A QUEST FOR FORGIVENESS

These radio presenters can be creative and funny at the same time. I thought as I submerged my husband’s trousers into the basin, and then I rinsed the shirts, hoping the trousers would soak in the soapy water, making it easier to scrub off the greasy dirt later. At the corner of the bathroom was my companion, the radio, which did an excellent job of killing the monotony of washing clothes. The radio presenter Sam Mvule was on that particular New Year’s Eve, seemingly sent by the angels to make my day even better.

“Now, dear listener,” Sam’s booming voice echoed in the bathroom. “As we usher in the new year, I want us to do something special today.” He stopped as if to let the dear listeners shift their attention to the critical event about to go down. What a talent! I thought. In the background, soft music, Stella, that melted my heart, was playing. Sam paused, and the volume of the music went up. The story in the music involved a man named Freshley, who had paid fees and air tickets for his lady to study in Japan, only for the lady to return with a short Japanese man for a husband at the end of her education.

“Dear listeners, as I have said, today we want to do something special to usher in this new year.” Sam returned. “I know the past year has been both a blessing and a curse to many of us. Some were satisfied, while some are still crying and praying to God to make this forthcoming year better for them.” As it seemed, Sam was now actually going to spill the beans. Having rinsed the shirts, I wanted to go and hang them out for aeration, but I thought against it. There was no way the big topic was going to pass me. So, I embarked on the trousers, wondering why God had to let my husband be a mechanic. 

“Now, dear listener, I know that in our interactions in the past year, we have differed with our colleagues, parents, siblings, religious mates or maybe our employers; it could be anyone. They say that man is to error, but I believe that what defines us is not our past errors but our ability to make amendments. So, what I want us to do today is give me a call, tell me how you erred your friend, child, or anyone, and ask them for forgiveness. This coming year, I want us to move into it with a clear conscience, dear listener. So give me a call. My number, as usual, is 07212238055.” The numbers were articulated one by one, both in Swahili and English. Then, with that, Freshly’s Stella came back in full blast.

There was an advert break, asking the listeners to trust in some soap that would remove even the stubborn stains from white clothing. Then, an old Congolese song by TP Okay Jazz that I could not understand anything about apart from Mobutu Seseseko and Zaire came blazing the airs. This time, Sam let the music play uninterrupted. And when it ended, the first caller was ushered in.

“Hello, whom am I speaking to?” Sam’s vibrant voice could be heard.

“Hello Sam, you’re speaking to Victor from Kakamega.” the voice of a young man came forth. For some reason, the voice gave me extra anxiety; it was so familiar. 

“Oh, Victor, how is Kakamega?”

“Nothing much, just glad to be part of those who have seen the new year, and of course, we are thanking God for that.”

“May his name be praised.”

“Amen, Sam.”

“So, Victor, tell me, who have you erred?”

“Sam, I want to seek forgiveness from a lady named Pamela.” My heart skipped. And I stood still. It was Victor, after all. Our Victor! It had been years, and a wound so grave in my heart was cut open. For some reason, my mind went blank, but the images of Victor, which I had long forgotten, flashed in my mind, including his laughter, sadness, and smile. The radio itself went silent for a while. 

“Please, Victor, continue.” Sam urged reassuringly.

“I erred Pamela, who was my boss in 2014.”

“In what way?” Sam urged.

“I poured boiling water on her, a whole 20-litre pot of boiling water.” There was some silence, but this time around, Sam did not urge Victor on. “I hurt her badly. And I wanted to apologize but couldn’t; my heart is still very heavy five years later. That’s why I called today.”

“Wah! Victor… that was very inhumane. What did she do to deserve such?” Sam sighed heavily.

“You see, Sam, my upbringing was not very easy. At sixteen, I lost both my parents. I had to drop out of school to find a job so that my younger brother, Juma, could continue studying. That was the only thing I wished for, especially when it became apparent my uncles would not help much. I wanted to see Juma succeed even if it was the only thing I did.” Victor continued with a voice that was so dry of emotion despite the depth of the message. Still standing, I moved closer to the radio, squeezing myself by the unwashed clothes in the tightly spaced room. 

“That was a huge responsibility at such an age. How old was your brother by then?”

“He was fourteen.”

“And did you have any other siblings?”

“No, it was just Juma and I.”

“Okay, please go on, Victor.”

“Fortunately for me, Pamela came through and employed me, both as a shamba boy and a house boy.”

“How much were you paid for that much work?”

“Two thousand shillings.”

“Wasn’t that too little?” Sam’s voice sounded shocked.

“Yes, it was, but it sustained Juma’s schooling. Things went well from the beginning until the last years of Juma’s high school years. The salaries stopped coming, and the work increased. I was denied even a little fare to visit my brother. So, I was confused, overwhelmed and angry for some time. But of course, I had to be respectful to my Boss.”

“Is that when you decided to pour water on her?”

“No, not until after my brother was sent away from school. As it happened, I used to wake up at five and boil water for the Boss and children’s birth. On the day of the ordeal, I woke up as usual, put on the water, and then took a nap just beside the fire. Unfortunately, sleep caught me, and I forgot to milk the cows. To add salt to the wound, the Boss also missed her alarm and only came shouting at me at nearly seven. When I was fully awake, she seemed so furious that she took a cooking stick and hit me on the forehead. That’s when it all happened.”

“Heh! Victor, that’s quite a story. Then what happened.”

“Madam was badly hurt, but I am told the wounds disappeared after a while. A case was raised against me. I was just released from jail last October. Since then, I have been trying to reach out to the Boss to apologize, with little success. That’s why I am passing my apology here. I am sincerely sorry. I have learnt that anger is no good. In my anger, I damaged so much. I wasted five years of my time in jail, my brother’s schooling could not be saved as I was not around, and I hurt someone.” 

“Victor, I have talked to you more than it is stipulated, but I do not regret it. Just know even in your forgiveness request, you have a golden heart, and I hope God will bless you for it in this coming year. Happy new year, Victor!”

“Thanks, Sam, happy new year too.” With that, the phone call was ended.

A new song was played, waking me up from my dreams. By now, tears were streaming down my cheeks. The story I had just heard was like a bullet in my heart. Indeed, the devil to a man is a fellow man. In trembling steps, I walked out of the bathroom, my head clear of any thoughts. I picked up my phone by the dining table and dialled Sam’s radio number. I was still determining what would happen, but I knew my call would probably not be picked up. Before this, I had tried calling the number dozens of times. The phone rang for a while, and then, strangely, Sam’s voice came forth.

“Good morning. To whom am I speaking?”

“Morning, Sam,” I could hear my trembling voice in between sobs reverberating from the radio in the bathroom. “You are speaking to Pamela, and I want to ask for forgiveness.” Then, entirely uncalled for, I broke down and wept.