1 - How My Love For Shirley Caused Me A Scandal
Posted: Fri Dec 26, 2014 10:47 am
Hey guys; this is my first short story. I've tried to get into the mind of a 13-year-old boy, the son of a village pastor. I've left some words in Swahili, though I've given their alternative meaning in English.
The Ending makes more sense in Swahili, though I've also provided a translation for the same.
Thank you
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Boys Will Be Boys 1 - How My Love For Shirley Caused Me A Scandal
Last Sunday, Tr. Ricky, our class-seven Sunday school teacher was in a foul mood. Within five minutes, he had managed to put half of the boys to sleep with his monotonous voice. Most, if not all, of the girls were absent-minded. As for me I dared not sleep because like all pastors’ children, I am expected to act better than other kids.
Things were going on like this and that when I saw the church usher come towards our class being followed by a girl.
Without bothering to be excused, she interrupted: “Teacher, there’s a new girl for you here.” Turning to the new girl, she said, “Ingia hapa. (entre here)”
By mentioning “a new girl,” the usher had thrown the class into frenzy and everybody forgot how boring the class was. The boys who were drooling on their desks sat upright, and the girls brought their minds back from the TV drama Corazon Indomable.
The moment she walked through the door, she took the whole class captive. She was about my height though a bit slimmer. Her beauty was heart-stopping. Her face was smooth and spotless and her eyes, pure white. Here natural hair hung on her back and reached her size 28 waist. Her spectacles made her look more intelligent than all our school teachers combined. She remained standing at the door as if inviting us to survey her. And survey her we did.
“Yes Msichana (girl), what’s your name?”
“Shirley.”
“Shirley, kwani wewe uko na jina moja kama ya mbwa? (You mean you have one name like a dog?”) The teacher asked as the class burst into laughter. “You people; it’s only a dog that has one name. Msichana, what’s your name?”
The girl frowned, wondering what she had gotten herself into: “Shirley Imani.”
“Go sit there.”
She was directed to an empty chair next to mine and that’s when I knew things were going to be interesting.
After class, I went to the church canteen and bought her a packet of glucose which we licked together. From our tête-à-tête, I learnt that she was the daughter of a well-to-do retiring Army Major who was relocating to his rural home in our village after years of living in Nairobi.
“By the way, are you angry?” I asked softly, referring to the incident in class where the teacher had made fun of her.
“I’m okay”
“Niambie tu. Unaogopa nini? (Just tell me, what are you afraid of?)”
“By the way, Mi niko sawa, (I’m okay)” she replied in a soulful voice.
“By the way,” I lowered my voice further, “Look at me.”
“Imagine I’m feeling mbaya (bad), ” she said with tears rolling down her eyes. “Me I’m like, why did he call me a dog?”
“Imagine you’re not a dog. You’re an angel.”
“Imagine I’ll never come to this church again.”
“But you can’t do that to me,” I protested.
“Imagine it’s not fair.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I should have acted more responsibly.” I have learnt that girls want you to apologize even when you’re not the one on the wrong.
“Ni sawa tu (It’s okay).”
All this imagining was making the conversation very sweet, what with her saying some very nice things here and there. She was now smiling all very wide, and making me like her dimples and all that.
In fact, I was imagining myself wiping away some glucose powder which was on her lips, when I saw her father’s car coming through the church gate. We all know that fathers generally don’t like the idea of handsome boys like myself hanging around their daughters wiping their lips and calling them angels.
So I bade her farewell but as I was leaving, she got hold of my arm.
“Now that you know our place, can you come and see me at our home? Maybe teach me Math?”
“Of course.” I replied
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
There was nobody at home since everyone was still in church. Once inside my room, I changed into my blue T-shirt and a pair of black jeans which my mom had bought me on my 13th birthday.
Together with my grey beret, a scarf adorned in Rasta colors, and sunglasses (none of which my puritan parents knew that I owned,) I felt like coolest kid in East and Central Africa. Armed with my books just in case her dad caught me there, I dashed off to meet my new acquaintance.
Shirley’s home was quite far from ours, but since my mind had been entirely taken up by her, I didn’t even notice the distance. Soon, I could see their home 200 meters away as I passed by their newly harvested maize farm.
I wasn’t sure whether the father would be as glad to see me, so I decided to sneak into the farm and walk along the fence until I was close enough to spy on the homestead before announcing my presence. Big blunder. Immediately I crossed the barbed wire, I heard a startling bark. Looking up, I saw a huge dog charging at me. This wasn’t in my script but it was impossible to go back.
Just when I thought it was all over and that I was going to be eaten alive, I saw a mango tree about 50 meters away. I ran towards it with the dog hot on my heels.
Within seconds, I was hanging on one of the branches with my feet dangling in the air as the dog barked menacingly. With my left arm firmly on one branch, I stretched my right arm and grabbed another branch, which was much higher.
But before I could say “at least,” something fell from the mango tree and immediately, the place was filled with angry bees which were spoiling for a fight. I had upset a beehive.
I had to choose between facing one dog and fighting a thousand bees. It was a no-brainer. I jumped down, hurting my ankle in the process. Luckily for me, the bees did not care who started the fight. They were all over the dog as it ran towards the fence with its tail between its legs.
I knew I could not outrun the bees. My plan was simple: to run to Major’s homestead and “share” my problem with others. I ran so fast, but from the way the bees were stinging me, it seemed like they had been sent by the proverbial dark forces.
As if not content with stinging my face, they got into my T-shirt and began stinging my back from inside. I tore the T-shirt from my body and it was then that it occurred to me that my shoes, beret, shades, and scarf were all missing.
I couldn’t tell where I had put my school books. And as for my chewing gum, I had probably swallowed it in the process.
There was only one hurdle between me and the homestead: a 1-metre-high sisal fence. Barefoot and bare-chested, I jumped as high as I could, over to the side, where unbeknown to me, was a pile of cow dung manure.
Landing my bee-stung buttocks on a pile of warm, stinky, slimy dung was not as fun as I had always imagined. I let out a piercing yell that caused three men to come out of one of the houses in haste.
“What’s the matter?” asked one whom I didn’t know.
“And who are you?” asked another.
“Nyuki (Bees)” I answered as I continued crying.
Looking up, I saw the bees buzzing away as if they were now satisfied with the misery they had caused me.
In between sobbing and wailing, I explained the whole story – except for the part where I had come to see Shirley. By the time I was through, my face had begun swelling and my bottoms were boiling.
I looked up and there she was standing at the kitchen door. I gazed directly into her eyes hoping to receive some of the sympathy that I had shown her in the morning, but I was mistaken. Our eyes met, she sneered, clicked, and walked away. I started crying hysterically.
“We need to take this guy to the dispensary,” Suggested one of the men.
“No need. Hii ni kazi rahisi (this is a simple job). All we need is toothpaste and this kid will be okay. lete toothpaste,” replied another.
Once the toothpaste was brought, one of the guys pinned me to the ground as Joshua, the herdsman, rubbed the toothpaste into my face, neck, and back. It was so painful.
“You need to go home. You’ll be okay in a day or two,” Joshua said authoritatively.
I got up and dusted myself. A shirt was handed to me and I was told that my belongings will be sent to me once they were found. Since I couldn’t see well, it was hastily decided that Joshua should take me home and explain to my parents what had happened. As we approached my home, I heard two women chatting by the wayside:
“Umeskia hiyo maneno imefanyika huko kwa Major?” (Have you heard about what’s happened at Major’s?)
“Ai, bado. Kuna nini?”(What’s up?)
“Naskia ati mtoto wa pastor amepatikana huko uchi (I’ve heard that the pastor’s son has been found there - Naked”)
“Akifanya? (What was he doing?)”
“ Sijui. Ni kama alikuwa anaroga boma.(I don’t know it’s like he was bewitching the homestead.)”
The saga had spread like bush-fire and in the process, it had become a scandal.
The Ending makes more sense in Swahili, though I've also provided a translation for the same.
Thank you
***********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Boys Will Be Boys 1 - How My Love For Shirley Caused Me A Scandal
Last Sunday, Tr. Ricky, our class-seven Sunday school teacher was in a foul mood. Within five minutes, he had managed to put half of the boys to sleep with his monotonous voice. Most, if not all, of the girls were absent-minded. As for me I dared not sleep because like all pastors’ children, I am expected to act better than other kids.
Things were going on like this and that when I saw the church usher come towards our class being followed by a girl.
Without bothering to be excused, she interrupted: “Teacher, there’s a new girl for you here.” Turning to the new girl, she said, “Ingia hapa. (entre here)”
By mentioning “a new girl,” the usher had thrown the class into frenzy and everybody forgot how boring the class was. The boys who were drooling on their desks sat upright, and the girls brought their minds back from the TV drama Corazon Indomable.
The moment she walked through the door, she took the whole class captive. She was about my height though a bit slimmer. Her beauty was heart-stopping. Her face was smooth and spotless and her eyes, pure white. Here natural hair hung on her back and reached her size 28 waist. Her spectacles made her look more intelligent than all our school teachers combined. She remained standing at the door as if inviting us to survey her. And survey her we did.
“Yes Msichana (girl), what’s your name?”
“Shirley.”
“Shirley, kwani wewe uko na jina moja kama ya mbwa? (You mean you have one name like a dog?”) The teacher asked as the class burst into laughter. “You people; it’s only a dog that has one name. Msichana, what’s your name?”
The girl frowned, wondering what she had gotten herself into: “Shirley Imani.”
“Go sit there.”
She was directed to an empty chair next to mine and that’s when I knew things were going to be interesting.
After class, I went to the church canteen and bought her a packet of glucose which we licked together. From our tête-à-tête, I learnt that she was the daughter of a well-to-do retiring Army Major who was relocating to his rural home in our village after years of living in Nairobi.
“By the way, are you angry?” I asked softly, referring to the incident in class where the teacher had made fun of her.
“I’m okay”
“Niambie tu. Unaogopa nini? (Just tell me, what are you afraid of?)”
“By the way, Mi niko sawa, (I’m okay)” she replied in a soulful voice.
“By the way,” I lowered my voice further, “Look at me.”
“Imagine I’m feeling mbaya (bad), ” she said with tears rolling down her eyes. “Me I’m like, why did he call me a dog?”
“Imagine you’re not a dog. You’re an angel.”
“Imagine I’ll never come to this church again.”
“But you can’t do that to me,” I protested.
“Imagine it’s not fair.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I should have acted more responsibly.” I have learnt that girls want you to apologize even when you’re not the one on the wrong.
“Ni sawa tu (It’s okay).”
All this imagining was making the conversation very sweet, what with her saying some very nice things here and there. She was now smiling all very wide, and making me like her dimples and all that.
In fact, I was imagining myself wiping away some glucose powder which was on her lips, when I saw her father’s car coming through the church gate. We all know that fathers generally don’t like the idea of handsome boys like myself hanging around their daughters wiping their lips and calling them angels.
So I bade her farewell but as I was leaving, she got hold of my arm.
“Now that you know our place, can you come and see me at our home? Maybe teach me Math?”
“Of course.” I replied
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
There was nobody at home since everyone was still in church. Once inside my room, I changed into my blue T-shirt and a pair of black jeans which my mom had bought me on my 13th birthday.
Together with my grey beret, a scarf adorned in Rasta colors, and sunglasses (none of which my puritan parents knew that I owned,) I felt like coolest kid in East and Central Africa. Armed with my books just in case her dad caught me there, I dashed off to meet my new acquaintance.
Shirley’s home was quite far from ours, but since my mind had been entirely taken up by her, I didn’t even notice the distance. Soon, I could see their home 200 meters away as I passed by their newly harvested maize farm.
I wasn’t sure whether the father would be as glad to see me, so I decided to sneak into the farm and walk along the fence until I was close enough to spy on the homestead before announcing my presence. Big blunder. Immediately I crossed the barbed wire, I heard a startling bark. Looking up, I saw a huge dog charging at me. This wasn’t in my script but it was impossible to go back.
Just when I thought it was all over and that I was going to be eaten alive, I saw a mango tree about 50 meters away. I ran towards it with the dog hot on my heels.
Within seconds, I was hanging on one of the branches with my feet dangling in the air as the dog barked menacingly. With my left arm firmly on one branch, I stretched my right arm and grabbed another branch, which was much higher.
But before I could say “at least,” something fell from the mango tree and immediately, the place was filled with angry bees which were spoiling for a fight. I had upset a beehive.
I had to choose between facing one dog and fighting a thousand bees. It was a no-brainer. I jumped down, hurting my ankle in the process. Luckily for me, the bees did not care who started the fight. They were all over the dog as it ran towards the fence with its tail between its legs.
I knew I could not outrun the bees. My plan was simple: to run to Major’s homestead and “share” my problem with others. I ran so fast, but from the way the bees were stinging me, it seemed like they had been sent by the proverbial dark forces.
As if not content with stinging my face, they got into my T-shirt and began stinging my back from inside. I tore the T-shirt from my body and it was then that it occurred to me that my shoes, beret, shades, and scarf were all missing.
I couldn’t tell where I had put my school books. And as for my chewing gum, I had probably swallowed it in the process.
There was only one hurdle between me and the homestead: a 1-metre-high sisal fence. Barefoot and bare-chested, I jumped as high as I could, over to the side, where unbeknown to me, was a pile of cow dung manure.
Landing my bee-stung buttocks on a pile of warm, stinky, slimy dung was not as fun as I had always imagined. I let out a piercing yell that caused three men to come out of one of the houses in haste.
“What’s the matter?” asked one whom I didn’t know.
“And who are you?” asked another.
“Nyuki (Bees)” I answered as I continued crying.
Looking up, I saw the bees buzzing away as if they were now satisfied with the misery they had caused me.
In between sobbing and wailing, I explained the whole story – except for the part where I had come to see Shirley. By the time I was through, my face had begun swelling and my bottoms were boiling.
I looked up and there she was standing at the kitchen door. I gazed directly into her eyes hoping to receive some of the sympathy that I had shown her in the morning, but I was mistaken. Our eyes met, she sneered, clicked, and walked away. I started crying hysterically.
“We need to take this guy to the dispensary,” Suggested one of the men.
“No need. Hii ni kazi rahisi (this is a simple job). All we need is toothpaste and this kid will be okay. lete toothpaste,” replied another.
Once the toothpaste was brought, one of the guys pinned me to the ground as Joshua, the herdsman, rubbed the toothpaste into my face, neck, and back. It was so painful.
“You need to go home. You’ll be okay in a day or two,” Joshua said authoritatively.
I got up and dusted myself. A shirt was handed to me and I was told that my belongings will be sent to me once they were found. Since I couldn’t see well, it was hastily decided that Joshua should take me home and explain to my parents what had happened. As we approached my home, I heard two women chatting by the wayside:
“Umeskia hiyo maneno imefanyika huko kwa Major?” (Have you heard about what’s happened at Major’s?)
“Ai, bado. Kuna nini?”(What’s up?)
“Naskia ati mtoto wa pastor amepatikana huko uchi (I’ve heard that the pastor’s son has been found there - Naked”)
“Akifanya? (What was he doing?)”
“ Sijui. Ni kama alikuwa anaroga boma.(I don’t know it’s like he was bewitching the homestead.)”
The saga had spread like bush-fire and in the process, it had become a scandal.
This was a gem. You're very gifted 
