Teenagers and the Church Excuse (Part I)

BY LEONNARD OJWANG

Part I: Home bound

When I booked a Lufthansa plane to Kenya via Ethiopia for the December 2009 holidays, it never occurred to me that the discount voucher I held in my hands could also have contained its own angels of luck. Or didn’t it? The 777 Boeing from Houston to Frankfurt is comfortable in every aspect, my seat faces the right wing where I can see the stratosphere, and my neighbor is kind enough to wake me up every time food is served. We land in Germany in the morning, and I learn that my connecting flight from Frankfurt to Addis Ababa has been cancelled due to heavy snow during the wee hours of the night. I feel so bitter. I switch on my phone and it responds like a happy toddler: ‘Welcome. Your time is being updated. Do you want to accept daylight savings?’ I tap ‘Yes.’ It connects to Germany’s O2 mobile network. I send in a quick text message informing my cousin in Nairobi about the changes: ‘Please don’t wait for me tonight. I will not land at 11.45 pm as originally planned. Still being rebooked. Snow problem here in Germany. I will let you know of the changes.’

Frankfurt is abuzz with activity. Almost half the day’s flights have been cancelled. Long queues characterize every ticket booking offices available. People are scrambling to know when they will get a flight out of here. I get a feeling that with that kind of population in this airport, it will take probably a week to get things back to normal. I push myself in between two queues, my laptop tucked under my arm. Quickly, I scan the overhead monitors for planes departing towards any airport in Africa or Asia. I see a flight to Doha, Qatar, and another to Istanbul, Turkey. All these will be leaving in less than 2 hours time. I figure to get onto any of these flights, I must act fast. I have been on the queue for 1 hour now, and it takes the officials an average of 15 minutes to rebook one passenger. I push myself further ahead, pretending to be headed for the queue that was for those who would accept to spend a night in Frankfurt. I stop behind an elderly woman at the end of the queue, pretending to offer respect before I move further. I stand very close to her, trying to give an impression to the other passengers that we are together. She gives me a simple look, and I shift my laptop from my left arm to the right. I try to smile at her and mumble some words, desperately trying to cool off my frustrations. She just looks back at me. That is just good enough.

I get rebooked on a Lufthansa airline to Istanbul, from where I fly with Turkish airline to Nairobi, Kenya. We land in Turkey at 11.30 pm. Quickly, I realize that Istanbul’s airport is another nightmare, with no proper system of handling those on transit and those wanting to be rebooked. I spend 30 minutes waiting in line, my mind quizzical. Already, I know my flight is on time so I’m not worried. I switch my phone on to send a quick message to my cousin. Happily, it connects to Turkcell mobile network. ‘Will be landing after 3.30 am. Come to the airport at 3.50am though.’

Two days after I departed Houston, we land in Nairobi; the time is 3.37 am. I pick my luggage and head out through the customs. I find my cousin, Alfred, and his friend, Kimani, waiting for me.

“Happy birthday!” my cousin shouts. Then I temporary feel how terrible it is to be nineteen – just being on the verge of exiting the teen life. “Thank you,” I reply. Suddenly, a mixture of profound awareness of how fast life cruises away and my inability to be independent seizes me! I run my fingers through my young goatee, convincing myself that I will soon be independent enough to have a wife meet me at the airport next time. How does it feel, I wonder!

The drive to Umoja – Innercore estate is no less a drama. The dimly lit winding streets, the poorly maintained roads and the morning deluge almost cost us a tire. It’s one of those few instances that I have broken a sweat when it’s damn cold. And to add more flavors to the twist, between 3.00 and 4.00 am is usually the prime time for hijackers to pounce on lone motorists. Well, we had a safe trip to my Alfred’s two bed-roomed rented house in Umoja. I quickly take a shower to welcome myself in Kenya. The water is cold and I feel as if I am reinventing myself. Before I retire to bed, I quickly record the events of the day in my diary – these will be my last entries as a teenager; time 4.50am; date 24th Dec 2009; day Wednesday; place Umoja, Nairobi, Kenya. But little did I know that I was just beginning.

Sleep eludes me. I am overwhelmed with the prospects of seeing my other cousins in Eldoret. I wake up early in the morning to meet with my former high school friends in town. I take “Double M” bus to town and spend approximately 3 hours on the road. The snaking traffic jam on Jogoo Road, beginning from the Dohnholm roundabout is terrible. Both stretches of the entire road looks like a parking lot – as if cars, buses and lorries have been parallel-parked. It feels weird. Only motorcyclists are able to snake their way through the stitched traffic. Outside, I can see hordes of Nairobians trekking to town. In my mind I wonder – is it worth it? Maybe it was. The weather is gloomy, the air is cold, the ground is soggy and pockets of dirty flood water dot the trenches along the roads. The previous night had had its own story. The storm had brought down one of the Safaricom’s billboards next to Machakos bus terminus, which hit the nearby power line and rendered the nearby estates powerless. It is the same billboard that Kenya Power workers were struggling to remove from the road which was causing the traffic snarl-up.

I reach the city center and go to the Nation Building. Tom Mboya Street is already a beehive. Mfangano Street is just becoming busy. My friend who was working with the Nation Media Group had apparently quit his job. I decide to go to the Safaricom building one block away to buy a local line. I get surprised at how expensive “Supa Ongea” line is – Kshs 100. When I left Kenya 2 years ago, the lines (which had different names then) were only Kshs 30. I decline to buy. I call my friend using my AT&T line, and tell him to meet me in front of Hilton Hotel. He refuses to believe that I am actually in Nairobi. I get into a pharmacy next to the hotel and ask the lady inside to call his number with her phone. She agrees after I promise to pay her Kshs 50 for doing so. She talks to him, and after 1 hour, he comes to town. He is really my best friend. I give him some presents – a tie, a pair of jeans and sweatshirt. We then go to Kosewe hotel and ravage ‘matumbo’ and ‘ugali,’ wash it down with some cold Picana, as we listen to the band playing some swahili oldies. Then I begin complaining about the traffic, the noise in Nairobi, the weather and the high prices of things. My friend laughs – outrightly suggesting that maybe I behave differently from the person he used to know. I change the story and begin talking about Facebook and our high school life together.

Together, we go to Umoja, and he helps me carry my luggage to town. I board a North Rift shuttle to Eldoret at 3.30 pm, well aware that it was the Christmas eve and so many people were expecting me to give them Christmas presents when I get to Eldoret. I am not worried – I know I have enough for everyone. Even before reaching Westlands I am asleep already. It is because the traffic here is tight and slow, and I haven’t had enough sleep since I just landed in this morning. I wake up after a couple of hours and find that we are passing through Nakuru town. I can see Section 58 Estate signpost on our left, and after little while, I see Langa-Langa signpost, just before we head toward Njoro. It is almost 6.00 pm now. Night is falling fast. I fall asleep and wake up to find we are just crossing through Burnt Forest area. We arrive in Eldoret just after 10.00 pm, and met by one of my cousins, Otieno. We hire a taxi and go to his place in West Indies, take a shower and head back to the town – that is the trip that defines my teen life.

I refrain from letting my friends know that I’m in town. We walk toward the White Castle motel, cross the Eldoret bus stage and slump onto Oloo Street. Next, we pass by 64 Arcade, my mind trying to remember if it had been repainted since the last time I was there. Opposite is the municipal market – it was pretty empty at that time of the night. Close by is the Opera club emitting tormenting reggae sounds, an indication of a pretty hot night for the revelers. Then, we come into a sorry sight. The verandas of two clubs – The Spree and The Signature – are completely full of drunken youths hulling insults at each other. I stop to take a picture of the scene with my phone. Further down, at the corner of Ukwala C Supermarket we meet with my high school mate, Ben, and his friend, Ken. Ben actually was on his way to church when he got distracted. Together, we walk to the church – AIC – near Eldoret Referral Hospital. The time now is 11.50 pm. We are just in time to prepare for the 10 second countdown into Christmas.

I get in and switch off my phone. The preacher is pounding away the good old anecdotes into the ears of his faithfuls. I close my eyes and surrender in prayer: “Thank you God for bringing me home safely.” I listen to the preacher pensively, and even in that state of mind, I can hear kids playing about outside along the corridors. Their shouts reverberate with angelic passion into the Church. I push my body forward, clutch my belly and let out a wide yawn. I wipe my wet eyes with the palm of my right hand, just in time to recognize the girl seated two rows to my right. I mentally summarize her features, like boys usually do, as I close my eyes as if in prayers.

With my eyes closed her image begins to play in my mind. The fluorescent bulb hanging above her head magnify the rainbow curls of her beautiful long black hair. I begin to yearn, wish, hope and long for her. How incredible? The choir begins singing a hymn and my heart palpitates loudly now. As a mixture of croaking voices take over from the soloist, I burry my mind in happy thoughts of how beautiful this girl is. She is a rich coffee, a fine piece of God’s art and undeniable. Wishes quickly fill my heart. The biggest wish is to have her as my girlfriend.

As the chorus eases to a soft finish, people begin to shift glances at each other. I can see a few women wiping tears, some men wiping sweat from their foreheads, while some girls just shaking their bodies into the rhythm of the pianists. I grin, feeling my mouth drying up. I lick my lips to wet them. Then the guitarist begins the 15 seconds countdown to Christmas with soft plucking on his strings. The congregation stands up. The choir hums some Christmas tunes, and a spasmodic applause breaks around the Church as the faithfuls welcome Christmas Day.

I take out my handkerchief and wipe my face. Jesus has been born! The preacher hit the climax of his sermon with a resounding Biblical quote from Saint John: “Children, these are the last days!” I sigh. “Really? I don’t think so!” I mumble to myself. “Until no more beautiful girls are born will we see the last days!” I convince myself. “I hope not in my lifetime.”

The time is few minutes after midnight. I move to the door, trying to search for the beautiful girl with my eyes. Quickly, I locate her. I can see her near the pulpit talking to some of the girls who had been with the choir; twisting her brown lips as if in desperate bid to shape words that would encourage even a dunderhead. I wish she was talking to me – telling me how she loves me. I feel so happy looking at her from that distance. At least, I can now see her full height – could be 5 feet 6 inches!

My cousin comes and tells me we have to go. I tell him I need to talk to the preacher first. I pull Otieno aside, away from Ken and Ben, and in a whisper ask him if he knows anything about the beautiful girl. “Do you know if she has a boyfriend?” I look worried. Otieno assures me, “Not at the moment.” I grin and slowly move to the door, wading my way through the crowd, looking for an advantageous position from where I will have to at least meet with this girl. In that instant, I throw my eyes back and see her coming. Otieno and I greet her with timid primitiveness. She accepts my trembling hands into hers with genuine Christmas joy. I heave myself against the steel door, impatiently trying to start a quick conversation with her. “How should I begin?” I wonder. Beads of cold sweat find their way out of my sweat glands. Quickly, I rub my forehead with my palm. Then the truth dawns on me. This girl is actually my former neighbor where we lived in Kapsoya Estate. I am happy she hasn’t recognized me yet. I can see she has grown into a full young girl within the last 5 years – her chocolaty cheeks have the angelic passion of a beauty queen’s.

Together, we swung down the stairs and make our way onto the Church compound. She stops and calls to inform her friends where she is. “You sacred people are always mystical,” I begin to engage her. “To me, there is always something phoney about salvation, isn’t it?” I ask her.

She twitches her face in shock reaction from my statement. Ken joins us. I feel obliged to introduce them. Then she answers me, “No, it’s a reality,” she explains, “are you a believer?”

Otieno and Ben are standing near the gate, their faces turned toward us. My mind is preoccupied with why Ken is intruding into our privacy, but even so, I answer her back. “Yes, I bet I am,” he said, “or else I could not have come for the service.”

“That’s not enough,” she interjects. “There’s one more important thing that you need,” she goes on. “That’s faith.”

“Yeah,” Ken joins thoughtfully, nodding his head. I watch him with bored eyes. My watch indicates few minutes to 1.00 am. The other girls join us now. I adjust my leather belt and we head for the street toward town. I still want to speak to this girl, and know her full names. In such a group, my shy voice sounds muffled and hollow, like a series of continuously dying echoes. I learn she is called Teresa. I can recall we used to call her Resi. A fresh surge of feelings seizes me. I feel Teresa has filled my vacant ventricles with some glaucoma type of dreams, with immortal hope and aspiration’s that now exalts my flesh to ethereal passion and love of life. My impulse turns into a deep desire to meet with her somewhere private and test her smile and love against mine. Even though we are all engaged in teen stories, I still want to talk to Teresa alone – about Christian fellowships, repentance and Christian literature.

The journey to town doesn’t take us more than half an hour. The Christmas walk through the cold night isn’t a threat to us. The night’s mood is right, the day is perfect and the group I get to share my first night in Eldoret is just what I need. Teresa gives me her number.

**** To be continued ******

Tags: church, love, relationship, teenagers