Legacy_I

MY LEGACY – OUR LEGACY – PART I “I don’t know papa. Maybe one day I’ll get married or something. What if I get married to a man who would wish that I join him and his family. What you are to hand over to me as your first born daughter is quite good, I love this farm dad, plus our home too, only that you are telling it to the wrong person. Am just a baby girl and baby girls don’t inherit such properties from their fathers. Why don’t you and mum try once again' Who knows' This time it might be a boy. Maybe I will sell it, and give Natasha her share.” “I do what' No! Shakira I will not. Do you understand what I am giving you here' What your ancestors gave you' This shamba belonged to your great, great grand father. Then to your great grandfather, then your grandfather, and now me … I and your mother only planned to have two children, it didn’t matter to us whether they were girls or not. After all, your great grandfather only took charge of the firm by virtue of getting married to your great grandmother. It is your grandma who actually inherited this firm. Someday, you will be smiling as you give it to your son, or daughter,” Dad said, as he looked directly at me. “Don’t you ever forget that.” As he said this, he blinked his eyes hard and took a deep breath, thinking about how he should say what he had to say next. “Okay papa,” Was all I could say. The sun was going down then, giving everything an orange and yellow haze. Like I see girls my age do on TV when having such talks with their fathers, I wanted to hug him tight but being the traditional man he was, instead I picked up his walking stick from the ground and gave it to him. We headed to the house, walking side by side. My mind was racing. I grew up on this farm; I loved the freedom, the space, and the quiet. Our father had quit his job back in the city, long before I was born - to manage the farm. I treasured how he made everything in the farm look and smell. And with our mother away working in the city and only coming back home over the weekends and holidays, I enjoyed the freedom our father ensured that we had. I loved the fact that I and my younger sister could do whatever we wanted. We could scream and run around without worrying that neighbors would be disturbed. We helped our dad with farm work whenever we could; with the help of our paternal grandma who also stayed with us at the farm, we understood the value of hard work and responsibility. Just by watching how he worked on it dedicatedly, I always knew the farm was very important to my dad. That is why I had planned to study management at college or university level, so that one day, I would take charge of my husband’s property; just like dad. But it never occurred to me how much the legacy meant to my dad. It was as important to him to pass down this land and legacy to his daughters as it was to provide for them. The knowledge that one day I would carry the responsibility of generations on my shoulders was a heavy thing. This scared me and was worried that I would not be able to uphold my family’s legacy. How could I, a 13-year-old girl just about to join Form 1, serve such a big responsibility' My father expected me to do so much - take care of the family’s farm and my 10-year-old sister, Natasha as well, what if I couldn’t' I wanted to serve this, I wanted to be part of this, but I wanted my own life too. But alteast I was able to understand the fact that life doesn’t go on forever, it’s not supposed to. But this, this could go on. Besides, such didn’t exist within the neighborhood anymore, generational farms. It was special, and by telling me what he had just told me that day, my dad just wanted to teach his daughters the value of honest work, he wanted us to love and be loved, and he wanted us to understand what we each hold in our last name. A Muhoma land and a Muhoma farm - the family’s legacy, and now my legacy. As we trudged up to the front of our house, knowing that the door would be unlocked with grandma probably busy in the kitchen working on what we would have for supper and Natasha in her room playing her computer games, dad let me twist the steel knob and push it open. Seems that supper was ready because as soon as we entered the house, I heard grandma asking huskily, “Shaki, Is that you'” “Yes. It’s me grandma. And dad is home too.” I replied as I quickened my steps to the kitchen with dad right behind me. “Oh really' And I have made all of you something to eat for supper.” She said rushing to the pot on the stove. It was chicken curry! “Mmm, smells good.” I murmured as she opened the lid of the pot to check on the curry and the aroma from the pot hit my nostril like a brick wall. Even dad could not hide his smile. Nice job grandma, I better rush and get ready for supper.” I excused myself as I noticed that dad was already laying the dining table in preparation for supper. “Go yee Shaki, and make sure that you and your sister are here in the next 30 minutes.” He said. I thought I would better go check on Natasha before proceeding to the bathroom. When I got to her room, Natasha was lying in bed with a mound of pillows surrounding her, her eyes glued to the screen and her hands on to the remote. She looked relaxed – such that her heart-shaped face was shown off to its best advantage and a mouth that always looked ready for kissing. It made me think of how an Egyptian queen must have looked when she “reposed” for the evening. Because I was just checking on her, I thought it wise not to disrupt her until after I was done and off I was to the wash room. Natasha was adored and pampered by everybody. I always took care of her since mom ran her own company in the city and was always working even if she was around. I walked her to school and was always late for my own class because of it. I always helped do her homework so my assignments were always late. Both our parents had always been so proud of how close we were and had bragged endlessly to neighbors and friends about it. We always had pretended to be annoyed and embarrassed by the bragging, but really we just took it in stride because we took our closeness for granted – we thought all sisters were like that. “Shaki! Are you through' Grandma and papa are already on the table waiting for us.” It was Natasha’s voice shouting at me from her room. “Go ahead honey; I will be there in a second.” I shouted back as I grabbed my towel. “Well, you look scrubbed clean.” Grandma commented upon my return to the kitchen. “Hmmph,” I replied choosing not to respond to her comment as I hurriedly settled down beside my sister. As usual, supper started on a deathly silent note. I concentrated on keeping my eyes on Natasha to ensure that she was keeping up with our pace. Grandma looked concerned as she picked at her mushroom soup. But after a few more full-hearted stabs at his food, it’s dad who broke the silence. “How was tuition'” I bet that was mean’t for Natasha who still had to go for tuition even during December holidays. As for my case, I had just sat for the Kenya Certificate of Primary Education, awaiting my results. “Just like school.” She shrugged. Natasha hated small talk, even with dad. She was always in her own world, an observer in life, unlike me, a participant, a real ‘go getter’ person. Over supper, dad told us about his trip to London. “Shaki, when you get your results, this time I want to put you in a private boarding school for your secondary education.” He said looking at me face on. “What'” I tried to say through a mouthful of Ugali. “Why would you want to do that' Look at Grandma, she is getting old and really needs my help when it comes to taking care of Natasha.” “Well, I need to expand on the farm products and even export some of my produce to London. Your mother is always trying to make ends meet for us and I blame myself really. The long hours in work and the traveling has made her a part time mother. I want her to come back home and spend more time with her daughters and I be the one working hard and traveling instead.” He explained. I laughed, I didn’t know why but it just sounded like a joke to me. I was born and brought up in this farm. The fact that I would join Form 1 the following year wasn’t a very big change for me. I loved it here in a day school where nobody would separate me away from my small sister. Besides, I was still the most popular kid within the neighborhood, the kid every rural folk looked up to, the kid every child wanted to be. This was because of my good grades in school and not forgetting the fact that my family was very wealthy, but that never made a difference to me anyway. It never occurred to me that one day; I would be taken away from home. Deep inside my heart, I wanted to be here, where I could be safe, a place where I was loved and admired. “Shaki please, help me help you and your sister. Can’t you see your grandma is getting tired' She needs a break and that is what I am trying to give her.” He gave me a strange almost sad look. “Besides, I want you to grow up to be an independent manager, that way you won’t run into trouble when your time to run this farm comes.” That was my daddy! In contrast to our mother’s desire to share every piece of wisdom that she had accumulated over the years, he was always straight to the point, but the values he’d instilled in his two beautiful daughters were just as important as the ones our mother and grandma taught us. Our dad was always more of a lesson teacher than a talker. He would tell us stories of things that had happened to some far away relative or friend or family and then leave us to think about it. It was strange because we always did. He never did make us feel stupid of any decisions we made, but continued to let us choose and then would be there to hold and comfort us if we needed it. “Think about it girl.” That was my dad’s goodnight advice that evening as we removed the dirty plates and leftovers from the kitchen table ready to help grandma with the cleaning up after supper. “I will papa.” I nodded back amidst fighting back tears. Supper was over and it was grandma’s story time before we went to bed. I hated the fact that I had outgrown this stage but still had to attend grandma’s story telling sessions for the sake of Natasha. Those were always my sisters best moment in life. Besides, Natasha was purely brought up by grandma unlike me who spent the first three years of my life with both my parents around. Because of that they were very close. Grandma had stayed with us ever since our grandfather passed away. I remember how tense my parents were when she moved in. Grandma always scrutinized everything that mom did. To further aggravate the situation, whenever mom broached the subjects with our dad, he always avoided the topic by promising he would talk to grandma which he never did. With time, mom gave up the fight and concentrated on her career instead. When Natasha was born, they became the best of friends when mom had to count on her to take care of my small sister. Whatever the situation, I never blamed her for abandoning us and concentrating on her career. On her part, all she had to accept was that the situation required sacrifice, time and emotional energy. Finally, mom and grandma established firm ground rules on how to handle issues between them. Each of them had different rules. During weekdays, grandma had authority and responsibility over our behavior, but during the weekends and holidays when mom was around, we had to abide by her rules. Both our parents and grandma agreed on a level of discipline which dad always ensured that they stuck to. From the look of things, it was obvious that grandma had accepted the fact that however perfect she was, she would never be our biological mother. And even though she was fond of Natasha, she tried not to demonstrate obvious favoritism towards her in my presence. Again, dad was always there to defend the both of us, whenever he genuinely believed that we were being treated unfairly by anybody. Grandma’s story was interrupted by a phone call from mom. “So,” I started quickly, “how are things mom'” “Fine sweet.” She paused. “You' Is everything okay'” “Hmm.” I said as if braking out of a trance. “Shaki! Are you there' Is everything Ok'” She repeated again, this time raising her voice with a little bit of concern. “Yeah.” I sighed. I was in a terrible mood and half of me wanted to shout at her to snap out of it, the other half wanted her to come over to hug me so I could finally let out the fears that had been chocking me for the past one hour since dad broke the sad news of going to a private boarding school for my secondary education. “Well, if you need to talk …” She let her sentence die off as I interjected. I discussed the issue with her but to her this seemed an opportunity to expose her daughter to the outside world. She hated the traditional manner in which our father desired we be brought up and couldn’t wait for my results to be out so she could take me out of the farm. The conversation ended as soon as it began. It was always the same. She never pushed me. I bet it was her way for compensating for her absence. Mom had had a set of beliefs that she had felt was her duty to pass on to her daughters. She had been a strange woman in some ways, but for the most part she had been a pretty cool mom. Even our friends liked her, not seeming to mind having her around whenever they paid us a visit. Even though she had gotten on my nerves at times, I had always been proud that she was my mom. The days moved so fast. Before I could even think about it, Christmas was only two days away. Maybe it was because my mind was so much carried away by my KCPE results. It was obvious they would be announced on New Year’s Eve but I couldn’t stop thinking about them. Besides, the family’s Christmas traditions needed no further explanation. It was my parent’s turn to host the big day and relatives were already streaming in. Aunt Kimberly was my favorite. Her low cut blouses, ready smile and friendly ear was a regular figure in family get-togethers. I loved the way she led her life; one day at a time, without ever worrying about tomorrow. Being my mom’s only sister, just like Natasha, she was a spoilt brat. At Form 3, the best she could do was make herself beautiful, sit at the balcony to attract the attention of the boys from the neighborhood and tell stories the whole day. Aunt Kimberly arrived on the Christmas Eve. Honestly, she looked elegant. Her long black, luxuriously brushed wig cascaded down over her bare perfectly suntanned shoulders meeting a dark body-hugging cocktail dress that showcased her youth and beauty magnificently. She cuddled a chubby sheep dog between her gloved hands that had holes in the finger ends to give her fingers a better grip. Her sheep dog lay obediently in her arms, his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth as he snoozed. That was all that Natasha noticed and the moment Aunt Kimberly handed over the pet to her and assured her it was a Christmas gift from her, Natasha disappeared into her bedroom with the pet and was not seen for the better part of the evening. That gave Aunt Kimberly and me enough time to catch-up with the latest girl talk within the neighborhood before the family’s get-together Christmas Eve Cocktail party. For the four days that Aunt Kimberly was around for her Christmas holidays, we were inseparable. One would think she had been bribed to convince me to consider going to a boarding school for my secondary education. She blubbered about the freedom, the adult treatment that one received when back home during holidays and ‘oooh yes’, the handsome boys that I would be exposed to out there. We spent most of our time visiting Kimberly’s old boyfriends or walking along any of the paths in the woods that bordered our back yard. She encouraged a relationship between me and Jeff – a former classmate of mine. This would keep me busy whenever she needed time to explore the woods alone with one of her own boyfriends. We kept all these as a secret between us and would only talk about it once we were locked in my bedroom. From the way Jeff always held my hand as we strolled along the paths in the woods, I started having some strange feelings for Jeff and I had to share this with Aunt Kimberly. This started one afternoon when Jeff gathered the courage to hug and kiss me on my chicks before we parted ways. It was a remarkable confession from a 13 year old girl to her 19 year old aunt, completely unsolicited and very personal. Something I couldn’t discuss with my own parents or grandma. For as long as I could remember, after getting that close to Jeff, I hadn’t felt anything like that before. I’d been obsessed with the desire to hug and kiss him even more and be kissed. I mean a real kiss; to take Jeff’s lips against mine, crush my face against his and to engage our tongues in a fearsome battle like I watch in movies and late night operas when locked in my room. This was not to say to Kimberly that I had never been kissed before. Naturally, I had been kissed on my chicks by my parents, or even girl friends. But those were respectable kisses, or rather kisses of duty. Kisses that said ‘Good morning dear’ or ‘pleased to see you’. They were pleasant enough in themselves but they were not the movie like racy, debilitating, devastating kisses for which I now longed for from Jeff. Suddenly, an enormous laugh erupted from Kimberly’s throat. A laugh that clearly indicated she didn’t even realize she was going to laugh until she did it. Both of us were wearing identical expressions of confusion and surprise on our faces at this unexpected reaction to the confession I had just made to her. Of all the reactions I had expected, laughter was the last thing I thought I would hear from Kimberly. I had expected shock, sarcasm and possibly even a suggestion about discussing this further with mom, but definitely not laughter. I was not sure of whether to be angry with Aunt Kimberly or to laugh at myself; not feeling the genuineness of either, I just looked at her. “Why exactly are you laughing' I didn’t think that I had said anything particularly funny.” “I don’t really know,” she replied. I continued looking at her as if waiting for a better explanation. “I don’t know. It just all sounds so ludicrous,” Aunt Kimberly said somewhat looking confused. “I mean, Shaki, you can always come to me with anything and I will be there to listen. I am really proud of you! You see what Shaki, feelings are part of growing up and everybody would feel the same at your age. Kissing a boy is not a crime. All that matters is how you control your feelings and emotions during such encounters. That is why you need to go to a private boarding school where you will experience several encounters of such kisses and within no time, you will find it normal.” “Hmmmm,” I responded. “It’s a pity that I can’t discuss such issues with my own parents and I thank God for you.” “Anytime sweetie,” Aunt Kimberly said even more patiently. “When it comes to boy talk I can be your mama too. Welcome to the city any time you want, so that we can compare notes on such sensitive issues.” Suddenly, it was time for Aunt Kimberly to go and my world disintegrated. All this time, I thought she would be around to usher in the New Year with us before going back to the city. Struggling to keep the disappointment out of my voice, I said my goodbyes and ran back to my room where I wanted to be left alone for some time. She had managed to convince me to join a private boarding school and somehow, my parents were so proud of her that they promised to organize such occasions where we would meet frequently. Immediately after Christmas holidays, the results were out. I was the youngest female to achieve such excellent grades in our province for the past 10 years. Everyone boasted about Wild Gates Academy being put on the map as a school that had bred yet another academic champion. It was not long however, after I had appeared on numerous TV channels and visited various local radio stations for interviews, that this pride soon turned to envy and hatred amongst my peer group. All of a sudden, I found that I couldn’t go out shopping on my own without having abuse hurled at me, or being elbowed by jealous girls. Worse still, I received a series of love letters, some of which were addressed to my parents asking them to hand over their daughter for marriage. It was at that point that I realized how it was really necessary that I get away from home. At the time, I appeared to shrug off this unprovoked abuse with a maturity far beyond my years, but underneath this torture was taking its toll. My parents were worried about my situation, but thanks God I had only two weeks to go through this. I concentrated most of my time making the most out of my own gifts from God and trying to help Natasha digest my absence instead. Finally, I received my calling letter. It was a National School - 350 Kms away from home, but very near to the city where mom worked. It was expensive, which dad seemed to repeat over and over to me. It was a mixed boarding school. Very prestigious, and there was a rule for everything, no smoking, no drinking, and even no cursing. They even had a curfew for what time they had to be in bed! But compared to what I was going through at that moment, it was still a better place for me. And if this was the right path for me to fulfill my father’s dreams, I was set with the right tools to save the family’s legacy – my legacy.