Storymoja

Celebrating East African Writing!

At the Waterfall

Written by Gidson Waitara

It has been eons now since I first thought of letting the cat out to someone and now in my room powerfully radiating of colourful fabrics by my well versed in chintzy wife, I have got a audience: mine and my wife’s parents. I have an ineradicable sad memory that plagues me so. Someone please go and tell those girls outside, my daughter included to impede their clapping I shall give the story in a whisper.

It was like these loved ones and thank you dad, for the girls are silent now.

I was born and grown here, the specific place being the slopes of the Aberdares. Dad and mum and you Mr. Philip and your wife were serious about morals and we your children had heart with books. I went to a good high school and morals tamed my chauvinism and so I had not in my life toppled a girl for pleasure. At school a nuance of wanting allegiance from my peers got me hunting for a girl friend. But I did not get one when I was a teen.

I went to college still a virgin, but this time a mature man who knew what he wanted in a relationship. When I was dinning at the college restaurant I met with a girl I knew all too well-Joan. We had schooled together when we were in primary school but then I had not seen her again after KCPE until now. We had a lot to talk about and when I invited her to my room she had no objection. I was a shy guy especially when it came to matters related with girls. I did not have any problem with this company at the moment anyway because all we talked about was the classes that we were taking. When she was about to leave I nervously requested for her acceptance to get intimate with me. She just smiled and said that we would meet again and she would tell me then.

As I sat for weeks having not heard from Joan I wondered why she avoided me. I remembered how good natured the girl was since childhood, the way she was respected for her intelligence and humility. She was the epitome of good manners, precise in character, extremely beautiful, sweet, clean and neat. She had that time in my room defeated me in creating laughter. She was from a wealthy family and may be that is what that made her refuse a relationship with a chum from a poor family like me.

I tried to get the girl out of my mind two months later but still that was futile. We went for Internship in January which was to last for four months and that was the time I got to see Joan again now at home. She seemed not to remember my request and the shy boy in me was tormented. At their home she taught me how to play badminton, swim, follow sci-fi movies, tell a swan from a goose, American from British words, a lake from a reservoir and Joan amazed me with her knowledge but above all I liked her morals, she was my missus right. She was superb and I could do anything for her.

We were to meet at a salon where she used to have her hair done and I planned to fully implement my heart’s boldness. I arrived at the salon, the door was open but I knocked, I was nervous. The proprietor got out and called me by name, so Joan had said about me. I asked whether that was Joy’s salon in spite of the conspicuous handy sign board by the road bestride the building. She answered to the affirmative and smiled obviously at my shyness. She ushered me in but I refused to enter into an all girls shop. ”I am waiting for her outside” I said and leaned by the power pole, bending my right leg my foot upon the pole and folded my arms to conjured composure. No sooner had the woman got back to her salon shouting “Joan your friend is here” than Joan walked out beaming. I watched the slim body, the shapely legs in slippers, the half done hair concealed in a bandana, the darting orbs, the overwhelming beauty and the smell of soap so sweet and though assuming some machismo I was lost for words. I was in love. The delight in a hug everyone knows and it so much obligated me but all I could manage was to extend my hand for greetings. She asked me “Are you afraid?” No! I was captivated and afraid of what to do with her.

“Won’t you have your hair completed?” I asked.

“Today is valentine’s day” I totally had no idea. “And I want to tell you something special but since you won’t come in, my hair can wait. Where do you want us to go?”

“At the waterfall.” That one I had preplanned. But I was taken aback; Joan had a mood than I could not knob with my experience. She too had never had an affair before but nonetheless boys are the ones who should take charge.

We took a walk away from the shops. We reached the dam then down the stream in woods there was a waterfall. She picked water lilies as I was searching for any red flower and there wasn’t any. I should keep records of such dates; I get reminded by the ones expecting some gift.

I took off my shoes, hip-hoped on stones up to the centre of the wide shallow stream. There I stood near the foot of the fall and watched it but wondering whether Joan would enjoy the day. I invited her into the water and she took the slippers into her hands and stepped into the limpid algid water. She first stood at the edge and shivered, putting her legs together and folding herself with the arms. I went for her and I felt good holding her hand as I guided her into the stream. We sat on the biggest stone close together and we enjoyed the scenario. The cascade  had a boo sound which got consumed by the woods and by the time the water got to the bottom some yards from where we were sited it emitted vapour and droplets brushed our faces and I could tell, Joan really liked it. At the bottom of the fall it looked fearful; one could not tell the depth and then a pot hole where water whirled in so wildly it could swallow a cow.

We talked about ourselves and then it was just the right time to ask her, “Do you love me?”

Those eyes again killed me as she responded, “Yes. You wanted me to be your girlfriend, do you still love me?”

We embellished our union with endless kisses. Were we any unscrupulous we could have had sex right there. But that had to wait until I married her. This girl really took me with earnest and I took her passion with gusto.

It was getting late and our love sanctuary hidden by the woods and as the cascade blend into the altostratus of the evening was getting eerie.

We could not feel like leaving, but we had to before it was dark.

Before we got out of the woods two uncharacteristic men appeared. One emerged from behind a tree and the other behind us. The one behind us held an arrow in a bow and he aimed it at us. The other had a hatchet. Joan gave a scream and we were ordered to kneel down with hands held behind our heads. Joan gripped my shirt and cried for mercy.

I was gagged and tied to a tree with a rope and guarded by one thug whilst the other took Joan away. A while and he came back buttoning his pants and relieved the one who was guarding me.

They raped my first girlfriend repeatedly in turns and it was almost nine when I was released and went and found my girl had passed out. I poured water on her face and cried like a fool. I resuscitate her and when she came to I carried her home to my room and laid her there.

We could not live with an embarrassment and trauma like that and we almost took suicide that night. We also had to appear before our parents but we could not tell them the truth so as to save their faces.

The following day Joan’s family you tore your hair. You accused me of sleeping with your girl and my parents banished me to my uncle’s place at Nyeri. Mr. Philip you started planning on changing your daughter from our college. But two months later Joan was said to be pregnant and I was forced to take her.

We understood you and we owe you a lot. We have good careers with my wife Joan and our charming daughter alleviates our feelings for valentine. But you see; the father of our daughter is unknown even to us.

5 comments on “At the Waterfall

  1. Daniel Ongera Nyairo
    February 25, 2012

    Love conquered at the end.A touching story

  2. Gidson
    February 28, 2012

    Thank you Daniel

  3. Patrick o ochieng
    February 29, 2012

    One of the finer skills of writing is not in knowing what to write, but what not to write.
    -Ivor Hartman-

    Good effort though.

  4. Annie Randall
    March 6, 2012

    It was good writing, honest to the core and I appreciate that there wasn’t any overdramatic music playing in my head as I read it.

  5. bee
    March 12, 2012

    In writing there is a rule that says if there is a simpler word than the one you intend to use please use it. The overusage of “big words”. makes it tedious to read. I did not enjoy it at all.

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