I have read several biographies and I have come up with a similar conclusion that some if not most of these self-styled greats are just like the ordinary shooter or indeed like they say every Tom, Dick and Harry.
I appreciate the authors of the great pieces (biographies) who have mastered the art of putting these false sweet and moving phrases to depict these equally false heroes.
I have not written my biography regardless of the fact that my age is in its evening hours and am keeping the tendering process for this job open but on condition that I will narrate my own true story for I don’t want to exaggerate my life story neither do I want to undermine it.
The title of this great life will be “from grass to love”.
I will choose this title basing on my love experience while I worked for this muzungu family immediately after I had completed my high school.
Immediately after my high school, I got several jobs that included working as a tour guide, driver and many others but this particular job was special for it landed me a muzungu lover.
I was supposed to teach the children of this Scottish family mathematics and indeed I did.
My working hours were 2:00 pm to 4:00 pm when their parents returned from work. Carmen Mathews was their first born and she was one year my senior, automatically that tells she was not in my class.
Carmen was this typical Scottish girl whose accent required you to listen long and hard to pick the message. She was tall, blonde with blue eyes and our early relationship was far from good. Initially, I wrongly suspected she was the mother of all racists.
Darren Fletcher, the youngest in my class found me interesting and we became friends instantly. He kept informing his family how at the end of our lessons I would tell him tales of African history and their heroes.
I taught him how to weave baskets as well as African languages.
One evening I was singing from Okot p’Bitek’s songs of lawino when Carmen heard from her room. She silently came closer to her window and for a long time she smiled while I sung for young Fletcher. When I turned I saw her smiling and she opted to hide.
I was shocked when one morning she came and said, “I saw you sing with Darren, it was so nice.” All I could manage was a weak thanks.
That was the beginning of our relationship and when I say I want my biography to read “from grass to love” it’s because I know how my lover loathed me at first sight.
For the first few weeks, our relationship remained a cat and mouse scenario but you have to trust the shooter. With my charm, I had to breathe life into it. A few days later seeing that I would not balance teaching and love, I resigned from my job to concentrate on giving her the best I could.
“Why did you hate me at first?” I asked her what I thought would be a hard question for to answer but with much ease she went, “Shooter, as a matter of fact, I loved you from the word go but my dad had strongly warned against us coming close.”
We kept the love burning secretly for one and a half years until her father the first secretary at the Scottish consul realized and used his diplomatic powers and connections to see me in jail and sent his daughter from Africa back to Scotland.
With this agony, I had fallen from love back to grass.