Thursday, August 25, 2011

A Hymn For The Republic, Uganda, I Still Think About You


First post since Arthur (A.P.K)

This is for you-because you are going to be better than me, on voyages I’ll never embark upon, I’m giving you all my courage and then some, & because...I’m Lost In The World…where…

"You're my Devil, You're my Angel
You're my Heaven, You're my Hell
You're my Now, Your my Forever
You're my Freedom, You're my Jail
You're my Lies, You're my Truth
You're my War, You're my Truce
You're my Questions, You're my Proof.."

Let me tell you about her. Because I loved her from the first. Even when I did not think I would ever get her. The boy in class who would not say anything, eyes on the girl, even the Maths teacher who thought she was dumb could not help have an eye on-chiding the popular boys, “You think she will care for you, when you are a failure?” spurring them on.

It was from way back, like then. The only chance to register in her consciousness on the field of play, Physical Education lessons perhaps, or behind the Primary Seven block afternoon one hundred metres races the girls would demurely sit on the mound to watch, pretending not to notice, all the time intent. Perhaps then. Or making sure, after classes, we would get a taxi that was half empty, so we could all huddle next to her-when we called and shouted, after stopping the taxi to home, though her home was nearer and mine so much further, the taxi would stop somewhere and I would have to walk the rest of the way-oblivious, going over everything I might have heard her say.

That was the intensity. Wanting her before I knew what I would do with her when I had her. Oh, so much later, full of the knowledge of all the things I would do with her and to her, all learned in the arms and embraces I should not have lain in but I did, coming as no innocent to her. But she would not know that of me. There would be no one to tell her and I had learned to be more memorable by being less adorable, a word I had come to hate, when her best friend explained to me, “She thinks of you like a brother to her...” Not what I had wanted, set out to be, learning Maths and Pythagoras so she would not have to; the soprano voice I smoked Sportsman cigarettes to get some base in, so I could stand at the back of the line, where in the school auditorium, she might most clearly see me in the choir.

I did all that and did not stop. I laughed when all the other boys laughed at the asthmatic boy who could not play rugby in boarding school cried alone, crying that with the death of Paulo Kafeero, we had lost not just a drunken musician but another national repository. Jeering with the taunting sneers, how could he so be into kadongo kamu music, though I said nothing when you confessed in one phone call, you liked country music and when Monitor FM had just come on air, it was your favourite radio on the Sundays when it would sometimes play hour long specials of country music. Before we knew what MP3s, before CDs were so cheap a packet of condoms would cost more.

I loved her. Even when I knew the men who had slept with her before me. Perhaps loved her all the more for the men she choose to sleep with. Though as I understood her better, women more, I learned the choice was sometimes not hers entirely. Sometimes it was out of fear, out of need, out of desperation. It did not matter to me. though I have never to this day been able to pass the flats and apartment in which she lost that virginity I discovered she prizes so much without a hear twitch I know one day will be the stroke and heart attack that will kill me. Still I wanted her. Wanted her more. If only in getting her, not want her anymore.  

This was when I hated her. When she had most unmanned me. And I accepted. Submitted. Became least myself to be more what I thought she wanted. Even when I was told she could not be worth it, she was just like any other woman, that I would be disappointed when the facebook albums fantasy of you met the reality. When I had her and would discover that she does not know who President Obama is, worse-does not care to know, that after a month or two, her farting in bed would not be amusing but annoying.

Still I wanted her. Even when I had almost convinced myself I did not.

Then I got her.

They were right about many things but they were wrong about one.

She is still the one I want.

I love her. Is there more to say? 

4 comments:

Darlkom said...

Wow! After so long, that seems to be the only thing I can say about your writing. Wow!

Iwaya said...

@Dee-thanks for waiting!

Princess said...

This is deep! Couldn't help being sucked into it. One complaint though. I feel like the full meaning of this paragraph was lost to me and it was promising to be powerful:
"It did not matter to me. though I have never to this day been able to pass the flats and apartment in which she lost that virginity I discovered she prizes so much without a hear twitch I know one day will be the stroke and heart attack that will kill me. Still I wanted her. Wanted her more. If only in getting her, not want her anymore."
More detail, maybe? Please?

Iwaya said...

@Princess-some things, well, you wish to walk gingerly about, in case you stir up more than you can handle...