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Starring into the burning pile of woods, my past flashed before my eyes and I had a glimpse of what the future pretentiously holds. Though the Monday blues were gone, the dark night pervaded my thoughts victoriously like a plague. Remorseless horses of spite kept stamping their hooves in resonance with my heavily beating heart. The Fates had left me and I was awful tired of life’s deadly proposals. It can be assumed pitiable that none of the gusto that characterised my immediate environment made sense to me. In a few days, I will have to clear an outstanding bill of about two hundred. And since my last contract terminated, it’s been a rat race trying to get another decent job. All I had was less than a hundred. No one really cares, I thought to myself.
It was very warm around the bonfire until the fickle foreign weather took over. The light showers sent everyone to seek shelter, but lost in a valley of thoughts I stood still like a monumental statue. There were a lot of chitchats and most people around knew two or more persons next to them. But as for Kamsi my francophone friend, it was another gloomy night for the man of colour. We were both mute and we stared straight into the fire. To avoid making any eye contacts with the folks around, we kept our heads low and we dared not to raise them until the get-together was finished. Repressed feelings and bottled up thoughts characterised our present outward appearances. And like our brothers before us, we longed for the touch that could restore our lost dignity and heritage at a place far from home.
Kamsi and I had many more things in common other than our glaring kinky hair and dark skin. We both had thoughts we may never be able share. Suffice it to say that, it’s been a cold lonely sojourn to the hearth of true definitions for the two of us. And the quest for a better standard of life had taken more than we both had planned to give. As a child and all through my early years, I was told and made to accept faith as the sole guarantor of solace. But even faith has a way of leaving those who believe with an undying need for a shoulder to cry on; a face to look at and a heart that listens. Kamsi was all the only man I could confide in on the allotment about my impoverishment. But our present states defied us to relate more as friends than we did as co-workers.
It all began about a decade ago, on a cold night such as this. I was on my way to the far end of the college’s landscape in quest for a solitary place to do some real time studying. But that like each night I went out as I did on this occasion, my big heart was breaking and I cried like a child. I had just been admitted as the best student on my course and yet I felt out of place. I knew too well that a bigger part of the puzzle was missing. And I doubted if I would ever be able to figure it out on my own. I often prayed for a will stronger than my wits. More often than not, I’ve had to pick up a cross I may never be able to carry. It was tough trying to fit into a system that was designed not to tolerate and accept you. Prejudice could be a sweet relief or a cruel burden depending on one’s outlook to life, but ill-affected words demoralise every heart they reach. To me, it was all about earning a college degree. Casting off all restraints, I never gave in to the discrimination.
“Hello. Hi. Hi. Hello”, we both said these words confusingly to each other until I stretched out my wet right hand to her. She reciprocated the gesture and we both shook our wet cold shaky hands. Though it was dark, I could still see the beauty in the eyes behind the frame of her glasses. She had a welcoming smile on her face and I could tell she wasn’t from the region. Judging from my circumstances surrounding our unplanned encounter, she was a godsend. We had begun what appeared to be a great conversation until one of the lads who moved the dinner table away from the drizzle let a food pack fall. She immediately reached out for it and her enticing smile seemed not to diminish. “Oh, the pack is good. The food didn’t spill out”, she said to me to satisfy my obvious curiosity. “Yeah”, I conjectured was my unsought reply to her. And like the passing wind, she joined the crew who sheltered the dinner and our conversation ended abruptly. She headed for the shipping container while, I contemplating to head down the lonely dark streets off the boulevard home.
Kris was obviously drunk. He kept pulling me asking me to draw nigh to the bonfire. “Let it go, I’m okay”, I told him time and time again. But like a tenacious epiphyte on a tree, he’d reply “you work here so you should get close”. He has always had a nudge for doing things hurriedly as I’ve observed during most work sessions with him. Tonight wasn’t different, but he was only overly expressive in his usual demeanour. Upon his arrival, he had taken off his coat like it was bright sunny summer afternoon. He sat in one of the plastic chairs close to the bonfire and ransacked his pockets. When he eventually found his can of tobacco, he opened it up and placed a roll in his tiny mouth. He lit the stick up in a jiffy and puffed the smoke into the air like a hero. I looked into the dark gloomy skies above Kris and I knew not a joy would be left after the night ceases. He was just as sad and broken as any of us.
Kris could have led a better life. Being the son of an Asian landlord left him better off than any of us. But he cared more about cigarettes and alcoholic beverages than he did about his wealthy inheritance. Though he never said much about his well-to-do father, Kris always had a soft spot for his ageing mother. And he made mention of her almost all the time. I guess it is indeed true; life is all about the choices we make and not the chances we get. Kris chose to be a gardener over managing his father’s properties.
Like he did of most people who crossed his path, Kamsi had spoken ill of the learned preacher whose church was a few blocks away from the allotment before the unexpected happened. Well, this wasn’t the first time someone would be mentioning the clergyman’s bad attitude to me. But, how does that matter to me? Jack the allotment owner was the biggest problem I had in the world. And he was no cleric. He was just a regular guy. Thick beards and unkempt hair, he walked towards the fire like a fearless pyromaniac. All of a sudden he turned around and starred at me in derision like the racist I’ve always perceived him to be. “Hi, is that you Kamsi?” He said with a deceitful smile on his wrinkled face. He approached me and holding my painful experiences at arm’s length, I replied him hurriedly.
I was less concerned about Kamsi’s opinion of the preacher. However, I was bothered about the too many people who will unconsciously miss the sought-after love and embrace in the last place of refuge. It would be a disaster if the preacher took sides with the locals. “So, who is the arsonist responsible for the fire?” I asked Jack humorously. “Well, I guess that must be me”, he answered with a big grin on his unfriendly face. He must have been very happy to see Kamsi, Kris and I. But I was cocksure he was happier to see his comrades and the other locals on the allotment. Jack wasn’t such a bad man when compared with the other locals. But this is no meaning he was different.
Beauty was forever lost in the crowd. And I missed the tone of her different accent. Kamsi was having a drink and Kris was having another smoke. I stood all alone and many things weighed my heart down. There must be something left in the world for me other than Jack’s allotment, I thought to myself. But it’s all I’ve ever known and it seems to be all I’ve got since I got off my last job. This was the sad reality that dawned on me every cursed moment I’ve had to walk through the shaky iron gate of the allotment. Why should my fate be in the hands of another and why should I have to depend on another for sustenance and sufficiency? These and many more questions were often left unanswered in my curiosities.
Kris’ never really talked much about home or his people. But we all knew he had a sick mother. He spends all his got to the last farthing on a buzz. Kamsi and I thought it must be his little way of hanging on. Though it seemed perfect tonight, we all understood it was a facade. Things will go back to the way they’ve always been once we clock in at the allotment the next Monday morning. Jack will be there to snap out instructions and curse anyone he finds to be slack. Kamsi will be in late because of his quarrelsome wife. And he will lose some work hours. As for me, I will still be sad and lonely.
As I turned my back to the burning wood, I made my way through the bushy part that leads to the entrance of the allotment. The night got deadly quiet and the rain was starting to fade away. Like a thief in the night, a mocking voice burgled my heart echoing the same words I’ve heard over the past few months, ’British weather’. Rather than rushing off quickly to get to my rented single room, I made a stop at the park in the heart of the town. I sat on one of the cold seats and starred into the dark skies above me in anticipation o f a sign. But like the times before now, there noting unspectacular to cling to.
I’ve tried all I could by knocking on most doors along my path in life, but my efforts were like a bent key through its hole. May be it is an ill fate on my part or I just lacks the craftiness needed to be successful in a changing world. No, do not get me wrong? I’ve had a good share of failures just as I’ve nurtured success. But I’m still yet to reach the mark set for a man to be called a man. Now my coat was all wet and my beanie equally soaked. A thinning hair and calloused face was all I had as prove for many years of hard work and studying.
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