Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Guilty of love
Guilty. Not guilty, never guilty. The steel gate of Chichiri prison banged at his back. He gulped a mouthful of fresh air. It smelled fresh and tasted kind as it flew past his throat. Five years had gone. Five years of broken dreams, hopeless hopes, in the long Jericho-walls of the prison. Marion posed for a moment, turned his face back to the prison, his heart saying goodbye. He smiled as memories took him back to life in prison.
‘Turn left,’ he could hear the threatening voice of the nyapala rumbling in his ears. All prisoners had then slept facing the right side and now it was time to turn the other side. There were moments the cell was overcrowded leaving no space to sleep. Men had to sleep while seated. That was what it was to spend life in prison.
Goodbye Chichiri, he wanted to yell on top of his voice. Goodbye my home for half a decade.
People had come and gone, others came and died, others had come and would never be set free. He had sung spiritual choruses with them, the favourite song being, Paulo ndi Silas anapemphera. Then they would sing on top of the voice when the chorus reached: zitseko zandende zinaseguka. But the gate of Chichiri prison was so stubborn to fear prayers. It was there only to open when an inmate’s sentence had expired.
“Cecelia,” memories of his wife ricocheted in his brain as he was heading for the bus stage. It was long time he had seen her. She stopped visiting him some two years past. Marion knew Cecilia was not expecting him. His sentence had been waved off as a result of Independence Day celebrations.
“Celebrate Cecilia. Celebrate my sweet. The hour of happiness has come,” he was saying to himself as he was jumping across the road.
Khrrrrrr! A vehicle screeched to a stop. He was nearly bumped. Marion felt like being awaken from a long sleep. As he was lost in the thoughts of beloved Cecilia he did not take notice of the advancing vehicle.
“Sorry man, sorry,” he apologized.
“Mufatu inu,” the car driver angrily yelled as he sped away.
Being in prison had taught him several things: love is precious. That which free people take for granted is the most craved for feeling in prison. He was free at last to meet his Cecelia, to feel the warmth of the bosom of a woman, to be held and kissed like a baby. His eyes had witnessed tragic moments of juveniles being sodomised by fearsome inmates, men making other men women. That was history and it would ever remain such.
Chikondi Malekano, his only daughter must have been knitting together some English expressions now, he thought. She was three when he was sent to jail. Chikondi would scream and yell dad! dad! dad! Marion wondered; would Chikondi recognize him? “Dad is back, Chikondi. Dad is back,” Marion said to himself.
He felt a tap on his shoulder then he shivered.
“Man, what’s wrong. You are talking alone. Are you ok?” It was another passenger in the minibus talking to him. Some passengers in front twisted their necks to look at him. He looked down and did not respond. Was he in a prison attire to attract the sea of eyes of people? He wondered. No, he was not, he answered himself. His clothes were not even dirty; he was clad in the same dark blue suit, grey shirt and black tie that he had worn on the day he was convicted.
His mind was hurrying back home with many expectations. His businesses must have prospered. Probably Cecelia had chased the houseboy. Probably the houseboy wanted to capitalize on his imprisonment to make romantic advances towards his wife.
“Cecelia is a strong willed woman. It’s till death do us part,” his mind spoke as he gazed at the matrimonial ring brightening on his finger.
He smiled as he recalled the many stories of male advances towards his wife that she told him during the first two years she visited him at Chichiri prison. It was heart breaking to note that even his very close friends were at the forefront enticing his wife for nights out.
“Marion my husband,” Cecilia shed tears one afternoon in the visiting room at the prison. “I can never let any man touch me, eight years is not forever.”
The minibus stopped. At last a vehicle journey was over. He just had to walk half a kilometer to his house. At a distance he could see the long and high wall of his house greeting him. There Cecelia was. He would ask him why she not visited him the past three years. Had his parents banned her from paying him visits? Had they grasped his property and chased her away?
Marion shook his hands as he neared the gate of his house. A stout guard in bushy beard greeted him when he knocked the door.
“Open man, open,” he shouted as the guard was blocking him. “Abwana has come.”
The guard tightened his grip on his baton stick. “I am sorry I don’t know you.”
Marion lost his cool: “Adona knows me.”
The guard closed the gate. In a moment a fat woman, hilly-hipped appeared at the gate. She was not Cecilia. She could not have gone hilly-buttocked like this in only two years. This lady eyed him with envy.
“Are you a visitor,” Marion asked the woman.
The woman did not answer. She just banged the gate close then on top of her voice ordered the guard not to open the door for the mad man standing at the gate.
Marion leaned at the door, eyes reddening. “Mr. Guard, I am sorry. But this house used to be Mr. Malekano’s house.”
“Oh, yes,” the guard stood close to him. “You are right. Mrs. Malekano sold this house. She stays with her husband in a new house they have just built somewhere down there?”
Marion followed the map he had been given by the guard. Cecelia could not have another husband apart from him. He knocked, slid the gate open then entered. His eyes crashed with those of Cecilia carrying a baby in the hands, Makiyolobasi the guard then, his hand encircling her shoulders. Marion stood still. Cecelia nearly lost breathe. Makiyolobasi rushed back into the house.
“Is this what I have to pay for love,” Marion was down and in tears.
Cecelia shivered. “I am sorry, let me explain….”
“Explain that I was wrong to report to the police that I was the one who had knocked down a pedestrian crossing a zebra crossing while it was you who was driving…”
Cecilia left the baby down and rushed towards Marion, holding him tight.
“I have been guilty of loving you. Guilty of sacrificing myself to serve a jail term for reckless driving on your behalf…”
Marion pulled himself out of the gripping embrace of Cecelia. He walked towards the gate. Cecelia grabbed him by the shirt. He pushed away Cecilia’s hand then opened the gate, Cecilia followed him.
‘Turn left,’ he could hear the threatening voice of the nyapala rumbling in his ears. All prisoners had then slept facing the right side and now it was time to turn the other side. There were moments the cell was overcrowded leaving no space to sleep. Men had to sleep while seated. That was what it was to spend life in prison.
Goodbye Chichiri, he wanted to yell on top of his voice. Goodbye my home for half a decade.
People had come and gone, others came and died, others had come and would never be set free. He had sung spiritual choruses with them, the favourite song being, Paulo ndi Silas anapemphera. Then they would sing on top of the voice when the chorus reached: zitseko zandende zinaseguka. But the gate of Chichiri prison was so stubborn to fear prayers. It was there only to open when an inmate’s sentence had expired.
“Cecelia,” memories of his wife ricocheted in his brain as he was heading for the bus stage. It was long time he had seen her. She stopped visiting him some two years past. Marion knew Cecilia was not expecting him. His sentence had been waved off as a result of Independence Day celebrations.
“Celebrate Cecilia. Celebrate my sweet. The hour of happiness has come,” he was saying to himself as he was jumping across the road.
Khrrrrrr! A vehicle screeched to a stop. He was nearly bumped. Marion felt like being awaken from a long sleep. As he was lost in the thoughts of beloved Cecilia he did not take notice of the advancing vehicle.
“Sorry man, sorry,” he apologized.
“Mufatu inu,” the car driver angrily yelled as he sped away.
Being in prison had taught him several things: love is precious. That which free people take for granted is the most craved for feeling in prison. He was free at last to meet his Cecelia, to feel the warmth of the bosom of a woman, to be held and kissed like a baby. His eyes had witnessed tragic moments of juveniles being sodomised by fearsome inmates, men making other men women. That was history and it would ever remain such.
Chikondi Malekano, his only daughter must have been knitting together some English expressions now, he thought. She was three when he was sent to jail. Chikondi would scream and yell dad! dad! dad! Marion wondered; would Chikondi recognize him? “Dad is back, Chikondi. Dad is back,” Marion said to himself.
He felt a tap on his shoulder then he shivered.
“Man, what’s wrong. You are talking alone. Are you ok?” It was another passenger in the minibus talking to him. Some passengers in front twisted their necks to look at him. He looked down and did not respond. Was he in a prison attire to attract the sea of eyes of people? He wondered. No, he was not, he answered himself. His clothes were not even dirty; he was clad in the same dark blue suit, grey shirt and black tie that he had worn on the day he was convicted.
His mind was hurrying back home with many expectations. His businesses must have prospered. Probably Cecelia had chased the houseboy. Probably the houseboy wanted to capitalize on his imprisonment to make romantic advances towards his wife.
“Cecelia is a strong willed woman. It’s till death do us part,” his mind spoke as he gazed at the matrimonial ring brightening on his finger.
He smiled as he recalled the many stories of male advances towards his wife that she told him during the first two years she visited him at Chichiri prison. It was heart breaking to note that even his very close friends were at the forefront enticing his wife for nights out.
“Marion my husband,” Cecilia shed tears one afternoon in the visiting room at the prison. “I can never let any man touch me, eight years is not forever.”
The minibus stopped. At last a vehicle journey was over. He just had to walk half a kilometer to his house. At a distance he could see the long and high wall of his house greeting him. There Cecelia was. He would ask him why she not visited him the past three years. Had his parents banned her from paying him visits? Had they grasped his property and chased her away?
Marion shook his hands as he neared the gate of his house. A stout guard in bushy beard greeted him when he knocked the door.
“Open man, open,” he shouted as the guard was blocking him. “Abwana has come.”
The guard tightened his grip on his baton stick. “I am sorry I don’t know you.”
Marion lost his cool: “Adona knows me.”
The guard closed the gate. In a moment a fat woman, hilly-hipped appeared at the gate. She was not Cecilia. She could not have gone hilly-buttocked like this in only two years. This lady eyed him with envy.
“Are you a visitor,” Marion asked the woman.
The woman did not answer. She just banged the gate close then on top of her voice ordered the guard not to open the door for the mad man standing at the gate.
Marion leaned at the door, eyes reddening. “Mr. Guard, I am sorry. But this house used to be Mr. Malekano’s house.”
“Oh, yes,” the guard stood close to him. “You are right. Mrs. Malekano sold this house. She stays with her husband in a new house they have just built somewhere down there?”
Marion followed the map he had been given by the guard. Cecelia could not have another husband apart from him. He knocked, slid the gate open then entered. His eyes crashed with those of Cecilia carrying a baby in the hands, Makiyolobasi the guard then, his hand encircling her shoulders. Marion stood still. Cecelia nearly lost breathe. Makiyolobasi rushed back into the house.
“Is this what I have to pay for love,” Marion was down and in tears.
Cecelia shivered. “I am sorry, let me explain….”
“Explain that I was wrong to report to the police that I was the one who had knocked down a pedestrian crossing a zebra crossing while it was you who was driving…”
Cecilia left the baby down and rushed towards Marion, holding him tight.
“I have been guilty of loving you. Guilty of sacrificing myself to serve a jail term for reckless driving on your behalf…”
Marion pulled himself out of the gripping embrace of Cecelia. He walked towards the gate. Cecelia grabbed him by the shirt. He pushed away Cecilia’s hand then opened the gate, Cecilia followed him.
