THE STORY OF A LADY I ONCE LOVED

This is the story of a lady I once loved. Unconditionally. Memories of the past have faded and failed me. However, when it comes to her, as clear as the day, I get to re-live each moment just as it were. I still have our rings and the pictures of our youth are still on our walls.

Her name was Chepkemoi. I called her Chippy as her vibrancy and voice was that of a chirping bird. Her village people called her Kemoi for she was born at night and her skin complexion was as dark, yet flawless, as the night she was conceived in. She kept a short unkempt hairstyle in knots that she would, occasionally, shave in a fade with a curl-kit hairdo. She was slender and in her stature I loved how her colorful red, blue, white and yellow bead necklaces would contrast on her long neck. Her white teeth and somewhat conspicuous incisors betrayed her of the tribe she was. She did little to no make-ups; she wouldn't need to and she had no piercings. She was naturally beautiful.

She was a free spirit. "Don't limit yourself Sy," as she would call me, "to only one format of living. Go get more. Travel more. Explore more." "Should I get more wives?" I would tease her. "Now that's where we draw the line!" She would object triggered visibly with squinted eyes and tiny wrinkles on her brow. We would laugh it off. "Assume this is your last day. Live it fully." She would tell me. "Because one day you'll be right about it." "I will Chippy." I always said as I kissed her to leave for work. I would think about her often during the day and when thoughts weighed me I mostly, but not always, left work earlier to be with my little chirping bird Chippy. I loved her.

I recall of our trips overseas walking along the cobblestone streets of Italy and dancing at the cabarets in France. Often on our dates, I would tease her. "She'll have Kabarnet Sovignon and Maytag blue cheese." I would order her pairing. "Sy!" she would cut the embarrassment on our dates. "It's cabernet (kah-buh-nei) sauvignon (su-vin-yo). Kabarnet is my home!" she would say covering her face childishly with her Chanel purse. Despite her village background, she kept an elegant lifestyle. In her classiness she loved Lindt Lindor white chocolates and De La Vali white and cream silk dresses. Listening to Hugh Masekela's jazz on the farm drives and Emily Kosgei on Sunday mornings lifted her spirits.

As a spark ignites into a flame but later to ashes, the times of our youth soon faded into old age. With it came sickness that saw to it that my little bird that once flew to great heights now sits paralyzed. She remained still and drooped like a melted candle: burnt her spirit ruthlessly. Her once dark smooth and flawless skin wrinkled and cracked to be more of a charred bark of a tree.

I pitied her immensely and couldn't stand to see life torture her to such excruciating extents. So on this evening, a rainy evening it was, as the heavy drops poured over the vast carpet-like landscape of our tea farm, I spoon fed my little bird her favorite wine on our porch as 'It's All Over Now' by Hugh Masekela played on our vinyl record player. "This is your last day. You lived life fully." I thought upon feeding her. As I turned my eyes to the stretch of the landscape, watching the rains, her mouth foamed and her eyes rolled. Her once still body wriggled off the rocking chair and fell with a thud on the floor until it didn't move no more.

As darkness crept in, I carried my little bird's cold body off the floor from our porch to the bed. The lightning flashed and thunder boomed as I laid beside her. In darkness she was born, in darkness she rests. This is the story of a lady I once loved. Somewhat unconditionally.