Cold water

As I struggled with my bag up the little Bombolulu road in the December heat, leaving my village to the real owners, I was wondering if there would be a cold drink at the end of the journey.  When was the end of the journey? I must have asked myself so many times but my imaginary friend would say, “Soon,” carelessly.  I was afraid of mentioning him, for at heart I felt I was going into some isolated and primordial villages where my strange situation was unknown.

It was an exquisite village, lost and peaceful. The roadside was starred with beautiful flowers drifted thinly back into the edgeless cassava crops. Along the road itself there were lines of palm trees and to the right, the land rose gently to the courtyards that glittered in bizarre greenish to the straight sunlight.

“What is this village, Toby?” I asked my imaginary friend. “Can we stop?”

It made no difference because he was like deaf. According to his stories, this village was his native land and to him the little road with beautiful flowers hadn’t changed since his childhood. He was prodigal returning after 35 years ever since he died.

Toby has been my crony since I was seven years old. Actually, he had been my only friend since childhood. From the time I knew him, he had never aged not even a little. He had always been an eighteen years old chap. I faced lots of challenges just for being his ally. In fact, people even my parents looked at me as mad person. Whenever I spoke to Toby, people thought I was talking to myself and to them it was a valid proof I was really insane.

So I was implacably led on that December heat until very late in the afternoon when I came to his native village.  A lost and beautiful place as I had always imagined from the tales of Toby. It was full of makuti houses and great lands full of cassava crops and palm tress beautiful partitioned from one another.  Truly, it was more beautiful to the sight than my village.

When I arrived, there was little excitement not as I anticipated, sort of an explosive excitement from his family. After I introduced myself, there was a great shaking of hands from his sister, brother and his father who was too old. Hither and thither, together with pantomimic signs with eyes, hands and lips from his family and nearby neighbors as we spoke to each other in Swahili language it was a signed I was welcomed.

”Toby! Toby! You knew Toby?” Toby’s sister asked loudly.

“Yes, I know him. He has always been my only friend since childhood,” I said to her.

I think she didn’t catch up with the word ‘I know him’ instead of ‘I knew him’. To her, Toby had died thirty five years ago when he was eighteen years old and my use of the present tense she thought it was just a linguistic error.

From the moment I became their guest, my visit was a kind of festival. Day and night there was an incessant pouring of coffee and wine in their makuti house, babbling of voices from the visitors who arrived and departed simultaneously. But that day and night despite of having coffee and wine, I didn’t have cold water.

I lived there for three days in luxurious and pampered life with Toby’s family and friends. In the morning, I would doze under the coconut trees in the hot sunshine, and in the evening I would watch the peasants spraying their crops in their farms. Actually, for the first time I felt free. Free from repression of supervision. I would go wherever I wanted and I would drink whatever I wanted, but still for those days there wasn’t cold water in that village.

Back to my village despite being twenty four years old, nobody thought I was responsible enough. Due to their beliefs of my special situation-insane, anything I did was strictly under supervision. That wasn’t the kind of life I wanted for myself. I really wanted a life where I could make mistakes and learn from them. In a nutshell, I wanted to be a real human like any other person I had seen in my village. But my parents never did let me. To them everything they did was to keep me safe from harm because they loved me.

For sixteen years I have always wondered what kind of love was it. How could they claim to love me but decide not to understand and believe I had an imaginary friend? That was ridiculous to them!  But I didn’t care because I had Toby. He was the only friend who understood what I felt and the only one I believed when he says, “You are loved.”

To show Toby how indebted I was to him for his friendship, I had accepted to come to his lost and beautiful village.

Wherever I went in his village, some old man, woman, child or young girl would come out to speak and even laugh with me. As we spoke and laughed, most young women would make a pantomimic signs of gladness and something beyond friendship. If I was tired, I would walk to the nearest house and sit there and rest; there would be wine and coffee, talks and laughter but still there would be no cold water if I asked.

Everywhere there was that feeling of relief, joy and intense respect that came from the any two people who had disagreed. People who had disagreed in that village would be friends again and they would only want to forget their bitterness. The village was the opposite of mine where tit for tat was everyone policy.

But still in the whole village there was no cold water. And perhaps because of the cold water, or maybe sometimes the way they saw me speaking to myself (not knowing I was speaking to Toby); I began to notice a change. A subtle change of feeling towards me in my third day.

I was still welcomed; there was still the same flow of coffee and wine, and still there was great respect for me. But now I began to sense the weakest air of suspicion of unrest. I thought to myself maybe I had stayed for too long. I began to noticed people around would scout on me from far as I walked alone in the village. I noticed the young girls we had laughed together earlier would gossip on me with other elderly women and they would become silent wherever I passed.

“I want to go back to my village,” I kept saying, “I could at least have cold water there. I want to get way from here Toby.”

“Go,” said Toby, “Do what you want!”

I was thirsty and the only thing I needed was cold water. I became hesitant to go not because it was a long journey back to my village but I think wasn’t ready to leave my friend.

At lunch time, Toby’s sister cooked pilau. It was so delicious but I couldn’t enjoy it. I was still angry at Toby for not caring how I felt when he said I should go if I wanted to and so I had to talk to him.

“How could you be so selfish earlier?” I asked Toby

“I wasn’t selfish. You always wanted to be pushed to do something since you were a child. Even coming here I pushed you,” Toby said.

“You know that isn’t true. I came here because I trust you more than any person and I wanted to do something for you.”

“I want you to continue keeping your trust just for one day. You could have cold water and maybe even going back together. Is it a deal?” He asked.

“Yes it is a deal,” I said reluctantly.

Across the table, Toby’s family was watching the scene, suspicious. I was there guest. They could have detected the note of dissatisfaction in my tone as I talked to Toby. In that moment Toby was now calm and friendly. I finished the meal in silence, in the silence of discontented.

Yes, I made a deal with Toby but his personal change was making hard for me to trust him. The multi-persona complex he was having filled my head with doubts. I wanted to trust him but I couldn’t because he was acting like a stranger not the Toby I knew long time ago. For that reason, I went indoors and I packed my bag.

Toby, quieter than never, he came to me:

“We had a deal,” he said.

“I guess some deals are made to be broken. What has really changed you?” I asked him.

“You will understand soon. Very soon,” he finally said.

There was no way I was going to rely on his words. Not from this new Toby, I decided to leave.

Toby gave it up. Standing on the far side of the patio, I could see other people of his village standing stiffly at the doors and the windows, watching my scene. They must have sensed the way I was talking to myself angrily (talking to Toby), that their food and their ways were not good enough for me.

The air became tense as it was a desolate situation. Again Toby tried to make it easier for me;

“Wait till tomorrow, we will all go then. We will all go to your village.”

“You can just stay in your village. I don’t need you.” I told him crossly.

After saying that, Toby vanished and I lost the feeling of his presence. It was something that had only happened once, long time ago when I was fourteen years old. His desertion made me realized maybe I had overstepped. I scanned my friend in misery but still I didn’t see him. Fourteen years ago when I lost the feeling of his presence, I was so troubled. He vanished for three good days. Those three days were my days of desolation. I searched for him by calling of his name but he didn’t answer. I knew I had lost him forever but on the third day in the evening, he appeared and I felt his presence again. I was happy when I saw him and from that day I had never wanted to have any disagreement with him.

“Cold water,” I heard a shout. “You could have cold water!”