For Love's sake

"How I wish I could call you 'my love, my precious boon, pumpkin pie or other rosey names without any illegality. How I wish I could spend a little more time with you, walk hand in hand, or perhaps carry you on my back and run into the setting sun on some whitened Sandy beach or lake side. How I wish we could sing melodies, even in discord, and still feel they were the sweetest songs ever. How I wish the feeling was mutual" These words seemed to reverberate from the walls, for a little while it was thought someone was rehearsing a line in poetry.  Sobs soon followed, but were quickly put under guise of 'a speck in the eye.'  Frick had received a letdown on his 'proposal', not for poetry class or the theatrical innings. His object of love had spurned his efforts, it seemed. She dared not stay too long, she hurriedly left. Frick would have followed but for a neighbour's restraint.
Frick was an average middle-class 27 year old male, standing at 1.8metres, well built and groomed with no obvious deformities. Sheka was a fair maiden, words would not suffice in describing her, albeit she was built in perfect  symmetry, nothing short of beauty. She was reserved.  A perfect match it seemed. If rules of engagement were in existence, they should have declared the two 'green lit' , a perfect rendezvous.  Yet it was not to be.  I was deficient of consolation . The one thing I could do, that I did. I walked up to him and offered to pay the bill for the meal he had ordered. Not that he couldn't setyle it, but to make up for my lack of 'know how' in such cases, I had to do something. While I was fidgeting and trying to figure out what else to do, 'granny' (we didnt know her name, though we had been at her restaurant several times, so we just called her granny- what a shame) walked up to the table. "Well hello boys, hope you enjoying your food?" She said cheerfully. "Oh yes, granny, we sure enjoyed the meal, bonappetite!" I reiterated. "Hey, Frick , what are sulking about, don't tell me I put too much chilly in the fillets?" She added as she noticed Frick's somber mood.  "Nah, granny, your food is awesome as always, otherwise we wouldn't be coming back here now would we? Just not feelin' too great today."   Frick said as he tried to pull himself together."Well, what's the matter? If my food can't sort it, then perhaps I can" she said wittily. I tried to change topic, but Frick interrupted and gave her the gist of the matter. "Oh my poor boy,  look at you. That's why you look so miserable. What you need is a free hot cup of your chocolate, and it's comin' right up as we talk a little bout your predicament" she said. "Can I have one too, for free?" I added  and for sure we all got in full measure. What a way to start a counselling session,  free food!
 "So do you love her, I mean really love
Love her?" Granny asked. "Of course I do, would I be sulking if I didnt?"  Said Frick . "How much?" Granny added. " How much? A lot!" Frick asnwered. "Ok then, it makes my task a little easier then." Granny continued. "Easier, how ?" I interrupted. "Well, if Frick loves her a lot, then it goes without doubt that he desires her happiness as much, sometimes-foolishly more, as he desires his own. Hence let me ask you a question my good boy Frick. Do you know what makes your lady 'tickle', happy?" Granny said. "Well, I may not know everthing. But this I know, she finds delight in working out things on her own, she likes to be given freedom to express her individuality. She likes to help other people. She doesn't like being undermined or pushed to make decisions she does not approve. She disdains failure to keep time, among other things, or and she's quite reserved, not so outgoing." Frick said. "Great, at least we getting somewhere.  Now ask yourself whether or not you are able  take her mold, and  make her happy . Would you be content to be with her, even though you knew with your guts that she wasn't happy being with you, would you?" Granny added. "No, I wouldn't be content. I guess I would be glad to have her with me, yet sooner or later, her sadness would permeate our relationship and it would start to eat me up, and by extension, our tie" Frick said. "Good, you're not only smart my boy, but you have a heart of gold, you are considerate. So would you rather she leave now while she can, and let her find her happiness where perhaps it lies, or she sticks around and ties the note with you and suffer a scourge so great in marriage?" She said. "Well, gran, you speak as one with goulds of wisdom, and much experience. Yet my heart still yearns for her.  But then again I love her so much, I guess I would have to let her go, for her happiness, as odd as it turns out to be." Frick said. This was rather a strange discourse, and had it not been for the free food, perhaps I would have interrupted many times. It was a hard lesson to learn even for me. I thought  we had to find the problem and solution.  I thought we where supposed to help Frick gather courage to go to Sheka and try a few more times before giving up, I mean, the lesson we just had was more about quitting than perseverance, or was that a lesson for another disappointment? Frick put his feet to the ground and a new glow permeated his visage. He soon had no need of the tissue  I had stock piled in my pocket for any eventual tear down.  As I was still trying to put 'one and two' together,  granny spoke up again. " Hey, you know what, this reminds me. Have you boys heard of the 'man of calvary'? Well he was in a love dilemma too. Love, I tell you is no child's play, not to mean children can't or shouldn't love. When you love, you kinda put yourself at the whims of the object of your love. 'For God so loved the world...' for what? For you and me and every other Jim and Jack that has ever come upon this earth that had strayed." "But gran, doesn't that show us love's pesevearing side?" I encroached. " hold your horses, my boy. Did Christ desire your good, your happiness?"she asked and I quickly responded with an affirmative. "Alright then, does he know what counts for your happiness, does he know where you can have your happiness? She added. "Yes he does. Real and lasting happiness is found in him, in accepting him as lord and savior. For in him is our life, at least this I've read in the scriptures. And technically we all wanna live." Frick answered. " Perfect Frick. So you see, Christ loved you so much and he desired your happiness. The catch is, your happiness can only be found in him. So technically Christ had no choice as it were, though really he had a choice, but
to bring you to himself, for then you would find your happiness. However, you still retained the power to decide whether or not you wanted to be with him. Unfortunately, you and I don't know if we hold the happiness of another person, and actually we really don't . But with interaction with them, we can learn to see whether we add an once of happiness to their life or not, and if not or we are not sure, I suggest one stays back or does a little more detective work." Granny said as we listened in awe. A little too much to swallow for the moment, but I guess time would melt everything into a cone and we would sip on it as we went on life's errands. Hard nuggets we hard to grapple with.

An unexpected turn 3

'Knock, knock' , I tapped gently on the lovely dooor leading to a porch in the house. For a while after, silence prevailed, but as I tried to knock once more, I heard footsteps towards the dooor. The door swung open, a lady walked out, 'Well hello. Goodafternoon, how can I help you?' She said. I quickly responded, 'Oh hello, good afternoon ma'am, I'm Andy- I reside just a few blocks down the street. I, I'm...' And just before I could find the right words to properly introduce myself, a shout rang out, 'Andy, you came! Mom meet Andy. Andy meet mom. Mom, Andy is my good friend and he is a therapist and I asked him to help you out, seeing you really get stressed out a lot' By the time she was done, I had a shy smile on my face for I couldn't have introduced myself in a manner as such, perhaps it would have been easier to say plumber.
Natalie's mom was stunned. Whether or not it signaled good tidings was beyond me. The door was closed gently with me outside
and the two inside. A little muttering and near opening of the door occurred, then finally I was asked to come in. By this time I had already rehearsed a few minutes' escape plan. I had set an alarm to ring about ten minutes later, and I was to take it as an emergency call.
As we walked down the porch, I noted dozens of pictures or portraits, to be more precise, hanging along the walls. They were age old frames of genealogies past and now present. They were neatly arrayed in such order . We turned to the living room, and a huge aquarium caught my attention. It was replete with corals, goldfish among others.
In just a few moments of settling in the house, I noted a particular exactness and orderliness.
'Andy, Andy' Natalie called, ' What are you going to have for a drink and a snack '
as she hoisted up a list of options. 'I'll have a glass of water, and a snack of your choosing.' I responded. 'May I have  tea please, a quarter and half teaspoon sugar, make it hot, but not too hot' Natalie's mom replied.
'Oh, where are my manners, I'm Mrs Roberts, others just call me Katelyn or Kate. May I see your credentials please' She said. 'Aaaah, cred- credentials? Well I, I don't have them hear with me'   I grappled. She laughed and added, 'Oh, no, I didn't mean that, my apologies. I mean, what is your profession, your occupation?' 'Oh, I'm a therapist.' I could see her face turning straight at me with a stare commanding verity in me, as she lowered the her glasses, perhaps to decider falsity . I felt she could read my mind.  In a moment's breath I was somewhat taken in a trance. I begun to rationalize which one would be the easier way. To lie would be easy momentarily, but would require remembering every
detail of it, so it stays clean . But to tell the truth would put a stain on my fair personage, but of course I was in this  situation because of the earlier lie that I was a therapist- I recalled a line I had once come across which read thus,' the line of least resistance makes all rivers and some men crooked' Napoleon Hill's laws of success. I figured I should own up and say it like it was, for lies or fables where like sugar coated pills that mused one's mouth yet left bitter his belly.
'I'm actually a doctor,  I'm currently doing my residence in general surgery' I said in low tones. I was ready to receive what ever was to come as I sat there sipping on my cup of water , albeit their in lay no sweetness,  but in that moment it did taste sweet. ' Oh Andy, you lied to me. I trusted you. You 're just like Dad,' Natalie mourned as she left the scene and rushed to her room. Her mom followed her with molifying tactics, but it seemed I had set in motion a grieving cascade, and perhaps the natural process had to take its course. Her mom returned after a while. I sat there, a little like a statue -motionless with the exception of my lips which seemed to constantly sip from the now 'bitter waters of Marah'. I needed a briddle to my tongue.
'How is she doing?' I asked Kate. She replied,'Oh she'll be fine, she just got a little emotional- kids.'   'And why did she say  I'm just like her dad, is there anything you would like to let me know?' I added. 'Well, her dad is a doctor just like you, and me. So I guess that's why she said that, it's nothing really.' At that point, I didn't want to probe any further, I had probably even overstayed my welcome. I apologized for the inconvenience I caused, as I was escorted out the door.  I recalled I had set up an escape plan, so I  checked to see why my phone alarm didn't ring. To my amazement, I had not activated it.
Three days had past and I hadn't heard from or seen Natalie. She was like a constant dripping on a rainy day at times, and yet at other times, an angel. I decided to get her a bouquet of flowers. I knocked at her home, but there was no reply.  I gently placed the flowers by the side of the doorway with an apology note, and walked away. While at a stone's throw away I heard a call, ' Hey Andy. Wait!' It was kate, Mrs Roberts. She walked up to me and asked if we could have a little chat while she took her pet dog 'Ruggae' for a walk. I agreed. She took the first slot ' Well, Natalie's dad and I have not been together for a while now,  it's been about a year now. We're not divorced and I don't ever want that to happen, but I fear the worst. Well he seems to have put his work ahead of everything, and that includes his relationship with his daughter and I. Even when we had him around, we would barely see him. This was especially after he got into hospital management. He was and still is a very good and dedicated gentleman. Very apt. His colleagues like him a lot for his good work culture, and pleasant personality, perhaps a reason too we are hate with his detachment from us. He moved to another town where he took over managerial position. And we seldom see or talk to him for that matter. The few times he comes over are like a patch of heaven, he's very kind and he sure knows how to spoil me and Natalie. But no sooner do we start enjoying his presence than he vanishes into thin air. And just like that, we are left with a void, an emotional emptiness creeps in. Natalie has been hugely affected, she thinks he's a liar, but of course I try to defend him by telling her he's busy saving lives -a bitter sweet truth. All too busy for us.  I've tried to be strong for her sake. But sometimes I crack down, I figured that's why she called you to help out. Normally I wouldn't have sought help, but I entertained you for her sake. When you lied to her, it reminded her of her dad.' 'Oh that's really sad to hear, I'm so sorry for the pain I caused her, I wish there was something I could do to help.'  She looked straight in my face and said,
'Perhaps there's something you can do. You can still be my therapist,  we'll just have to convince her even doctors do psych. at some point, don't they ,or didn't we ?' I hesitated for a while, then I agreed to the suggestion.  So I was still going to be a 'therapist' -psychotherapist.

Under the country sky

The dust was chocking, the noise was deafening, the heat was searing. Somehow I found myself seated on the 'hood' of one of the engine's tentacled appendage. It had the least comfort in the overpacked minivan. Every thumb and vibration from the pothole or hump was transmitted undiluted to my gluteal laden rear end.  I had to give up my seat to a time-worn sun-tanned merchant whom we picked up along the dust laden gravel road-he seemed a few decades older than I, though I found it rather unnecessary seeing the mini had limited number of passengers it could carry, but for 'respect's' sake, I dared not protest once the man was on board. My chance at protest had passed, before the man could get in. So I soaked it in like a good lad should.
Efforts to keep the dust from coming in came a little too late, and closing the little windows were like a smothering recipe. So we allowed the free entry and exit of air, with dust of course. We had to improvise with cloth face masks. Another ire to my nuances.
The mini was a legend in the route. I bet it had seen many more sunsets than I could count in my entire life, evidenced by its decrepit like nature. It's rear end exhaust was agush with blackening soot. The reving of the engine was as though a roar. But with time, I learnt to look passed all that. It was of little consequence how one traveled as long as one reached his intended destination, or so it seemed for every other person aboard. I too took note of the art of taking it all in, without a murmur.
It was a lonely track, with a paucity of vehicles heading the opposite direction.
As you may have guessed it, it's the old road that leads to the country. It's got no posters to guide you, but once you tread it one,two three times, you need no posters to act as a guide. The very sights and smells, sounds and scenes would,without ambiguity, dictate your station. And somehow once you disembarked , a train of years would begin to wind round your mind till, perhaps you grasped the time of your last visit.  It would serve to grant you memory of people and place.
There I was, standing with my little brief case, not much in it save a few pairs of pants, sweaters, soaks and everything manly, and a back pack with everything miscellaneous. A few buildings stood erect right in front of me-buildings not of motor and clay, rather of wood and straw others with baked brick and/or mud. Folks, not many, dotted the place. I feared my little belongings being purloined. A little tension and awkwardness filled the air for about a minute or so, albeit they soon lightened up and I drew closer to them for to seek direction to folks I had come to visit. One or two approached me and took a good look at me, perhaps examining my frame for any
signs of belonging. They muttered amongst themselves -'His face, his ears and his voice too-they match one Mr so and so.' They chuckled and in concert asked, 'Are you one of the  Lutanzi's ?' I quickly noded with an affirmative yes. These guys were better at putting pieces together than I was getting it together with patients . I wished I had their  great acumen and insight, I would cut down on time spent clerking.  'How are you related to Mr Lutanzi?' They probed further. I responded, with a jargon of relationship maze. 'He's my grandpa's brother's son'. They retorted, 'Over here, you are either his son, grandson or brother , other relations are no importsnce tof us.' So I settled for son for I presumed it would confer me greater privilege if he, Mr Lutanzi, had won himself a good reputation in the land, though the opposite too was a possibility.
I was quickly granted a little lad for an escort . He was untamed as one could be, free spirited lad. Out here he seemed more mature than I. On our way we were met with a herd of cattle. Bulls and cows in large number were grazing in the area. I was no herder or cowboy, I dreaded the sight before us.  The sheer size of the animals, the dagga like horns gave me unwonted tremens . With quivering lips, Lisping tongue I motioned, 'Perhaps we wait for the train to cross before we offend the multitude.' My little escort was not at all shaken by this 'fleet' as it were . It was all natural  for him.  At the rear of the herd was another young lad. It was rather strange how such a fellow should wield so much authority over these creatures. He could even call some of them by name, whether they took cognizance of that was anyone's guess, albeit they listened to his comand or the whip lash and non dared charge at him. Perhaps, here lay a perfect example of the 'power of the mind'. I needed to grasp a lesson or two from him, just not at the scene. Either his ignorance protected him from the fears I had or his experience given him enough guts he could lead the cattle on.
The train soon passed, we were at liberty to proceed, perhaps my mind was at liberty. We continued on our errand. As we traversed the upwinding and downturning dusty road. By this time I had nicknamed my escort 'chatterbox' for he was never short of stories and questions . He liked it, the power of ignorance- but of course I later reverted to calling him Menda, his real name, after a brisk explanation of what his nickname mearnt. He smiled and said, 'I still like it.' 'Menda, I'm worn out and  parched, how far till we get there?' I mourned. 'Oh don't worry, just a few turns and we'll be there'.  He then led me me to a place we could get a drink of water. I could not resist. We were served water. It was not the usual crystal clear, but water it was. Menda added, 'if you close your eyes, it will just be as clear'.
An Oxcart on the road was heading our way, we were in luck. We left that home and hitched a ride. In no time, we had arrived.  We were warmly welcomed. And before Menda could leave, I handed him my wrist watch. It had made an impression on him all the way. He wondered how I could tell time simply by looking at some gadget that had three hands as it were, with no numbers save a few dots around the center. Apparently part of the talk along the road was a time telling tutorial on the same watch. He was an apt student, his mind was ripe for molding. I only feared he would never make it in good time   back  to the station, for he would spend much time looking down on his wrist watch laced hand than walking.
I was to be here for a week then return to the tamed city. Life under the rural sky was different as expected. No rush, all was hushed. No busy communtors, no pile of deadlines to meet. It seemed there was additional time yet with only a handful of things to do. Perhaps the busiest person was one who toiled in the field, herded the tame animals, fished from the river, or worked the harmer mill . The night sky was brighter, the moon glistened in majestic splendor, the stars seemed webbed in their sparkle. Costellations were candidly displayed. The Orion, Taurus the bull and the others whose names my tongue would get twisted in attempt to mention. It seemed nature had chosen to give some compliment to the lands far.
Perhaps I was able to unwind and recalibrate in a time slower paced. Amenities were few but they were just as good. I watched as lads would spot in the streaming water. Their diving board would consist anything from a tree branch or some levee on the banks. I dared not engage. My fears were many. The currents were strong. I knew not the depth of the water. Occasionally cattle would come for a drink, sometimes crossing to the other side. Some folks would plunge in while holding on to the tails of the animal. This was safe as long as one was quick to let go before the animal reached the banks. The results would be  near fatal from my calculation should one receive a hind kick in the face. I reserved my energies in doing something more delicate-fishing.  Of course I only caught reeds and everything else not fish. I had not the skill.  Perhaps I was meant to preserve life, for my bait was never on the hooks once I pulled out the fishing line. Maybe I should have called it fish feeding instead .
So perchance, the country has place for one willing to tune in to the slower pace.

The birthplace of great minds

What births invention or rather inginuity, success and all that seems to set mere mortals at the verge of superhuman prowess-intellect? Where are the storehouses of great minds? Is there still room for one to slither in the tight slot?These and many other questions were stippled in my mind. Perchance, I thought, let me follow the way of great minds. If inginuity is borne on the wings of science then it therefore follows the simple rule of cause and effect. I wondered whether my quest for the affore would bequeth me the lot of the alchemist-whose desire to obtain gold from common ore or base metal may have been relegated to the infamous heap of history.
 I started out with  sir  Isaac Newton's well known apple tree experience. I gathered that one would get much inkling if he spent precious hours recluse in nature. I sort out a fair quiet lot. It lacked an apple tree but it was complete with fruit trees and gravity. For the Apple tree, I had to make do with a guava tree (poor man's apple). I sat under the tree, not hoping for any fruit to land on my head, rather an epiphany of inspiration . I received neither, save several hours of sleep.
I tried out Einstein bus experience, noting the apparent slowing of time as the moving vehicle increased in speed, inpiring him to the time-space concept. That didn't work either, just ended up missing my station one too many times. I tried the Edison formula of trying out something a hundred times over. As it turned out I neither had the patience nor the resources for such an undertaking, and last I checked, I was bent on proposing a fair 'doe' a hundred times and this was only to be cut short by a quick earned acceptance or a constant rejection till the hundredth time. Of course, the second rejection turned out to be the hundredth in my case. I through in towel.  I figured a hundredth would land one in the hands of a psychiatrist.                                     
Perhaps the Wright brothers could help, I thought. If  observation of a bird in flight could inspire them to put together a featherless object midair , I too could certainly come up with something novel by careful observation. I spent time decifering where my inspiration would come from, fauna or floura. The former was more aluring.  From the tamed to the untamed, from the graceful to the roughed out, the slothful to streamlined fast, the beauful to the 'not so bueautiful', aquatic to terestrial  I searched . But this too was a futile escapade, though I must admit I had gained myself a new hobby, if it counts for anything. An interest for the creepy crawlers, the slithering serpents, the marching ants, the delicate worms, the awe lambs, the pride, the stallion, the muse of hyena ,Wildhog and meerkat, and the list is endless in script.
I must have be doing something wrong, if not everything.  I mean, why was nothing working out. How were ordinary men able to weave from the mundane a masterpiece, where their paths engraved in flint stone and mine waddled over the sand of the washable sea shore? When was my breakpoint coming? Peradventure I had stood on giants archaic, perhaps their methods were not in sync with the day's rule. I sort out more contemporary folks of renown. A quick perusal of their life
showed quite a nerving resume. One too many school or college drop outs, not my kind of route.  I had been brought up with the notion that 'education is the key' and there much truth in that, for ignorance ,though may carry with it bliss temporary, is a harbinger of blight.  no one ever said what door education opens, but then again, I guess it left the options as endless as can be. Education, I must add may be obtained in ways varied one from another-conventional type being the most pronounced.
The thread, I've come realize that runs through many, if not all men (men loosely used for both sexes) of renown, is the desire to solve an established problem ,drawback or dilema or simply add pleasure. To this extent, every invention should to a degree bring in its train relief or pleasure for man, though it must be noted that this sometimes has been done at the cost of fellow man.

So one might well be right to arrive at the conclusion that inguinity precedes a strong desire to achieve an expected end. So instead of asking such questions as pertains to whether or not there's need for any more inventions but rather those that pertain to solving the common ires or adds value to the way of life. So necessity breads inguinity after all. Grant me occasion to elaborate it as thus: should a wayfarer struggle to traverse a long distance for his errands, provision of a cart would bring him relief, yet provide him with an automobile, he will not only arrive in good time but in comfort-value addition.
For many a man, the chase after succes may be likened to a  plane . Some have  all that is needed but lack fuel-mortivation. Some have top notch intact planes, but no run way-opportunity, some simply lack functional raders once airborne-judgement/discretion.  And some simply don't know when and where to land-goal.
With all that I gannered I changed my approach to acquisition of the touch of inventiveness. One may seek rather to find out what buffets the common man, for many are they, and pity them if non lends a hand to rescue him from the whims of life.

So opportunity to grab a hold of an inventer's mind still spawns as each day unfolds. And the beauty is , one needn't start from scratch-for we have the privilege to stand on the 'shoulders of giants'. Take a leaf from the past to build your canvas today. Have you seen a lady so uptight about her hair? It's a beckon for invention with success in its trail. Why not cast your net into finding remedy for bad hair days, keeping the natural glow and augmenting it's beauty. Are you troubled by the irregular power supply, this beckons your thought. Have you noticed a trend to go green on food yet with a paucity of diet, it's your scene-take a shot.

My Everyday unsung hero-under the African sky

 

'Pssh! pssh! Hey, move over a little, you've taken up too much space and the blanket.' This was not an unusual call in the early morning hours when the heaven chilled winds would blow in through the unpaned windows -more like breathers for the the cabin. The dew would be the wind's faithful stead. It would caress our bodies till we were brought back to conscious state. As it were, breath of life was breathed into our nostrils, with an additional touch on our bare bodies. 

Like logs lined up for the roll, we lay each evening, not on the soft comfy porch but on the natural evened out floor, lined with a mat and with the passage of good tides, our own wooden bed replete with cushionings. We didn't complain, for we hadn't known anything better. Yet our bony prominences would oft grown, the occiput and hip-perhaps they deserved better. At times, much of the warmth came not from the covering but from the closeness with which we arrayed ourselves. However, the lads at the ends of the row would often act as shield in times of shear coldness.

We had no alarms to wake us up, nature and mom had concocted a way to rouse us from slumber even before the sun could rise in its glistening morning grandeur. The gripping morning coldness and mom's early morning chores. The searing noise of pots and pans while she cleaned the kitchen dishes, music to her ears it seemed. Dust filled the air, but it soon settled revealing  a glowing sheen. Not much to see really, save a few relics. Old couches and tables at times befitting the meseum yet found welcome place, and old pictures on the walls ,a telling of our roots.

She would oft put water to the boil, and line us up, a triad of boys, and one after another, she performed the ritual of body cleansing.  A dread of the morning. But we appreciated the result, nothing to attract the beauties (girls ), just the mere state of fine looking, modest young lads. Our breakfast was sure, but we didn't fret when we had to settle for kisses on our foreheads and mama's goodwill as she sent us off to school. We dared not feel destitute, for we had much more than a full stomach could warrant. We had a few tricks up our sleeves too. We had come to know, all too soon perhaps, that a empty pocket and stomach were potent in making one a scoundrel, a rogue and all that lies in the train of atrocity, yet the opposite too was true, it would awaken ingenuity, perhaps a breaking of wisdom's pot of gold. We would trade our hard earned knowledge for a note or more, (monetary term). We would pile up our fellow graders' assignment and answer it in their stead. This worked well for us, as this prompted much study. At a time or more we landed ourselves in betting, but more often than not, we had to pay heavy losses for it. Perhaps we were not the best guessers.

While our life strolled by with Interludes of ups and downs. Mom was out and about. She sold at the market place. She always motioned-'my little one's, if I  have to sweep the streets for you, I'ld sweep a hundred of them, and I'ld do it with a smile on my face for my delight is not in money or fare dine, or laudeable apparel, though that would be mighty fine, my joy is found in yours' . This often brought tears to my owled eyes-late night watcher  I was.  I didn't make it known to her that tears filled my eyes most of the nights, especially because her joy lay in ours- I must admit, many of the 'runny noses' I attributed to common cold and treated as such, where a mere breakdown in her presence and a perfect cover up. Did she know I was covering it up? Perchance. If she did, she sure had her own share of cover up. 

Mom's trade in perishables -tomatoes ,among others, was not always an easy one. She would awaken at dawn and after her preps, would hasten to get a good purchase at fair price from the good old farmers . Trucks tolled into the market docking area, and dozens of tomotoe boxes were unloaded.  She selected a few good ones

with the number depending on the weight of her 'pocket' as it were.  On good day, she would sell the entire purchase, but some days she would barely sell a single tomotoe. But she was rarely disconsolate . She always held her chin high. She refused to be reduced to mendicancy or dire paupery. 

After school, we would avail ourselves at the market place, so we could help her with the sales once in a while, though she didn't demand it of us. She said we needed to get married to books, everything else was to follow later on. 

There was a golden glow that marked her face even in the face of hardship.  The sweat streaked brow ,the calloused hands all testified to the effort placed in the work. I dared not compare her to the manicured hands I saw from others, their lot was different. She had little time for the beauty Palour, later on afford it, but she was our model, even though we were not spared a great deal of beatings for our unwonted misgivings.  

Before dusk, we each had to give account of our school work. We had to make sure all was done in good time. She required us to be studying extensively. The catch however, was, we barely had any books to read. The only books we had at our disposal were a few books we had to share at our basic school. She would make us read newspaper she would often come with home, and in a stroke of chance, she would acquire what  I might wittily term 5th-hand books (but of course the information Therein was still first hand-so worth it). She would get tbem from her 'well-faired ' friends, and a few she could gather from the street sellers.  We read just about anything that was contained in a book. 'If you are ever going to find success, it will be in the books' she would often snort if we dared lazy around on the little 21inch bellied screen television. Of course a little indulgence was permissible , especially if educational matters were aired.

The common ritual before retiring to bed was family round table prayer, with no table really. If anyone could pray, mom was one.   She would read out a few verses from scripture -which as may have been expected, she conjured us to read through, followed by an explanation. Then we would bow our heads low, and she would offer up a prayer. Often left her as the only one awake by the time the amen was uttered. 

We would be awoken to head to our little place of sleep. Sleep it seemed was our common escape from the toils of the day. But morning was always looming, ready to get us started in another's day round. 

An unexpected turn 2

"Abdominal pack out"
"Nylon 3 suture please",
"Nylon 3 suture coming right up"
"Finishing time!"
"22:00 hundred hours-finishing time"
Another suscesful appendicentomy! A prayer of thanks is offered . All are unscrubbed-and we called it a day.
I was getting ready to go home after a long day. I walked through the sombering corridors of the theretre, all coloured either in pearly green or turquoise blue. I could hear every nudge of my step on the floor. The monotony of colour was not one appealing to sight, but over the years, it had become almost an emblem of the OT. I watched as patients where wheeled in as emergency or elective cases for operation. The anxious look on their faces differed very little from my own, especially in my early years of apprenticeship. Sometimes I feared my hands and eyes would fail to coordinate, sending the patient into a precocious rest from which they would awaken no more. I would often query whether the air cons were functional or had become decrepit over time-for streaks of perspiration would mark my brow as it were a man working in the blast furnace .
I reached out into my back pack to pick out my mobile that created a discord in the serene silence that prevailed. I turned to switch it off, but in no time it rang again. I supposed it to be a call. But as I took a clear look at the screen, the time read thus '9 AM'. I turned to my wrist watch to thwart the inconsistency in time, and it read '09:00hrs'. I wondered as to what could have caused that strange tell of time. Had I over stayed in theretre or were my 'time keepers' unwary of the hand of time?
While in the jargon of thought, and paucity of action, a familiar sound was heard. A doorbell. But why would a doorbell be heard in theretre? In the maze I heard a distinctive voice calling out ,"Andy, Andy, Andy!" For a moment I felt a little entranced, then it hit me, I had just awoken from sleep. And I was late for work. It was really 9 in the morning. I pulled the curtains, and a flood of light swept through the room with piercing brightness. I jumped out of bed as one who escaped the clutters of death.
I hurriedly rushed to the door to check who had come to disturb me early morning. As I turned the door knob I realized I was not ready to meet the world in my state, the night's drool had clowned my face. "A minute " I shouted . "Alright pal" a reply came.
After putting on a gentleman's facade, I opened the door and who should I find standing in front of me with a jolly big banana smile, Natalie! She had a striking semblance of little red riding hood. The scene however lacked a old granny and a rogue of a wolf. And instead of a red hoody, she had on royal blue. "Hey Andy, good morning, hope you had a lovely night. I just came by to let you know that I have made plans for you to meet up with mom. I told her that you are a therapist, and that you could be of great help to her. Though she wanted to know what kind of therapist you where, she said there's a whole bunch of your type and she needed to know which one. Actually she wanted to know if you do psychotherapy or something like that. So which one are you Andy?"
"Aaaaaum. Aaah, well Natalie, can we talk about that a little later, I kinda overslept and I need to rush for work right now. My boss will be wroth with me if don't make up for lost time."
"Oh okay, sure. No problem. Then I'll see you tomorrow, is that okay?"
"Tomorrow is fine, you need to get going now, wooosh"
"Okay Andy , 'Mr Andy'."
"Wow, that went fine, no resistance."
I turned to fix myself up for the day's work. But just when a stone's throw away, my little neighborhood 'miss bouquet' turned and shouted, "OH, Andy, I have kept my word, I made delivery of flowers to Chandler. She's an angel, she loved them flowers. In fact she said if I keep up the good work, she'll pay me a 'note' for every delivery."
"She liked them?" ,
"Aanha!"
"But wait minute, did you tell her they were from me?"
"Well aaah, no. Was I supposed to?"
At this point I had totally forgotten time was ticking.
"What? But that was part of our deal- you were supposed to take the flowers and tell her they were a gift from me, you know, like a weekly dose of friendship "
"But technically they were my flowers you know" she interrupted .
"Natalie!" I motioned with a seemingly stern face.
"Alright  alright, alrighty then. I'm sorry, I should have told her- in fact I'll let her know on my next dispatch . Oh and do I also get a little allowance  since I'm doing this outside my compassion week itinerary? "
"I thought a visit to your mom was your pay?"
"Okay, okay-deal renewed on old terms"
I soon managed to wade off my little whisker.  I ran into a frenzy to ready myself for work and in no time I was out of the house.
As usual, by the time I perched into the hospital area, the parking lot was filled up. I had to maneuver around for a porch for my little cart. I knew a fine or clamp was coming my way for that.
I rushed into the clinic and was I in luck, my absence was bearly noticed. I took my place in one of the rooms and I was handed a pile of patients's files. Patient after another walked in and walked out till non was left. A wheeew moment . Some patients were satisfied, others dispondent. A clinch in diagnosis was always something to look forward to as a doctor yet a dread,at times, to the patient for it either added to the fears or added to the already existing exasperation. One of the hardest things I had come to learn is to admit ones gap in knowledge of certain spheres of medicine, though one dreaded instilling a lack of confidence in the Healthcare system. 'I don't know, followed by appropriate reference if avaialble' would save many an alchemist of health unnecessary trouble, and the patient -mismanagement. At the end of the day, it was worthwhile . I had come to enjoy the ritual of inspection, palpation percussion and auscultation. It made me appreciate the little details of life.  Things as subtle as splinter hemorrhages, or nicotine stains could be harbingers of grave conditions-hence their presence worth notice.
Perhaps Natalie was that little nuance of life that reminded me that the simple things of life do really matter too. Perhaps I needed a bouquet of beauties by my clinical window.

An unexpected turn.

The doorbell rung, I stayed. I wasn't used to such automations. I was used to the classic unmistakable knock, guess I could proud myself an old timer. Anyway, I crouched over to open the door. I was home alone, and I was trying to satisfy a certain craving, binging on some toast. I reached  for the door knob ,and just as I was about to turn it open, It dawned on me, I was unkempt-not a bad feeling when alone of course. I made haste to a quick squirting of this and that, and a little unorthodox pampering. All done. The door open, a little hooded lady-a little girl to be more precise, was walking away along the porch, in a little sombering mood. I called out . She turned and with a jolly yell, she responded, 'Goodmorning Sir, You are in luck, I have just brought you my last bunch of flowers for the day." "But I did not order any flowers ,and if I did, I must have been mistaken" I said. "No,silly!" She said with chuckles " they are for free from me to you-its compassion week so I've been randomly giving out flowers to folks in my neighborhood-you just happened to be in luck Sir."  So I had found myself in a interesting situation.  So last I checked, there was nothing really for free, a catch was always looming in the minute at every nook.

I got the flowers from her-and I could see the shimmerng glow in her eyes-golden. Perhaps she had hit jackpot or something like it, but of course before the feelings could become mutual and any more fuzzier than already was-I performed the ritual of appreciation and 'wisked' her off  "Off you go now little one, off you go- thy good works await thee, and non but thee can satisfy " For a moment I thought that morning's interlude had come to a tranquil end.
I turned to return to my lonetime, took a second ,a third then probably a forth look at the 'bouquet', It was actually a beautiful augmentation of colour and scent. I pulled out a petal one after the other and took a long breathe in before letting a petal to the ground. I turned around and who should I see standing still like a statue-the little girl. 'They can stay much longer if you didn't pull out the petals-and if you asked I could help put them in a water container ,that way they will keep their natural glow much longer." She said. "Okay, Madam ,come over and finish thy work -tarry not for I have not all day for the mundane."
"And my name is Natalie, if you may wish to know" she retorted.
 My 'me-time' had just suffered an encroachment. I was now enrolled in the school of interior design or home decor, and neither was my delight. In no time, not only the flowers took a manicure pedicure-treat,the whole place somehow looked brighter and inviting, a strange turn of events indeed, so perhaps I loved my new intruder after all.
"Natalie" I called out ,"Why do you like flowers?" "Oh, flowers-they are beautiful -I love beautiful things, don't you?"
"Oh I do too, but flowers don't last"
"True, unfortunately most beautiful things don't last, but we can enjoy them while they do-says mom"
" Your mom is very right-and I sense a superhero mom coming up" I added.
"Yeah, she is, though she's not so keen on me cutting flowers -she prefers they remain on the stalk to preserve their life. She's a doctor so perhaps you may understand ,saving and preserving life is pretty much at heart for her. I was a little hurt when I saw you pulling out the petals and throwing them to the ground- a waste of my effort ,I thought, hence my offer to help you put them up in some water so they stay up fresh a little longer."
I felt some emotional chills go up my spine, I recoiled with an apology. To atone for my iniquity I surprised my 'lady' with a 'sweet-tooth' chocolate energy bar treat. The surprise was, however, on me-Natalie was a health conscious little rookie. "Those ain't good for your teeth" I showed her my sleekey-silky white teeth as an exhibit, "You won't have them for long if you continue-nature has been generous with you, don't push her -when she reacts, she over reacts " she spoke in her untamed voice. "Wow,you are a smart one!"
"You have no option when your mom and dad are both doctors-a surgeon and a physician." I did not want to demean the profession, I held my peace- how could I now reveal that I too was a medical doctor? I took back my treats, they survived to be eaten another day. I replaced them with some nuts instead-
And the question I dreaded was posed,"So sir!" ,"Andy, Andy is my name" I interupted. "Okay, so Andy, what do you do for a living, are you employed, an employer or a loafer or perhaps a student? " ,
"Wheeew, that's a mouthful of options. I'm a ,aaaaah, I'm a health assistant -yeah, a health assistant. I help out people feel better." I said that with a surge of ingenuity. "Oh, so you are a therapist? That's awesome! I need to introduce you to my mom-she gets a little grumpy at times, perhaps you can help out -you will ,won't you?"  So perhaps not so great wits on me at that moment. I made her a deal, If she could deliver a flower bouquet every week to a miss Chandler, a few blocks down the street, then I would fulfill my end of the burgain. She agreed with a dimply smile."Me and you gat a deal"
Our little rendezvous soon ended. She took leave. As she left I dared ask, "So how many bouquets have you delivered today?" , "Oh, just two, I gave the first to my mom, then mom said I give the other to some homeless one, but I couldn't find any so I turned to your house- today was your lucky day Andy-make that, helper-Andy"
Well, what do you know,  I was the next thing to a homeless one-anyway I had just won myself a free bouquet delivery lady.