A Grave Without an Epitaph

A GRAVE WITHOUT AN EPITAPH BY FRANCIS OWLAR

COPYRIGHT 2018 FRANCIS OWLAR

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator, c/o Fragrance of Life Publishers, P.O. Box 100699 – 00100, Nairobi, Kenya (E-mail: wachngima12@gmail.com)

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

CHAPTER ONE

ALL WERE DEAD ASLEEP except Owila, who had remained awake throughout the night. He had no idea how he would face the new day. The night had been long, and the more time dragged the darkness, the more Owila anticipated its delay. It was better in the dark of the night, than in the broad daylight which was now approaching too fast, yet with nothing promising but endless and ever-increasing agony of heartache.

Lying flat on his back in a dark room, Owila heard the first cockcrow, and knew definitely that dawn had come, and soon there would be light. It was indeed time to take action! His heart was burning hot inside him, but his body could not bear the thought of it. So the more he stayed in bed debating with himself, the faster the light of day approached and he knew the consequence of it all was doom.

Slowly he got up and walked towards the window. It was still dark inside his bedroom. He pushed aside the window curtains and saw the moonlight. It was brightly gracing the young new earth with tender sweetness that he had hardly known. He took time to admire the blending colours of dawn. How beautiful! How peaceful and quiet was its state! Owila longed to touch it; touch and feel its tender love on the surface of his skin. He longed to be part of it; to defuse and fill the earth with the aroma of the morning blossom.

Slowly and quietly, he pushed the window open and there was the unpolluted air of the young new day. It blew gently against his cold ears, whispering the sweet romance from the young moon above the wishes of man.  Moonlight at dawn was a sight, a real beauty to behold. How blending were its colours - a mirage of a promising future. It had all the whispering hope of the sweet things to come.

Owila was so fed up with life that his last move was to end it all at once. He had seen himself as a worthless person.  A black sheep in the family. A sign of bad omen, but the fact that all the worthwhile beings were asleep, and only he was up to meet the coming of the new day with all its glory and overwhelming charm, was a direct message to him from the maker of all the wonders of earth that there was a treasure hidden somewhere for him; that the more he endured the perils of his dark life the happier he would be as an heir of the things to come. A great man is born at dawn when the whole world is silent. This was the time that he was being anointed with the oil of authority. He was born to be known by all, but he will live to know very few of them.

EVERYBODY HAD WOKEN up except Owila, whose door was still shut. They had expected that he would wake up early because he was reporting back to school that morning for his first term in fifth form. The father had come home so late the previous night that he had to go to bed without talking to the son.  So he was to meet Owila early that morning and see him off to school. It was not polite to call out a grown-up son from his early morning sleep early, but now they were waiting for him to wake up himself, as if he did not know that it was necessary that they talk!

The family grew impatient until they had to call him in from sleep. They had delayed their breakfast purposely in order to wait for him. Ayieta, his sister and Orinda, the only brother, had already gone to school. Now it was only his mother, Adero and the father. When Adero knocked at his door, the response revealed to her that the boy still needed many hours sleep. After calling him, Adero walked back to her house, hoping that he would follow. Yet another fifteen minutes elapsed without a sign of him coming. Owila had never behaved like that before. Could it be that he was sick?

Boys were known for going out and wearing themselves out for a whole night but Owila was not the type. His father decided to go and find out what must have happened to him. He called three times, then the boy responded and said a sentence like a drone. Oganda could not work out what he might have said, and he called again, this time with a bang on the door. When the boy answered, the father harshly commanded him to open the door. Oganda entered and sat on his son’s study table. In front of him, the boy stood lazily in his pyjamas. He absently offered morning greetings to the father, his other hand clearing the traces of sleep away from eyes that looked very red and swollen.

Are you sick, Moses?

No, Father. I am only sleepy.

You didn’t have sleep last night?

Very little or none at all, I should say.

Why? Were you studying?

No , er ..., Father, I had a decision to make. The more I thought of it, the less my sleep became till I was left awake the whole night. Oganda was listening. But his his mind was already at his place of work.

Can you say briefly what decision you were making? Because I am getting late! Oganda said, looking at his wrist watch as was characteristic of him.

Father, I have decided ...

It is not for you to decide. If that was what you contemplated all these four years in school, I am ordering you to stop it immediately and take another line. Time does not wait for you to make up your mind. I am leaving the money with your mother. Take it only if you know that you’ll not speak of that type of foolishness again. If not, then don’t go to school. Wait for me here till I come this evening, and be ready to speak sense to me!

He did not let his son say any word after he had spoken. The way he left that hut showed Adero that there must have been something unpleasant with their child. Either he did not want to continue schooling or something that was related to his education.

Oganda, as he left his son, did not say any word to his wife. He only gave the money that was to be given to the boy, took his briefcase and left. Adero watched him go till he disappeared, then went slowly again to her son’s hut. There she found him still in his pyjamas, his eyes bulging red as a sign of his sleepless night and the pain that his father had inflicted on his already wounded heart.

What is it, Owila? His mother asked him. She was deeply touched by her child’s grief.

If you can, mother, please, tell that man to let me go in for priesthood.

Which man?

Oganda.

What made you refer to him as such, Moses? You dare call your father that way?

Mother, that man does not care about me. He sees me only as any of his property in this home. In fact, to him, I am not different from these calves here. He ....

Stop it, please! Now, you must tell me. What has happened?

Mother, Oganda does not honour my feelings as a person.

Would you please stop calling him that! He is your father.

I need not to be told that, Mother. How many fatherless boys do I know, who are living? Is a father’s duty to protect or to destroy?

You are not telling me anything. I want to know the cause of your agony, Moses. Stop chanting the cruelty of your father to me. He’s gone and won’t hear it all the same. What has he done to you?

You seem to be on his side, and I’ll rather die with it than hear you support his cruelty against me. He blew his nose carelessly with his hand and rubbed it against his pyjamas.

"You’re not behaving like a gentleman, Moses. How do you expect me to listen to you while in tears? Do you know when I started seeing you in tears? I order you to feel ashamed quickly. At your age, you ought to behave and not let me see your tears. I wonder what you learnt all these years in school. Do you realize that you could be rearing your own kids, had you not gone in for education?  Behave yourself. Get out of those pyjamas. Get dressed up and let me hear what you have to say.

"Your classmates are reporting to school today, ready to start learning while you here, still in pyjamas and shedding tears as if you were being forced to start nursery school! Even Ayieta, your sister, would have shown a difference. How can you expect respect from people if you don’t command respect yourself? Of what value are your tears to me as a mother?

You are a disgrace to this home as a firstborn! No wonder your father doesn’t see the need to offer you audience. You’ve annoyed me, and I’m not going to listen to you until your father comes.

She also left him and went to her house disgusted. This made Owila regret having not died that early dawn, when he had made up his mind to commit suicide.  Why hadn’t he? Had he spared his lonely soul only to be inflicted that much? If they had come and found his body dangling on a rope from the roof, would they have celebrated?  Could Oganda have rushed for his duties?  And could his mother have thrown insults at his corpse and walked away, disgusted at his tears?  What can be the real meaning of running tears of a child to a mother? He was feminine, yes, but was it his own fault? Could he let his tears fall without cause?

Owila felt he was not going to stay in that home for bathroom. From there he dressed smartly enough in his school uniform and he went and demanded the money from his mother. Seeing that the boy was set to leave for school, Adero cooled down and tried to persuade him to forget the ill fate of the morning and to have a safe journey to school. Being the end of the month, many buses could not stop at the road junction and so an idea come to him that he could possibly take any means to Kisumu town, from where he would manage to book a seat to Nairobi. The first vehicle that came immediately after that thought was a personal car, heading towards his initial destination. He tried hiking a lift and the young driver stopped for him. The man came out of the car and helped him put his heavy suitcase in the car boot. Then the long journey started.

Are you schooling in Nairobi? the driver asked with his attention on the road. When the boy said yes, the man still wanted to know which school!  Since Owila did not know any motive behind such well-intended questions, he answered them all willingly. The next question was whether he was finishing school that year, followed by the subjects he was intending to undertake. All this time, Owila had tried not to look at the face of his Good Samaritan. They made several kilometres but the journey made Owila feel a little bit tense. There was no music and they happened to travel in an awkward silence until the man brought up a new topic that lasted them a reasonable distance. Whatever had made the man think of that topic remained a wonder to Owila. With much of his attention on the steering wheel, the driver said there was a special course for those interested in priesthood in seminaries, and asked, What are your ideas concerning that career?

I think it is better to serve God in a more specific way like that. I mean, offering one’s whole life for the church. There’s no good thing than that one. I do believe in involvement. That is, if I am for something, I would like to commit myself fully for it. And if I don’t like something then there’s no time I would think good of it. "Are you a Christian? He immediately asked the driver before he could have responded to his reply.

The driver took his time before he answered, then said, I used to be one during my school days. My time has become so limited such that I hardly spare a moment for the Sabbath. It used to be a compulsory thing and was part of our school regulations that every Saturday was a church service, and all were expected to attend. It became a routine and we then got used to it. But when I came out of school and found that I had freedom to budget for my own time, it became less and less important in my life until now that it has naturally gone out of my system. Like you had heard, I decided to discontinue because all the enthusiasm and boosting morale towards it had vanished with time.

And what do you do now? Owila had started liking his driver, simply because he happened to be the type that talks about whatever is on his mind. He was not the mask-wearing kind of person that he’d learned to dislike.

I am an accountant with a certain firm in Nairobi. Besides my career, I am one person who strongly believes strongly in himself.

I wonder what that means! thought Owila, who this time managed to look at the man right in the face.

Well, this is it; I am not after what the majority of people do. I am not a churchgoer, but I do believe in one God. I don’t go out in order to be happy with others in bars. I drink, of course, but prefer doing it in my own house at meal times. Just as part of my diet. I date both men and women alike. This depends on the manner in which one appeals to me. At this juncture, he paused and looked at the boy’s eyes to see the effect of his words.

Are these things too strong for you to be told, my young friend? How old are you?

I am twenty, the boy said, and the driver looked at his face again. This time he saw that Owila was worried for some reason.

What is your name again?

I am Owila Moses.

Yes, Moses. Do you keep girlfriends?

No. Why?

Why not? You look quite attractive. Or are you repulsive?

I learnt to disassociate with them since my childhood and it haunts me to this day. I find it just normal without them. I mean, I am okay. Owila simply told him what had happened to him and the driver also saw some truth in his words. He did not look the type that could entertain the demanding company of the other sex.

Don’t you think that you can do well in the priesthood then?

My parents wouldn’t listen to it, though it was all I thought I could choose.

Then do it! The man urged.

No. I don’t want to disobey my parents, but know how I will make them pay for their refusing me. Their turn for regrets is coming.

How can you punish your parents? By committing suicide?

That is the last thing I’ll do. I am not that silly to use my own life in revenge against them. I want to live and witness their agony for my revenge.

I hope you are going to let me know what you are planning to do, the driver said in a cool way that revealed to Owila his keenness on the matter. Owila looked at him again in the face and said to himself that he would tell the man anything but that.

I have come to like you, but I think I should not risk by telling you all my personal affairs. I believe that a good friend is one that never whispers of the most confidential issues to his friend.

They arrived in Nairobi without noticing the long journey because they were totally immersed in their talk. The man in good faith asked Owila to go with him, and report to school the following day, but he dreaded the idea for he was one that could do anything but