I was beaten for love on Valentine's day

I had to impress. It was the only way that I could prove I was capable of loving. After all I had been accused of being a dull lover; too conservatively stuck to tradition and incapable of expressing emotional attachment to the one I claimed to love most.

I had spent sleepless nights planning for the day. My only intention was to make it a surprise to her. I had already in my wardrobe full red-hot-love attire, a red shirt, a red tie, red suit, handkerchief, socks and shoes. I had even gone to the extent of ordering for fresh carnations which would cap the day. My baby had to love me and for her I would do everything. In any case as my people say kwa mwendwa gutiri karima.

So I set off for the office in high spirits. My heart beat and footsteps rhymed. I carried along a smile that refused to die, whistling a love song after another and planning for that evening.

What will go wrong definitely will and the first indicator of wrong turns for the day was a missed step at door to the office. It never struck me as serious until a colleague remarked that it could be “ndege baya”, (bad luck). Probably someone had gone thrown bad luck on my way to ensure that I did not succeed in everything I sought to achieve.

The Editor, a fairly uninspired diminutive fellow whose interest was the money we made as oils to hasten coverage on seeing me decided to cut short my fun. He decided to assign me to cover a political rally that I was not prepared for. I had actually decided that I would laze at the office doing nothing until evening so that by the time I met my bae, I would be as fresh as a rose.

“James today you will cover the rally of the CORD Coalition at Tononoka,” he said.

“But…..”

“No, Buts, I have noticed that you have an affinity for the Jubilee coalition and even the stories you bring are one-sided, mere propaganda only fit for the trash bin”

“But Sir….” I tried to explain.

“By the way, you have been eating my money. Every time you attend a Jubilee function, you are given money which never reaches me. So today, you have to cover CORD,” he said with finality.

I tried saying it would be wrong to send me to a function where what I wore seemed to contradict what was going on but he would hear none of it.
In his dictatorial approach, he told me I would cover the function whether I liked it or not. In any case he did not care whether I was beaten or not.

So like a crestfallen chicken I left the office grudgingly cursing him under my breath for being so inconsiderate. I must admit he never liked me. He was an academic dwarf whose education credentials were squat and stumpy and he always saw me as a threat to his position. I also considered myself better than him; a fact which I arrogantly never dared to hide.

xxxxx

The rally at Tononoka was a sea of humanity. Party faithfuls and adherents had come from the North East West and South and I knew my news writing teacher would have been happy to note how I grasped that news writing concept. All the party luminaries were there. The crowd was not by itself. It was carried by the wave of election euphoria, singing praises to the party leader whom they were convinced beyond doubt would carry the day. I wondered how senseless people can be at the face of politics. I remember seeing a guy who had a green cakey mouth approach me and waving what seemed to be twigs started accusing me.

“Traitor… Traitor….” He shouted at the top of his voice.

“kill him,.. sewer rat, mongrel….” I heard someone say.

By then a crowd had already milled around me and I was like a feather. So much was happening around me. I could not tell who was hitting me. I bumped my head on something hard. I could hear my hands break. The pain was just too much and my bladder could not hold any more. It let go and I was lying in a pool of blood and urine. As I grit my teeth in the helplessness the party luminary stretch his hands to lift me up.

“What happened kijana?” he asked.

“I don’t know, I came here to cover your function?” I said

“But you are wearing TNA colours, why would you do that?,” he asked as he gave me a bottle of water to clean my rinse my mouth.

“I am a journalist and had worn these clothes in readiness to impress my sweetheart on this Valentine’s day”. I said as his face lit up on hearing the story. I forced a smile whose warmth spread in my body. I forced my eyes open only to realize that I was still in my house. In fact in bed and had had a very dream.