking forward to getting rid of this neurotic pair of sisters, so he promptly offloaded the property (and us) then sped off before we could say goodbye. I, in turn, was equally eager to get Anna on the bus and on her journey. So I did the babysitting thing and hand-holding thing, then said my final goodbye.

No sooner had I left the bus park then it started to rain. First, a drizzle, so I kept on walking. When it began to pour, I ducked under the nearest street vendor’s umbrella, only to be met with a rude rebuff in Luganda. Need I say I had forgotten to carry my trusted umbrella? When I say “rebuff”, I actually mean she barked what loosely translates to: “You woman, what do you want here?”, much to the amusement of the do-nothings lurking about her. My cheeks burned as these strangers stared at me as she prodded me, pushing me away from the shelter of her umbrella and into the pouring rain.In my attempt to flee this humiliation, I stepped into a puddle and felt the grimy liquid in my shoe, tickling my toes.

Upon look down, I realized that my cheap shoe had given way. And there, I lost the will to stop a big fat tear from rolling down my cheek. My accession to this overwhelming emotion was only met with a chide from a nameless onlooker: “But you mama, crying also…”

I couldn’t take it anymore. So I dragged this now gaping shoe all the way across town and safely into a taxi bound for Bugolobi, my workplace and solace; away from the early morning prying eyes of strangers. In the comfort of the office loo, and now more relaxed, probably exhausted from my morning tribulations, I slowly removed the offending shoe, whipped out my trusted tube of Superglue from the bag and proceeded to repair the sole.

Perhaps my sole was also weeping for Anna as did my soul.