The Price of Love

The Price of Love.

Chapter One.

Seven years of love, of romance and undying passion just gone down the drain and in seven days too. What an irony and what a waste? And here I was, all alone in my room thinking about the woman I have loved, probably still love. But it was me who did it. I finalized the unspoken message and worded it for her for she seemed hesitant and uncertain in taking a definite decision. She was behaving in a very weird manner for the first time since I met her. She would not call me, wouldn't tell me she loves me, wouldn't text me, and worst of all wouldn't see me. Those are signs of a weakening relationship. I am no patient guy and thus took a decision to end the relationship and my own lamentations; but was my love for her over?

It was a hard decision to make; a bold one too, for it is always painful to end courtship with a woman you love. Nevertheless, I took courage from a song in Eminem's recovery album song: Not afraid. So I was not afraid to take a step into the future without this woman I love, come what may!

Memories of good old days began flashing through my mind's eye like a rewound tape. The mind always has an inconceivable way of traveling distances without tiring, reminiscing trivial details of meetings, conversations, and love gestures with 'the woman I love', for that's what I call her, mind you, called her. I am forgetting the use of my past tense here. But does love have a past tense? I think not. For me it is always a present continuous tense and should continue till thy kingdom returns.

She, as I remember vividly, was in a uniform the pumpkin leaf-like kind typical of all Comboni Primary schools of Lakes State. The long navy blue blouse she was wearing was made of a soft material, a kind of material usually used as bed sheets. The shirt was vegetable green. She was tall, in fact too tall for her age, with a fairly brown smooth skin, which was gleaming under the morning sun .Her teeth were milk white and so were the blind-spots of her eyes with a deep blue pupil. The soles of her feet were so soft that even walking on sand would have caused her bruises.
When I first saw her I was dumbfounded and awestruck and stood still as if I was turned to a pillar of salt like Lot's wife of the Old Testament. Her majestic steps made elegant by her long neck and flexible wasp-like shape made her look like the legendary Mona Lisa in reincarnation. She was a beauty of beauties, a queen of queens, a mere work of art; the art of God. I would have been transfixed till this day had a military truck not passed by honking as loudly as possible with the soldiers shouting and singing war songs at the top of their voices. Some waved at me while others shouted abuses at me. But others were just indifferent. That's what soldiers are like in this country anyway, I deduced. I just ignored them, that is the best you can do with them, traumatized as they are. Who wasn't anyway? The war was ours all after all.
She wasn't walking alone as you might perceive. It would have made matters a bit harder for I needed leverage, a stepping-stone to approach this girl. She was too precious an ornament to crack without due care. She was walking with a friend, a girl I happened to know for I was their teacher in the upper class of primary seven while this beautiful one was in primary five. They were now far ahead. I had to reach them fast before they reached the Ngop Borehole Junction for then they would disappear into the village and I wouldn't be able to follow them in the thick June grass without losing them. I literally ran after them and was breathing heavily when I reached them. The speed I was using did little to break my style of walking which was known as "bouncing", a term coined by my Kenyan friends. Back then; I used to walk as if I had springs on my feet, which sprang me up and down giving me some dance -walking style. Any woman who never gave me a second look then, would surely have been suffering from a disease called "stiff neck". Style not speed was always our target the supposed short guys or say we were, when we were walking. So when Vera saw me she opened her eyes wide open, surprised by my haste.

"Why are you in such a hurry Ustaz? Is anything the Matter?" Vera asked sarcastically addressing me using the Arabic title for teacher. She could have guessed my intentions already, I thought to myself as I pursed my lips ready to answer.

"Well, I replied, "Am after you girls". I said bluntly.

"What can we do for you?", Vera asked me again while this beauty stood there all this while quiet but watching with interest as I were having these awkward moments with Vicky.

"Well ah..", I stammered. It was the first time I have ever stammered before a girl. Usually when I approach ladies, I am always preferred with quite a tantalizing speech. Not today, I realized with disgust.

" I wish to talk to your friend. May you please allow us some privacy?â I asked her at last finding my tongue.

"Whatever it is that you guys are going to discuss, I shall still be notified", she told me as she winked at her friend revealing some girlish secrecy and mischief. Whatever the signal was for?
All the same, Vera left the two of us alone, reluctant as she was. So it was now the two of us. We could now discuss anything under the sun.

"Tell me your particulars", I asked this strangely captivating girl.

"I am called Juliana Adheng Mabor", she said her name so melodiously that waves of sensation were sent down my spine. What a beautiful voice she had! I told myself.

"Where do you come from and what's your suitor's name?" I pressed using the traditional procedures of inquiring about a lady. This makes the new suitor aware of the presence or absence of other suitors.