Loving miss Daisy

Loving Miss Daisy

There was no way I was going to miss another day without a meal. I had
slept on my stomach to silence the pangs of hunger that cut across my
belly like thousands of miniature needles. The night was quiet in this
part of the central district of the city. It was unimaginable how the
city went to sleep. The noise of the cars, the taxi touts shouting out
their taxi routes, an occasional squeal of a street dog kicked by a
passer-by, the flap of wings of a marabou stork as it takes off
disturbed form its feeding spot a garbage disposal bin; all now dead.
The quiet of the night with its breeze of fresh airs swallowing it like
a deep sea.

My stomach rumbled again breaking the silence. I opened my eyes and
peered out from under a parked car. I liked this car. It was a
four-wheel drive and raised off the ground. This provided ample space
for someone to crawl under easily. I had to be careful though; it had a
security siren that went off at a slight touch. I did not know why its
owner a round belied man sometimes parked it here. I had noticed though
that it was here mostly the weekends.
Though I liked his car, I did not like this man. For one, he never
seemed to notice me. I had on several occasions tried begging him for a
few shillings to help me survive on the street but never succeeded. He
would look directly and straight through me. It did not matter that I
was there. One time I had to jump out of the way to avoid him walking
right through me, twirling his car key fixed on a ring around his index
finger as he hummed almost inaudibly to himself. Watching him from a
distance I could not hide my amusement. The man, a small head perched
on a rather wide chest (with almost no neck), small legs and a rather
big round middle reminded me of a pumpkin.
Ignoring a twelve-year old boy begging on the street was not enough
reason for me to hate the man. Though I openly did not want to admit
it, I knew the main reason was Miss Daisy, 'the lady on the
phone'.

I did not know what her name was. She wasn't Daisy. I called her that
because I thought that was the best name a woman could have, a flower.
A yellow flower like the morning sun. She wasn't the lady on the phone
either. The lady on the phone was a big advertisement poster in the
City centre where I spent most of my day. She was always smiling
exposing a perfect set of white teeth. I mean white, not a milky yellow
like Martin the barber's who talked with a lisp. You could count the
strands of her well kept hair one by one and was always smart. To me
she was the epitome of beauty. Everything about her was perfect. I
loved Miss Daisy though I knew I would never be able to tell her in
this life. Seeing her walk down the street, waive down a taxi on her
way to work made my day. It was the only event in my life that made it
bearable.

It was one of those bad Mondays as I waited to see her go to work that
I first noticed them together. She had come out of the entrance to her
flat in a hurry. I had almost failed to notice it was her, shielding
her eyes with dark glasses. She had dropped her bag as she scrambled to
get into pumpkin's waiting car. That was when I realised it was her. He
had dropped her home the same day at exactly seven thirty in the
evening. Later that week I was to follow pumpkin to the door of Daisy's
flat. Though I was not sure about her apartment number, I suspected he
always went to Miss Daisy's
The rumbling in my stomach started again this time the pangs spreading
from the bottom of my stomach towards the left kidney and then to my
navel. I crawled from under pumpkin's car. The Imam had started his
morning call for prayer and the blare of giant speakers from the
minaret cut through the cold still morning like a sharp razor through a
thin leaf of paper. To the city, the call was an invocation for all to
awaken from slumber irrespective of whether they understood the words
or not. Soon the blanket of darkness would be lifted off the city. The
sun would peer through the spaces between the tall buildings and the
openings in their walls. It would gradually rise searching out the
darkness and driving it in its wake. Darkness would succumb to day and
with day came the bustle of city life.

First to wake up would be Ego and his family. Ego would flap his wings
but not fly. He would fold and unfold each of his legs in turn as if to
test if they were still in functional condition after the long night.
He would then take turns to stand on each, folding the other under his
wing. I always watched him in the dim light of dawn as he went through
his morning ritual. I liked playing tricks on Ego. There was this
famous one of fastening a black polythene paper to a long string with a
noose and letting him walk into the noose. As soon as the noose
fastened around his leg, the polythene paper would follow him wherever
he went. Scared he would hasten his pace and finally fly off. Of course
the paper would follow still. Ego never seemed to learn that the paper
posed no threat and playing the same trick on him each day did not take
the scare out of him.

I knew that soon the lorries from upcountry would roar into town. These
brought food and charcoal to the city markets. They were ever
overloaded and as if in protest they billowed black acrid smoke.
Perhaps their main reason for coming in so early was because they
carried perishable foods like tomatoes, potatoes, and cassava. One
however could not ignore the fact that these lorries were not road
worthies. Vintages; imported into the country over twenty years ago
trekking pothole filled roads every day with no proper service, their
rightful place was either the scrap yard or the museum. In coming this
early they avoided their worst enemy, the traffic police.

Upcountry buses would arrive next. Some would have travelled the long
journey to the city the whole night. The passengers snoring on their
seats emitted all kinds of warm air forming a blanket around them,
turning the outside of the glass windows misty and impossible to
vividly make out the still figures.
The omnibuses came in after. These brought in the early birds. They
traversed the city dropping them as they went and picking those who
worked the night. Now one was dropping Musa of Donna's. Musa was the
chef at Donna's the fast food restaurant. I knew in thirty minutes the
aroma of his cooking would be wafting down the street. He sometimes
gave me a plate of chips, a payment for disposing off his
garbage.
The milk trucks were now coming in. Like the lorries, they looked like
they would fall apart at the next turn. The cans of milk so closely
packed together on the truck moved together in unison each time the
truck braked, moved suddenly, or made a sharp turn. This constant
battle left the trucks so bruised that in many places rivets had been
replaced with rope.

It was day now and the number of vehicles increased by the second. The
pavements were streaming with people walking madly around consciously
and unconsciously bumping into one another. I knew soon it would be
hot, the presence of the sun now evident though it would be hours
before it would show above the outline of the high city buildings. I
stood on this island in the middle of the road. I called it an island
because this was the only place where grass grew in the middle of the
extensive paving that characterised the city. Some how the planners of
the city has reserved this, something to remind them perhaps of the
once green that had now been banished to the outskirts. I watched the
city from here. This was no mans land and no one bothered me. The trees
provided sufficient shade and save for the rain, this place was a haven
for me and my likes, Ego, and the street dogs during the day.

Suddenly she appeared. I did expect to see her. This was her usual time
for leaving for work and I always stood here to get a good view of her
as she walked out of her flat. I was now standing opposite her on the
island the busy street separating us. I could feel my heart skip one
beat after the other as she hesitated on the pavement. She was the most
beautiful thing under the sun. Her figure outlined against the backdrop
of busy bodies on the street was distinct. She seemed to float
captivating me by her magic spell. I wanted this to last forever and it
was Pumpkin's appearance that broke the spell. He seemed in a hurry;
apologetic perhaps for having kept her waiting.
Seeing them together made me seethe with anger. Had they spent the
night together? I felt my fist clench, imagining myself flying across
the street and tightening my grip around his fat neck. Of course I
would not stand a chance against pumpkin in one hundred years. He was a
monster. He would crush me to a pulp in a minute. I would be just
another kid dead on the street before I even scratched him. Why did
Miss Daisy let him do this to her?
It occurred to me then that Miss Daisy wanted it that way. She liked
Pumpkin's car and his money but just did not like being seen with him.
That explained the dark glasses she always wore early in the morning. I
now knew why they did not walk together and why Pumpkin seemed to
'creep' into her flat. I felt sorry for Pumpkin. It was not fair how
Miss Daisy treated her. In my mind I could hear her raised voice

' Pumpkin dear, am late for work is my tea warm enough?'

I knew what to do. Soon I was flying across the street. Like a kite
descending on an unsuspecting chick I closed in on them; my talons
poised, accurate, unflinching and decided like all my life depended on
this one manoeuvre.

She stumbled at the impact dumbfounded, eyes wide open in fright but I
gave her no chance. Seconds latter as I made my way across the street
her handbag firmly tucked under my right arm I heard her shriek. It was
a high pitched wail which got drowned by the hooting of motorists as I
expertly dodged my way through the slow moving traffic. I knew no one
would give chase. This is how it was in the City, they called it
'minding your own business. Pumpkin could not follow me and I was
positive Miss Daisy would not give it a try. Dashing into a closed
alley and climbing over a wall, I found myself in another busy street
mingling with the shadows. I knew a playground that was deserted this
time of the day. This would give me enough time to go through Miss
Daisy's bag.

The first compartment did not contain anything of interest. Combs,
lipstick, an eye pencil, a bottle of nail vanish, a bottle of perfume,
tissue paper, a handkerchief, and a
pen. The second had a bar of chocolate, which I munched immediately.
There was a banana, a can of sweet smelling powder (I had assumed this
was the food compartment), and an undergarment. Quickly I moved to an
inner compartment. Here I found her cell phone, two thousand shillings
in one thousand shilling notes, a packet of condoms, a scarf, a tooth
brush, toothpaste, a shoe brush, shoe polish, sealed capsules of an
antibiotic, and an empty plastic water bottle. What was Miss Daisy
doing with all this stuff? I moved to the last and smallest compartment
in the bag. It was itself a miniature bag sewn into the lining of the
biggest apartment. Here I found an identity card. I did not know too
much reading but I could see her name was not Daisy. She did not work
for the Phone Company either she was a waiter. At that moment her phone
rang. Picking it I listened. It was she. She was crying and pleading
that I return her phone giving me directions to her work place. She was
also saying I could take everything else. Her voice was not good like
the lady on the phone. I hastily cut her off and switched off the
phone.
There was no feeling of satisfaction I thought I would derive from
hurting her. In a way I was the looser I had always been. I had lost
the Daisy I cherished and in her place now stood an ordinary coarse
voiced waiter who carried bananas in her bag. There was no monetary
benefit save the two thousand that could only buy me one meal. I knew I
would not sell the phone. Her whimpering voice as she sobbed would
haunt me weeks on end if I did. I did not like her toothpaste either
and I did not see an immediate use for the shoe polish either. I made
up my mind then. Choosing a single item from her bag, which I pocketed,
I hid the bag in a thicket and went to find myself the all-important
meal.
It was seven o'clock in the evening when I knocked on her door. I knew
she was home because I had seen her return at five. Pumpkin had not
dropped her this time but I had to wait until it was dark. When I heard
the key turn in the door, I placed the bag at her door and ran down the
stairs. Hiding round a bend I peered to see her pick it up amazement
written all over her face as she searched the corridor which was now
'empty'. Sure that there was no one about to lurch at her from the
shadows, she slammed her door shut as I quietly walked down the stairs
and into the young night.

It had been a long day. I wanted to go out of the City to some place I
could listen to the crickets and count the stars. Perhaps that way I
would forget all about loving Miss Daisy.

? Ndiwalana Fred 2002