This is for Scotchbiscuits who wants me to write happiness and Countryboyi, seconded by Haji Zack who onced wondered if I could ever write about anything but love. I used to. This is from five years ago, when I could write happiness and about everything but love!
"It was a hot December afternoon, the last day of school before the holiday break. The science class in its dying minutes was the last of the term. Seated in the fourth row on a desk for two between two girls, Janis Ntindo could hardly contain himself. With every pause the teacher now made his and the class’s hopes soared that he was finishing only to be crushed a new as he resumed. With the rest of the class still awake, he was damn impatient to get out and though he loved the science lessons, with the many dozing, was bored.
Christmas was not more than three weeks away and there were m any preparations still to be made! He wanted to get home and join in the fray and confusion! He could hardly wait and from the conversations he had had with many of his friends, overheard and the look on many faces now he could tell he was not the only one.
It did not matter that they now lived in a dilapidated flat in a not so reputable part of town. He had always wanted to live in a flat! Have lots of neighbours and friends his age! Whatever was happening, Christmas had always been special! Memorable, rising like a colossus above the irritating sameness of live as usual to abundantly colour and transmute with immeasurable possibilities not only the vast opportunities the two month holiday could bring and the new year but also crowning gloriously the end of a year, a school term, another class. The promises of this wondrous future embodied by all the beautifully wrapped presents and gifts, decorations, the Christmas tree! There was the food too! The best part of it, for him however, was the anticipation, the preparations, the waiting!
To think that they had to continue coming to school so far in December when all this was happening infuriated him!
Yet in its own way too, it increased the excitement especially the part when he left home everyday reluctantly and then spent the whole day impatiently wondering whether when he returned he would find the flat a shimmering oasis of Christmas season particulars as if by magic waiting for him to open the festivities; the guest of honour. It was a drug all of its own intoxicating more and more everyday and today was the final day! All the pretence he now fathomed in the agitatedness in the air as time unhesitatingly ticked to 3:30 p.m.
Books were disappearing from desks, bags sharply zipping shut and all eyes restlessly drifting to the windows and some beyond to the road outside the barbed wire fence where cars with parents eager to pick up their sons and daughters were increasing. Sighs, mutterings were becoming audible though the disciplining bamboo cane lay in full view atop the teacher’s table. The teacher had no choice...
“I wan all this work on the first day of next term, you hear?” Sternness in the voice. No one was paying attention anymore except Miriam, the class monitoress, gathering up into a neat pile the textbooks the teacher had entrusted her with on her desk. Grins and smirks met the teacher’s last statement, shoes now freely loudly scrapping against the dusty cement floor.
As the teacher departed,
“Be careful and have a nice holiday and a merry Christmas.”
The reaction was explosive! Janis found himself with other boys scrambling over their wooden desk for the door, the girls were shrieking in indignation, some screaming as unsteady figures striding over them threatened to lose balance and at the door, all sexes pushing and shoving and pressed against each other like a pack of rugby players in a scramble, gusts of hot air escaping from open mouths into other grimacing mouths, the heart pounding in each chest whose possessor was in the thick of the fray.
The door spat them into the long cement corridors and the long cement corridors into the dazzling sunshine where many white shirts with brown shorts or pinafores transversed the graveled centre of the school, each fleeing from one source to a more attractive destination; the class of a friend perhaps with temptations to come out and play, with plans for holidays’ engagements to be finalized at last, the tall yellow and maroon buildings sometimes loved, many times loathed during the dying term seeming to kindly look down upon these small, buy creatures that no longer needed their shelter.
He was among them! He moved from one activity to the next in a ferocious whirl sweat dripping from his flushed face, determined not to lose contact with the throbbing, rushing current.
To leave the school at the peak of this gaiety, to walk away out of its rickety copper gates, down the dusty cracked stairs and onto the road leading home, maneuvering his way through the endless stream of cars on Buganda road picking schoolmates he knew and did not, was the supreme moment of living and he felt himself overflowing with joy!"
From yet-another-unpublished novel, mine-- Last Christmas