The Kiss of Truth

The sound of the alarm bell jostled the young woman from her sleep. Ayla Anyadwer rose with a soft moan to a sitting position. She cast her eyes to the huge clock whose shorter arm was pointing to ten and the long one pointing to fifteen. Not bad, she whispered. She had spent the bigger part of the night before finishing the draft that she had to submit to the editor of the big selling newspaper, the Earth Quake. She yawned then got out of bed. She walked to the bathroom: the rest of the house had gone to their daily activities. She lived with Lacan Beatrice, Owor Christopher and Anna Mbabazi; and they were friends. The living arrangement that they had chosen was to make life affordable. The three bed roomed house was built during the colonial days with a front facing the direction of the rising sun. The back that saw an opening through the kitchen had fruit trees and flowery plants growing in it. The 1950 something house had spacious rooms with high ceilings; and the kitchen had a fire place that saw a metallic chimney built atop it to let out smoke. The house had been repainted on several occasions with what seemed like dazzling colours, and as a result, maps of contours marred the strong walls even if a fresh coat of white had recently been applied to it.

While in the refitted bathroom, Ayla stopped by the mirror: the image facing her had the colour of brown anthill. Two large eyes stood above a pointed nose. When she smiled, dark eyebrows and fleshy lips curled to a mesmerizing twist. And beneath the outstretched mouth, a clear chin emerged. After a moment of gaze, she splashed some water onto her face. She smiled again then bared her teeth out; she was pleased for their shapely looked. She reached for the tooth brush and filled it with paste. And winced when the brushed entered her mouth: she made a mental note to later see the dentist that worked well but charged less than the others. The breakthrough in her writing would soon come and she would have enough money to cater for such needs. She let her night gown fall down to her feet then stepped into the shower. She let the jetting stream hit her head as her hands hugged her naked body. As she relished the feel of the cold water on her, she felt her breasts that were fleshy: going down, her waist was narrow, thighs long and thick. Also, the legs carrying her form were straight and strong. When she picked her usual bathing sponge and gathered lather on it, the feel of the wetness on her body was like a silk cloth gliding down a polished wood ornament. Ayla let the water fall for a few minutes before turning it off. She towelled herself then walked out of the bathroom.

She loved her usual morning routine―the washing; for with that, vitality always swept to her mind and body before work begins. Breakfast was usually taken with haste, after dressing up in her usual favourites—a pair of jeans and body hugging tops.

However, that morning when she sat on her desk to write, an uncanny feeling― a nagging thought was in her mind. It was about what mother and grandmother told her that Sunday she visited home. They were worried. They were concerned about her resorted choice of career. It would be difficult for a man to want her, they expressed concerned. They were worried about her age too; being twenty-seven was nearing an age when a man might look at her as an off the marrying age. And these concerns had grown over the years, for her people also wanted children. They wanted healthy happy grandchildren. She wanted the same too. But how was she to let them know the truth―the reality about this contemporary life? A change that was unfavourable to mind gifted women like her, whose only alternative might be to have children and raise them on their own?

She had known a few young men that were her people; and she had only come out with disappointments from them. In her eye stemming from her experience, the fashionable young man of her little town was as unserious in love, impatient, and irresponsible. The violent war that disabled many had also seen its toll on the men, where family responsibility became a burden with their youthfulness compromised by alcoholism and despair. The traditional polygamist tendency in the men, where marrying more than one wife meant a good labour force was still the practice in a transformed way; many of the young men only now wanted a woman with good money; that was a trait away from their African forefathers.

Naturally blessed with endurance, the typical Acholi woman had become the hard worker and persevering mate. With these unusual shifts, with the men becoming dependants instead, a struggling woman who was not after making quick money was at a disadvantage. And this growing tendency in the modern young man, she despised and pitied. A true man to her was one like her father. A true man married a woman because she was attractive and willing to be his rib; and the other qualities would follow after. So this disappointment from the young men of her kind had only help fuel her independence. She would take a career and make it on her own, she had decided.

However there was Mustafa Karim—Mustafa, she liked to call him. They had met that one sunny day. Mustafa was different. However there was also something else about him. She thought Mustafa was overly imposing in his ways that only fuelled the insecurity from the past back into her. And this tall man from the coast of Kenya, with a tall strong body good was of foreign blood.

Ayla turned from her computer and tried to push back the nagging thoughts, but the interest to continue with the writing had also gone away already. She stood up, stretched then went to her bedroom. She looked at the clock and the short arm was pointing to one and the long one to five. It was a Saturday. Work was done half day. Soon Lacan, Owor and Mbabazi would be home—not bad; for she got along well with her roomies. As she gazed around she noticed that her room needed some sorting; her bed was unmade. The mouth of the suitcase by the head of the bed was open with wrinkly clothes peeping out―colourful clothes they were. Under the bed airy dust layered the plastic carpet. She picked the suit case and emptied the contents on the bed and began to straighten them up. Not long when the room was sorted out the door to the living room cringed and in came Owor followed by Lacan. Ayla lifted from the now made bed and darted towards the living room where Lacan was pulling a sack towards the kitchen and Owor was standing and gazing to particularly nothing while loosening his tie.

‘’Am happy I came upon this. It will take a while.’’ Lacan said on seeing Ayla. She then turned to Owor, ‘’come help me . The sack is heavy.’’

Owor did not answer. He looked to be far away as he still fidgeted with his tie.

Ayla went and grabbed the sack from the other end and began to push as words struggled out from her throat. ‘’You went to the field today. This is quite an amount of food in the sack.’’

The sack rested back on the floor as Lacan released her hold to answer. She sighed, and then paused with a smiled. ’’Yes, this will take us a while, prices are better in the villages you know. The field trip was brief today but I happened to find this by the road side and so cheap too.’’

Ayla grunted, the economic side of life was not bad; collective hands were a good thing, she thought. She always held the view that cost sharing was a good thing for young people, that the practice should be encouraged as it eases on the budget. She then said, ‘’ you are doing us good. You, Lacan, Mbabazi and Owor—your works makes our living easier. But don’t do it again, i keep reminding ―going to the field without my notice. I want to always send you to get us food for storage in the house too.’’

‘’I keep telling you to join the NGO world. You could enjoy a trip to work too.’’ Lacan answered as they pushed the content of the bug into the kitchen drawer. ‘’Many people are particularly joining social studies at the university just to come and work with the Non Governmental Organisations here in northern Uganda. You have a good grade from the university. They will never hesitate to give you a job once you apply....’’

As Ayla listened, she restrained from opposing her friend. The war had literally ended but the people were still living in the Camps, injured from the empty promises from the numerous mushroomed Non Governmental Organisations and eating from the meagre potion that was being given to them. They were living a life of dreams from the many teachings filled in their heads by these organisations, in their invalid state. Her writings were literally about the mishaps on the people that found themselves into the Internally Displaced People’s camps on orders from the Government. Her parents and people were opposed to her writings. They said it was not a woman’s job; however she was going to prove their fears wrong. So, not in the mood for a lecture, Ayla acknowledged Lacan’s advice. She then said something about Owor who had retreated to the bedroom that he shared with his fiancée Mbabazi. ‘’ Owor is not in his mind. Did you noticed?’’ Her face crowded with concern. But Lacan too looked too absorbed with cleaning the dirt in her well manicured hands. She shook Lacan on the shoulder then said, ‘’did you not notice the oddness with Owor?’’

‘’Love issues, I think is the cause. ‘’ Lacan answered, now absentmindedly.

Ayla turned disturbed then uttered. ‘’That’s what happens when two people come from different cultures.’’

Lacan put the stained old ragged she was using on the kitchen sink, gave her friend a muzzled look. ‘’I don’t agree with that.’’ She again picked the rug and began to work furiously on her skirt.

Ayla sigh then changed the topic.

But Lacan continued. ‘’He is a puppy boy. He dots over his love so much. He probably got jealous over the boss of his fiancée.’’ Lacan said while leading Ayla with a hand into her bedroom. ‘’Soon his fiancée will come back and they will talk things out.’’ Lacan’s room had a bed of timber with a thick plastic mattress on it. The window was large and low. She had put a heavy curtain with a white lining inside it. Her room was ever neat even if she seems like in a hurry most of the time.

When Ayla was seated next to Lacan on the bed, she then listened to her friend say the same old story that she always disagreed with.

‘’...my fiancée―Thomson, when I first applied for the job, he helped me get it because he works in the Ngo. He said he loved me and he would make it easy for me. And why not, i gave him the chance. And even if he is in another town with the same organisation, you know we talk from time to time. I will visit him again soon when he invites me. His wife, you know he is married. His wife seemed to have accepted that he will bring another woman soon. I am happy Ayla, why make life so difficult?’’

The story, told a dozen times over meals, tea times, and whatever available moments had found many ways to irk her in the beginning. However as she kept on rejecting this strategy to earning a living, seen in her aloofness; to Lacan’s inattentiveness, an immunity had however built in her. About a few months ago, she had felt like throwing her friend’s talk on her face. And such was this moment. But she sat and listened to the old story run into one ear and pass out through the next. Her friendship with Lacan was not that old. They had met on a field trip when she was carrying out a research. Lacan’s instant attraction to her was warming. Her close friend was rather loud at times, but she carried a generous heart underneath even if they disagreed on many things. Through Lacan she had met Owor and Mbabazi; and a few months ago had come up with the idea of sharing a house.

She had managed to build a strong immunity to Lacan’s ways of seeing things, therefore she should not let herself get ruffled, she silently told herself. ‘’You are my friend, but I don’t agree with you in this topic you know.’’ Her voice came out composed.

‘’Why suffer when you can get it the easy way? A man with power will make you be a respected woman.’’

’’Where is Owor?

’’Why ask for Owor right now?

Again, Ayla felt a strong impulse to be rude to Lacan; the desire gripped her inside with a force that only one with a tamed temperament such as she, could control. When she inhaled deeply on several counts, her composure came back. She then told Lacan. ‘’I don’t see what you are talking about between Mbabazi and Owor. Their relationship seems to be built on much respect, Lacan.’’

‘’I see, so you are not taking your people’s concern seriously.’’

‘’Last night, at the club I thought about them; and to let you know—I love them, my family.’’

On seeing her friend’s ever resoluteness, Lacan cooled down and instead offered to go make some easy meal in the kitchen.

These disagreements between the two had become a normal scene in the house. Whenever the opportunity arose, Lacan would throw in her way of seeing things, she would chide Ayla for taking the long and hard way: where Ayla would point back about the danger of having it easy. However, despite that, the two shared a bond that still saw them friendlier than ever.

’’The meal was made for four people. Ayla decided to check on Owor; he was lying on the bed in a boxer and white vase with a book in his hand. Being the only man in the house bothered him not. He was comfortable living with the girls as seen in his easy going ways. The meal was ready, Ayla cheerfully announced to him. Without saying anything, he immediately got up and went to the bathroom. When he emerged, he dashed back to his bedroom again. Not long, he came out looking more distracted. Mbabazi was not yet back even in the near late afternoon. It was a late meal. As Lacan kept her mouth busy with more words and food, Ayla on the other side nodded mindlessly as she thought about her family and their expectations of her. Children...they needed children and a husband for time was flying. She loved her family and did not want to put them through more misery as it was already beginning to seem. As she thought further, she tried to find ways to improve the situation. She knew that she was also not the type to bow to unacceptable ways to her. Her family were the type raised to be right in whatever they do. However the little town had changed regarding matters of marriage and love. And these changes, her family were not much aware of for they lived their lives in the days when goodness was still goodness.

A few minutes later, on the table with Mbabazi already present, Owor’s distraction ended and chatty conversations ensued. The meal of Irish Potatoes, rice, omelette and fresh juice was still being eaten with much relish. One of the four introduced a subject about work. Somehow withdrawn, Ayla listened, having little to contribute to the conversation herself.

‘’...but my boss treats me well.’’ Mbabazi was saying amidst laughter.

Lacan shrug before she said, ‘’It’s because he knows your man.’’

‘’That’s not true.’’ Mbabazi politely said.

Lacan was adamant ‘’Why deny the obvious?’’ She knowing looked at Ayla, ‘’being under a man brings so much respect, don’t you know?’’

Sparking up, Ayla said. ‘’There you go again! Where did the notion of women empowerment go?’’

‘’Don’t mind Lacan. I don’t even know whether Mbabazi’s boss is a woman or man.’’ He now looked very heartened as she gazed at Mbabazi. ‘’Is that not so honey?’’

‘’Come on Owor, don’t play not knowing. You know this town well.’’ Lacan sagged as she spoke.

The meal had gone cold but Owor added more potatoes on his plate then spoke. ‘’I know the town but I met Mbabazi when she already had this job. Remember Mbabazi?’’

The plum light skin woman nodded in agreement then added, ’’maybe I get this good treatment because my boss is a munu, and also I do my work really well.’’

‘’Hmn,’’ went Ayla, who was listening in a relaxed manner now even if her left hand kept kneading her face in an act to relax the muscles. ’’Even a munu, the white person, is like us the dark skinned people. They are capable of weaknesses too.’’ Ayla refrained from mentioning Johnny, the white man she met a year or two after University. The man who made her become knowing that even white skinned people were with flaws—something that many of her people did not know. ‘’So how are the people in the camps that you visits?’’ She instead threw this question to the three but before any of them could answer she continued. ’’The last time i was Koch Goma camp in Gulu and Amida in Kitgum. I had gone to carry a research on an energy stove and its effectiveness, and how well embraced it was. USAID together with AED were behind it.

’’So you have some clues eh?’’Lacan’s sudden energy was noticed by all.’’

Ayla nodded, ‘’I saw so much waste in the people. And I wanted to work and help. Once another time, before then, i went to Atiak Camp too with MSF. And still the waste was pitiful. Many child mothers had to put up with irresponsible young men for husbands. And oh, alcoholism was at its peak in all these camps’’

Visibly touched by Ayla’s concern, Owor said. ‘’You are on the right path with your writing already.’’ Owor calmly listened as Mbabazi laud him.

’’My friend Ayla needs to become a woman. Not a man woman!’’

Lacan’s sudden snap took all aback. This was however met with laughter. Even Ayla laughed. The meal was soon done with. The ladies participated in clearing and cleaning while meandering on the same topic still.

After the cleaning, Ayla announced that she was going to visit her family.

‘’That’s good. It will let you see their concern properly.’’ Lacan was unyielding as she spoke.

Owor dismissed, ‘’ let our friend go after her longing. Don’t you see she is making a significant contribution to our society already? Look at her writings—they are realistic’’

‘’At the expense of a family!’’ Lacan was by now working on her hair that never-the-less looked so perfect still. ‘’Her people are upset! They want children and a husband from her.’’

When Owor still remained negative to her talk, broodingly Lacan concentrated on her hair. Ayla went by the window and drew the curtain for fresh air to flow in.

Mbabazi was by now in the kitchen taking care of a few things. She had been a constant witness to the two’s differentiality, that she had tried little to contribute too. And it was not because she was unknowing; rather, she saw no reason to correct a situation whose destiny is already laid. For in her eye, Ayla would always want to continue with her dreams no matter what. She, Mbabazi was only glad that her man, Owor held a healthy way of seeing when it came to women and their rights.

A few minutes later when Ayla walked out of the house, it was only the thought of home and her people on her mind. She had on her boyish shoes that kept the rain away from the feet, for the rain was at its peak of the season.

Situated on the northern side of the country is Gulu town with its sister districts of Kitgum and Pader. Like Gulu town, the other two towns also knew untold level of brutality from the Lord’s Resistance Rebel nick named the Lakwena; a group headed by Joseph Kony. Gulu town had seen an overt population due to the war. Running for safety from the Rebel group, the population of these northern towns had escalated. This resulted in shortages of social amenities like water and food supplies. Poor conditions of living due to overpopulation, limited health facilities and lack of sanitation has resulted into breakages of illness such as cholera, Tetanus, Ebola, and malnourishment in both children and adults. Being a witness to these disabling situations in her younger days, situations that was still very much part of her present was the fuel for some of her writings. So people like Lacan could try to dissuade her from trying to bring justice to a forefront so she chooses the easy way like most were doing; but it was only a futile attempt. She would write. And damn courageously! There would surely be a solution to her parent’s concerns.

Her mother and father and a few relatives lived down the African quarters. On the way, when she reached the main district market, she refrained from spitting saliva that gathered in her mouth due to the stench from the careless heaps of garbage here and there. More needed to be done about the state of the town. As she walked, she noticed that every direction she turned her eyes to where a group of munus, the white people come to help with the war. And for a reason that she didn’t know she loved the colour mixture; even if it sent sad moments into her about Johnny, the man she loved and hated as well. She hated him for his gullibility to outside talks that eventually ended the relationship. And she loved him for the passion for life that he ignited in her....

‘’You have come early. We just came back from Church.’’

Ayla smiled at her mother’s welcome. Acan Ajaku looked content this afternoon. Prayers to God surely give much comfort and hope. She responded then went inside the large hut to greet their father, Mzee Opoka. ’’ How is Baba today? She lowered her tone in respect.

A gentle cough with no spittle sounded from the old man’s throat before saying forthright. ‘’Am well as far as my health is concern. But I do worry for you a lot. I don’t know what you are heading for. You are now about to make twenty eight and no husband or children still!’’ He coughed again then continued. ‘’ Of all my children wisdom is beginning to lack in you. The white one has brought all this bad luck to you; changing you so you don’t want your own kind any more. And the work you do is not good at, i keep telling you. I don’t want to speak big words, but you are digging your own grave child!’’

Ayla went and sat by the stool at the other corner of the hut. Her father was still talking but she was not hearing anymore. This turn in your writing is going to bring you trouble. Etiang, the editor of her weekly column was saying. This is stepping on toes—this, I wonder if I should publish it. She had kept a defiant quiet. I know it will sell our paper, but it’s you am afraid of. Ayla, please write about something else like how you started. Leave the world of the unjust, of the unrepentant alone. They are too strong and you? Who ever won trying to fight against a mountain? And when she pushed the flash back away, she heard her father say about Ocan’s son who is such a good young man looking for a woman to marry. She said nothing to her father’s talk. It was useless because their life of isolation could not make them know; know about the new trend that had captured the minds of the town’s young men like a wild bush fire. Instead she opened her handbag and brought out a fifty thousand shillings note for him to use. She then waited for further talks from the old man: there was a little incoherent murmur followed by how he would be so grateful for money coming from his in-law instead.

Ayla put on a polite demeanour all the while. When the old man was done, she quietly retreated out of the hut, hiding the burden in her heart well. She joined her mother in the other hut. Had it not been rainy she would have preferred to sit outside the large well kept compound. As she shared with her mother the talk she had with her father, the wind outside became strong. The three mango tree in the compound swayed and swerved as their juicy fruits landed on the ground with dull thuds.

The talk with her mother was also a controlled one. She, Ayla had had two men that she had introduced to her parents one after the other after promising her marriage and subsequently the relations all ended nowhere. And when Jonny came, all heaved a sigh of relieve. Their daughter will settle down eventually. And not just with any man, but with a white skinned man to give them munu babies. But ever since Jonny left, it was difficult to console mother and father again because things had gotten worse with their daughter’s love life. They had known of the reason for the breakup of the relationship even if they were different. They had welcomed him against the tribe’s overview of such inter racial relationship. Even when they knew that the women in such a relationship were seen as lacking in morals. The white man had ways that only spoiled the people of the tribe believed. But this, they had put aside because it was God that created all humans and prejudice was a sin. She tried to console her mother nevertheless. ‘’Mama I want you to be happy. I want you to be strong for Baba.’’ I am going to turn alright in the end. And she watched as her mother smothers a smile. And her heart skipped a beat seeing mother happy. A little while of enquiring after her siblings, who were at School, she announced. ’’I cannot take long here today. I will have to go shortly. ’’She announced after taking the milk shake that her mother usually prepared for her on every visit.

‘’We know you don’t want to break our hearts child, but you also have a mind of your own. We are praying for you.’’

Ayla smiled then said, ‘’thank you Mama.’’

The rain had fallen with much weight. Outside was wet and dark. Ayla pulled another note of money and gave it to her mother as she prepared to leave. ‘’Tell my sisters and brother when they return that I came by. I hope to see them when I come next time. I will be early.’’ With these words, she stood up and prepared to leave with the burden in her soul still entrapped in her chest.