I saw the dimples at once I knew it was Marita

1967 was such a calamity for me to say the least, i lost my entire self. So devastating it was that i could not participate in class work i even withdrew from church activities and other extra-curricula activities. The memory and scene of that fateful night when i last saw yes ‘my rib’ has been a haunting nightmare for all this period. The skies were blue, stars were shinning and the full moon made the last moments together one of the most romantic in my long romanticizing career. The weight of losing the Tanzania queen was so unbearable that i had to rebound senior two for reasons nobody could guess but me and staying a student in the seminary would not serve as the best option. My catholic father could not entertain any ideas or suggestions of switching from one of the only three catholic schools in the country for it was associated with academic standards and the level of discipline was thought to be satisfactory. But the blessing in disguise presented through my ex Kenyan competitor Kamau who was emotionally and physically insulting me by celebrating Marita’s departure. I could not take this while lying down. The most grave sin in a seminary is to fight but i was ready to go fist to fist with this Kenyan after all it was the wide door of opportunity opening for me to walk through to the land of freedom. When i was given an indefinite leave of reform, i joined a mixed school determined to put the past behind me, be a good boy and make my dad proud for i had to be brave as a true son of a second world war veteran. I went on to complete my O’ levels with flying colors and joined A’ levels where i did mostly reading though i did cause a few romantic skirkmishes since i could not betray my true nature. Joined university for a degree in journalism and went on a love searching spree at the same time where i fell in and out of love several occasions. After school i married and divorced remarried and redivorced went through a whole pack of them and practiced journalism. In 1996, I went for two weeks to Dar-el-saalam on a mission and while hanging out with my colleagues in one of the coastal clubs, the entire room was suddenly filled with a sense of gentleness, beauty and grace. While nursing my Kilimanjaro beer with my baddies, somebody taps on my shoulder and turning in my tipsy mood i saw the two wide dimples on both cheeks that symbolized the impeccable beauty that i had not seen in the last 30 years and i immediately knew I was with Marita. Hi kapiteni am…. “Your are Marita” i said it for her before she could complete. I stood up to embrace the elderly queen. I could not believe my eyes i had no slight dream of ever meeting her in fact had erased her out of mind and vocabulary i was lost for words. “What are you doing in TZ?” she inquired. I tried to mumble some words “am a journalist and am here for two weeks covering the international conference on global trade” “Two what?” she probed further with evident happiness in her eyes and voice but she was quick to disguise it. “Am married with two sons and a daughter. See the gentle man over there? He john my husband.” He was such a hefty guy with Obama like jaws that women want. Went over and i was introduced to john. “How is your wheel chaired dad?” he died 10 years ago while in his sleep. ‘Sorry for that Alex!” she still remembered my name. “Marie, I have to catch up with my freight to Dodoma” the monster calls her Marie what is it supposed to mean. “Alright honey” Marita was quick to send him off as if to say go we need time together it’s been long. We caught up with history and the most prominent topics were our love life after the separation, the schools, jobs, children and the family. At 10:00 PM, i drove her home and promised each sharing dinner the following day. With our elderly cracking bones, we managed to hug. Did it roll on again? Ends