To my love, Zuri
Every time I set my eyes on you, beautiful flower, my heart skips a beat. I bumped into you in the dining hall the other day. I am sorry. I did not mean to spill soup all over your dress. That must have been quite a mess for first impressions.
It is just that your beauty had captured my gaze. The shiny white pearls hidden behind your pretty smile blow me away. Oh! The bewitching gap in your lower set! Your smooth, chocolate complexion added to the cute dimples in your cheeks, take my breath away.
Oh daughter of Eve. I have become a prisoner. Prisoner of your love. Deep in thought every day and night. My chariots of love are directed towards you. I have been dreaming of you my butterfly. When will you fly and land on the sweet scented flower of my heart?
Please accept my offer of undying love to you my dear. Meet me on Sunday at 10:30 sharp immediately after the tea break behind class seven red. I will be in a red t-shirt. Wear something red. It will be our little red secret.
With love,
Your one and only,
Baraka.
“Sally! Sally! Come and see what Gloria gave me during breakfast,” Zuri called out to the group of girls playing jump-rope. It was a weekend. Weekends in Moshi Boarding School were spent in the field. The heat in Kilifi where the school was located made classes unbearable during the afternoons. Having one on a weekend would be featured as top ten in 100 ways to die. And death, death should be avoided by all means.
Zuri hurriedly gave the piece of paper folded in her left palm to her best friend. She silently waited for the response. It was a long wait. Finally, Sally gave her opinion. Of the two, she was the older one having repeated a class before. It was natural for Zuri to hang on to her every word.
“What sort of person writes a letter and signs off with one name? Did he sleep through Madam Mwadika’s English lessons?” Sally asked. “You took his breath away and yet he survived to write this to you?” she continued amidst sarcastic laughter. Zuri was not laughing.
Zuri came from a strict Christian family. Her dad was a church elder. Interactions with boys were completely forbidden. She could not comprehend the kind of love offered in the letter. The pastor always reminded them to love their neighbors as themselves every Sunday, could that be it?
“Do you think he loves me as his neighbor?” she asked Sally. Sally burst into a roar of laughter. “Yes darling, he wants to borrow salt and flour from you. Don’t be silly. Poor boy is asking you to be his girlfriend!”
Dad had said boyfriends and girlfriends would not to go to heaven. She wanted heaven. All the gold, pretty dresses and nice shoes dad had said were up there waiting for people like them. Good Christians who attended church without fail.
“I cannot be his girlfriend! Dad said no boys. I want heaven. I should give this to my dad tomorrow. It is visiting day. He will pray for him to go to heaven too,” Zuri concluded. Sally laughed even more and just then the supper-time bell interrupted their talk. They rushed to the queue. Food always came first.
Sunday came. Mr Kizito’s eyes were blazing with fury as he stared at the headmaster. He could not imagine a boy had the guts to write a letter to his girl. His precious jewel. His little dove. He demanded that the headmaster summon the culprit immediately.
Baraka, a slim, tall, light-skinned boy walked into the headmaster’s office. On seeing the letter on top of the desk, he looked at Zuri and knew his little red secret was no more. His blood froze. Mr. Kizito gave him two resounding slaps before he could explain himself. The headmaster followed with seven strokes to the back. By the time the ordeal was over, he could barely stand up straight and apologize as instructed.
His backside was on fire. More like hell fire. Definitely not the heaven Zuri had in mind for him. She fixed her eyes to the floor with tears streaming down. She did not understand. Dad said God is love and yet he had hit Baraka for loving her. Her teen mind had a long way to go before grasping what love really meant. But one thing was certain. “A little red secret” from an innocent boy had opened the gates. The journey had begun.
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