Apparently, no, it wasn't (oh, and Antony, this is another tale entirely).Before the Birth of Dear D.D. and shortly after the Wrath of the Red Bird, my heart, young as it was, found its first object to desire. In the grand scheme of things, I spent little time in the pursuit of his affections. And what emotion I bore for him died an ugly death at the hands of a girl I considered a good friend when she betrayed my secret.
I cannot be sure how true my reasoning is, but it seems that as human beings it is in our nature to consider those we know who have knowledge of our deepest, sometimes darkest, secrets to be our friends. Those we know who do not share in knowledge of the caged, murky parts of ourselves, we term acquaintances. At the age of ten, the word acquaintance had no meaning, to me it was merely a long, hard to spell word that adults used to describe certain people. And since I knew nothing of acquaintances, all my friends knew my one big secret.
The girl who eventually betrayed my secret was new to our town, new to our school. Not that I was much of an "insider" myself. I was born in the States, Florida precisely, but at the age of two, my parents separated (for the first and not last time). In 1990, after living for five years in Kenya with my mother, I came back to the States to live with my father (he remained in the States while my mother, brother and I went to Kenya because he was a teacher), my brother had returned the previous year. So, having spent part of my early childhood in Kenya, my place in the already established social hierarchy of Moore Haven Elementary School was "outsider".
A few years of being an "outsider" taught me certain things, among them the true depth of cruelty that lay in my peers. I befriended most of the new students that came and went during my elementary school years as a result. That was before I became a snob, before middle school bred my protective apathetic shell, before high school honed my rage. Anyway, I befriended the girl and told her my secret in order to solidify our friendship. A few weeks later, during lunch, I saw her sitting with the "in" crowd whispering something to one of the "popular" girls.
I've always trusted my instincts, in my youth they very rarely led me astray, and my instincts were shouting at me, "Run! Hide! Find cover!" Of course, that was hardly possible, there was nowhere for me to go. After lunch came recess. Recess was a period of time to be endured, not exalted. That day...well, that day will live eternally in my memory. The object of my heart's desire came up to me that day, his very mien confrontational and I knew, knew that I should have found some way to run, some way to hide, some way to find cover from the inevitable embarrassment. Apparently, for someone like me to have feelings for him was an insult not to be borne. She tried to interfere, this girl who had sold my secret to our peers as an "in", but it was much too little, much too late.
Image: Wamuhu Mwaura, Hush Now Little Bit, 2009
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High school is a jungle, especially when it is a boarding school.
Circumcision is a must if you have to go to a boarding school in Kenya. Majority of our ethnic backgrounds demand this as a right of passage to manhood.
This young boy skipped this necessary act as he joined form one in a certain boarding school. Being quite young, he was small and he kept company of others like him in a shaky solidarity against bullies. Unfortunately one often finds out that in the face of mental and or physical torture, such partnerships crumble like sand castles in the wind.
This young boy struck a close friendship with another who was even more frail than he was. It was not till after the first trimester that he confided his deadly secret with this friend.
You must know, in this high school environment, that one must above all else commune with those of his peer, and this 'uncut' boy fell desperately short of this qualification.
A few days later after the sharing of the secret, he found that his desk sat isolated from the rest in the classroom. His attempt to pair back up with his usual desk mate was met with fierce opposition. After lunch break that day, the top of his desk was written in clear bold letters, with a felt pen:
'KAHII' (I shall try in future to show pronunciation of unfamiliar words). The word means 'small boy'.
Let me take a moment to explain the enormity of the insult served. Usually, an 'uncut' male is referred to to as 'kihii'. The term automatically and effectively brands you an outcast. This means that not only can you not keep the company of 'adults', but also that you can never ever talk or be allowed to talk to a girl. The consequences of such an infraction are dire, one of them being exposed in front of the girl herself. Now imagine being reduced to something smaller than a 'kihii', I need not say anymore.
for the rest of the year, what followed was a series of humiliations, being urinated on if he ever dared be at the urinal in the presence of 'men', water poured on his bed...
I could go on, but even I am ashamed of these undeserved ritualistic tortures.
'....can you keep a secret?'
'Sure, we are friends aren't we?'
'Well, I.....'
I guess this was one secret he could not keep.