The forgotten ego

WHEN I MET HIM

The boy still recalled. One busy and orchestrated morning when the chaffer flew over the motor_car through their coin based piece of land and counted it with a remarkable herbs to force it's way into his own pocket. Nyabate remarks this with alot of destitution with anguish of remorse of having been a young boy of about 12 years. Having lost his bread winner,the sole provider of his factual elementary in life ,the entire analogy ,he had no choice other than to live with his benefactor uncle not necessarily from his Kin. He exclaimed things he saw later when he was old enough today. The toss of responsibilities bedeviling a young boy , solemnly to acquire a more vibrant life in a mascaraed home. So painful he says. I once listened to his story ,not empathically ,but still I can recall his words more loudly when in a slumber. The somber modules he explained,the vice of alliteration and the poignant pollution that he wafted through his asunder in a teen age. The most obvious scenes that I can still recall when I first met him ,is the reality of a bitter wound prudent in his outward glare that one could still force his way and manage to know if something was really changing. Standing at a corner he gazed at me. New we were to each other. From the look of things,one could tell that Nyabate is quite ironically caught in a hype of activities moving in a quite harmonious way rather a sound monologue in his mind. What a fortitude season to a young boy! I moved my hand in a quin like a mannequin's to feel his presence. I felt a breeze cutting my nerves till the goosebumps booked my entire body. I felt the empathy in his shy looking eyes. And as such,I can't explain why it rashed my whole body as if something wrong had happened. I took my hand out of my pocket and shook hands with him and quite shimmering abortion of thoughts moved my glance. He gazed at me in an astonishment to quiche his thirsty soul. I felt sorry for him. It was quite unequivocally to announce my empathy . Maybe he was not interested. I had to find a more clear way to furnish his worry and talk to him.Exclaimingly,I asked "young boy ,what makes you this sad !" Is it your business when someone is stressed! Sorry for that,I didn't mean any harm my good friend,you know I can be of help to you right? How! Can we find somewhere and talk about it please? You do not not who I am. Lemme as you,what makes you think that I need your help? I am old enough to handle my own problems , that's if I have one. It's okay! I'm not despising your effort ,but you look so disturbed. I'm a psychologist and I know what and how one is stressed. I explained myself to him for quite a number of times with not Vail. I waited with Zest because I knew something was wrong with Nyabate though he had declined stating his name. I stood by the roadside , counting a number of cars going towards the north. From land cruiser Prado to the more common probox . One could tell from the look of things that it was really a busy day. Being a Friday,in this part of Nyanza where I come from, corpses are laid to rest in this very day so it's not quite new observing the scenery graced by vehicles of different brands all over your way. People coming from a far distance to give their beloved ones a good send off. Others coming to grace the occasion and others with different thoughts.You would find lots of people with different intentions in such occassion.Some come from a far land to taste pieces of meat and feasting on different kinds of meals. If there appears to be a buffet,then a crowd of people that will grace the event could me unmarked. In this part of Kenya,meat is a necessity for such an occasion. It's usually a great day for most families even though it appears so sad ,but that's how it is designed by God. For about three hours I had to wait at the road side. Reciting some of my favourite poems by Koffi Anyidoho. A Ghanaian poet. One of his works that I still recall upto today, is his great poem that slices my hope in this world. A piece by the name NEWS FROM HOME. I first read this poem when I was a student of English and literature some years back. It gave me a gusto that I can't forget till today. The poem opens by identify that: I have not come this far, Only to seat by the roadside and weep, I could have wept back at home... So condemning I must admit. So pollinating is the poem. A capture of Nyabate's experience that I came to learn later on. I hoped that Nyabate could come along. It wasn't easy but I had to wait for that long because I know ,the egotistical reaction. The ego has no sense.

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