Passion Bowl

On a warm evening in May, Rukwaro decided to drink passion juice from a bowl. He placed his lips on the oldest porcelain bowl in his two-bedroomed bungalow and titled it towards his nose, slurping the juice. It encompassed his tongue, and it was sweet–the sweetest thing he had ever gotten the pleasure of drinking. Setting the bowl down, he sighed heavily, and with it came a torrent of tears, flowing down his cheeks and towards his beard. 

It was a week since Rukwaro returned to his body. A week of confusion on whether he had been in a coma or he had really been to Laikipia. He spent that week lying on his bed, hands trembling as he heard the Madaraka Express Electric bus rush past his house each of those days at 6:00 am. Seven days. Night became day, and it was night again. Every day the bus passed by and he wondered how long he would last lying on his bed with tears stinging the corners of his eyes. Questions danced on his lips, the ghost of a scream haunting them. He wanted to scream out that something had happened to him. Something he could not understand had happened to him and he had so many questions but there was no one to ask. How would he even begin?

__________________________

The day before he left his body, he was roused by his neighbour’s dog barking at his other neighbour's rooster.  He felt exasperation shoot up inside him like a thermometer exposed to temperatures outside its operating range and balled up his fists, scrunching his eyes as he struggled to open them. The mixture of crowing and barking etched a scowl on his face and he cursed under his breath, reaching for his cell phone—4:58 a.m. Two minutes were enough for him to wake up more serene but his day had already begun so he pushed his duvet off his midriff along with its blue bedsheets. As he bubbled with irritation at his neighbours, he wondered why they still kept animals at their residences despite there being animal storage facilities in town that were way cheaper than maintaining the animals yourself. Kenyans had always been suspicious of innovation and he understood them to a degree but there had been no catch in letting the government maintain your animals for you. His chicken and two cows were stored at the Nairobi Central Storage Facility and he received milk and eggs every week in his mailbox; it was cost efficient and he did not have to deal with chicken poop.

The red-oxide floor of his room was cold, further waking him up as he took steps towards his bathroom. He opened the tap for the water to run hot and stripped himself of his pyjamas; a faded Coke studio promotional shirt, and beach shorts he had bought at Mutindwa a decade and a half before. The market had since ceased to exist as the expressway expansion stretched across town and an aerial view of the town was akin to a spider’s web. All the working-class residential areas in Nairobi had been pushed towards the edge of the city and each had a dedicated expressway that connected them to the city centre. The roads, which had been built as a luxury three decades prior, were now the common mwananchi’s. They facilitated their movement to and from the city’s nexus. Below the roads, there was an expansive place where a certain group of people lived and engaged in recreational activities. Rukwaro often sneered when he spotted them walking on the ground below the roads and outside the residential areas. They were commonly referred to as wenye nchi and their countable mansions stood out from afar since they were few in each county. They seemed to be in their own world, indulging in various activities while fenced away in their heavily secured cocoon below the roads, outside the city centre. The rest of the county’s population worked to be taxed for the ground’s maintenance and to pay off the debts that had been racked up over the years to construct the roads. Life was similar in other parts of the country as well and these spaces, with their exorbitant entry fees, were reserved for those at the top of the economic pyramid. Sometimes Rukwaro dreamt of being cocooned away too but he would never tell anyone this.

It was a quarter to 6 a.m. when he finished his morning routine and locked his door, briskly walking towards the city bus platform. Fellow workers emerged from their houses with weary expressions, headed in the same direction as him. By the time the first electric bus arrived, the platform was heavy with a steady buzz of conversation similar to what was prevalent at markets before they were disbanded some years back. Rukwaro remembered picking out his vegetables at Mutindwa market, and it felt like this had been a lifetime away. The government now delivered rations to every citizen’s mailbox coupled with packages from the storage facilities. There was limited interaction and social convergence; the only place where people met with minimal supervision was the platforms, seeing workstations and residential areas were heavily monitored. In essence, the city was a prison ruled over by extortionist wardens. Boarding the bus, he found a spot next to a tall man who looked uncomfortable with his knees pressed up against the seat in front of him. He thought to offer him the aisle seat but the man’s face was set in a scowl that seemed to yell: Back off!

The driver revved the engine and they began the journey to the city centre under the rising sun. It was cold outside and if he ran his finger on the window, he would be able to draw figures on the glass from the condensation on its surface. He recalled drawing stars with his tiny fingers on the windows of his parents’ navy-blue Peugeot 504 about forty years prior when regular citizens were still allowed to own cars. The bus bumped along the tarmac at a constant speed and the man he sat next to shifted his legs, knocking them against his. It happened again within a minute and Rukwaro turned his face towards the man, slight irritation starting up within him. To his surprise, the man was already staring at him with a slight smirk on his lips. Ignoring the man’s expression, he turned away and focused on the sky outside instead. The man’s legs knocked against his again and he swiftly turned to face him, his tongue itching with an insult.

“Unajua the bus is going to crash,” the man said with his strange smirk widening.

“What?”

“This bus is about to crash.” 

Confused, Rukwaro raised a brow at the man, his eyes widening as the bus suddenly swerved. He heard concerned whispers but most of the passengers did not seem alarmed when his eyes darted over to them. His gaze found the man again.

“Don’t believe me?”

Saying nothing in response, a flurry of thoughts and scenarios crossed Rukwaro’s mind and he gripped the seat in front of him tight, a tremor in his hand as the bus swerved yet again. His heart was in his mouth as his eyes shifted to the smirking man again, confused about what exactly to do. Fear crept up on him from his legs, scaling his calves to encompass his body and his vision was startlingly clear as thoughts rushed through his mind. Was it wise to get the attention of other passengers and report the man? Probably not. If the man recanted his assertion, he would be considered mentally unwell and that would lead to institutionalisation which was as good as being a pet, like the ones at the storage facilities. 

The bus suddenly swerved again and panic was now plastered on the other passengers’ faces, hands anxiously grabbing for the railings and seats. Screams of terror rose in the air as tyres screeched and the bus suddenly crashed into something, losing balance from the impact and falling on its side. The metal body of the bus crunched as it hit the ground and the impact caused the glass windows to shatter with a resounding crash. In the blink of an eye, Rukwaro was thrown out of the window, his body hitting the gravel hard. Smoke slowly rose into the air as he heard distant screams past his ringing ears and his vision blurred as he winced and tried to move. He wondered what they had crashed into but could not seem to figure it out with his head throbbing. He groaned as the dull throb rose into a sharp pain in his head and the screams seemed to move further and further away. It was suddenly as if the layer of a bubble had closed around his body and looking up at the sky, body pressed against the gravel, he saw a figure walk up to him and stare down at him. From the height, he recognized him as the smirking passenger and struggled to see him clearer but the morning sun behind him was too bright in his eyes. He wanted to speak but dizziness overtook him and he shut his eyes.

The man looked down at Rukwaro and stared at the gash on his forehead for a few minutes as it bled. Seeming unhurt himself, he walked away.

__________________________

The sun steadily rose as birds chirped outside the window of a three-storey mansion. Two figures lay on a hardwood mahogany framed bed parallel to each other, one on their stomach and the other on their back. The one on their back, a dreadlocked woman, yawned and brought her palm up to cover her mouth. She scrunched her eyes as she winced at her mild morning breath and sat up. The green satin bed sheets dropped off her shoulders and crumpled at her bare midriff. Her eyes darted around the beautifully decorated room, and she felt another yawn come up her throat. She shut her eyes, laid back against the fluffy pillow, and outstretched her arms as she yawned. Breathing out, she blinked several times and turned towards the other side of the bed. Staring for a few minutes as the sheets rose and fell, she threw a hand over the bedsheets and pulled them down to reveal the larger body next to her. Her palm slowly moved up a hairy tricep to affectionately rest on a toned shoulder. 

“Darling?”

A groggy response came from under the satin sheets, and the woman sighed, rubbing her hand on the man’s shoulder.

“We need to leave in the next two hours, I don't want to be out when it's too hot in the afternoon,” she whispered as she out of bed.

“A minute,” he groaned as he turned to face the woman who was now adjusting the gold ring on her left hand, staring intently at it.

“Rukie,” she said in a sing-song voice, “If you're not up in the next five minutes don't bother coming along with me.”

Rukwaro groaned and finally opened his eyes, staring up at her towering figure with a smile on his face. Cher had always been the paragon of beauty to him, slim waist, luscious locks, and a smile that made his heart race. Her skin was darker than his, barely scarred and the gold ring he had gotten her for their wedding contrasted beautifully with her skin tone. The dreams that she featured in were heavenly; travelling with their children to other countries, family game nights, lazy afternoons in her gentle arms, nights feeling himself burn from her touch, sunny afternoons in their garden sharing a bottle of Rosé. He had so much to enjoy with Cher and always wished he would not have to wake up. 

About three hours prior, Rukwaro startled awake in a cold sweat, heavily breathing as his eyes darted around the dimly lit room. He was certain the electric bus he was travelling in had crashed; he was going to die.  Puzzled as to how he got to the room he was in, his eyes darted around it, resting on the slow rise and fall of a figure next to him under the satin sheets. He was wary of the movement but did not consider himself a coward. Taking a deep breath, he slowly pulled the sheets down to reveal a delicate face. He was slightly frightened but stared at the sleeping woman, warmth radiating from her as she breathed evenly. Her face was very familiar, yet he could not recall exactly where he had met her from. The fact that she was asleep in his bed was odd. 

“Rukie,” she mumbled.

He did not respond to the nickname, and her fingers found his skin. He instinctively jerked away from her and she groaned, reaching for him again and pressing her body against his. She rested her cheek on his chest and he held his breath, worried that his racing heart would wake her up. It was an awkward situation, and his hands became increasingly sweaty. Looking down at her after a few minutes, he suddenly seemed to recognize her. The memories steadily came into him, and he almost jumped at the realisation. It was Cher. The Cher, from his dreams: she looked like the lovechild of Whoopi Goldberg and Sophie Okonedo from Sarafina and Hotel Rwanda, respectively. Excitement rose in him at Cher being in his arms, but he almost recoiled when he realised that he had to have been dreaming. She latched onto him, and his heart swelled with joy. He remained still and avoided movement lest he ended up making a mistake and rousing himself from the beautiful dream he was in. 

“Cher?” He whispered experimentally, and she made a sound to acknowledge him. He smiled to himself and felt like an idiot at his joy. It had been a while since he dreamt about her. He waited for a few minutes until she was sound asleep again and made his way to the bathroom. Facing the mirror, he almost jumped back at the figure he saw facing him. It was still him, but he looked younger by about fifteen years. He could tell because he had not yet started balding. It was strange, and he was even more convinced that it was a dream; he wanted to stay in it. 

Getting back to the bed, he slotted himself between Cher's arms, and she pushed her body against his again. It felt too real. He pinched his arm and winced, expecting himself to wake up on his cold bed in a dark room, yet he did not. Pinching his arm again, he felt the painful sting and felt slight concern rise in him. Why was he not waking up? He slowly pulled himself from her arms and headed to the bathroom again. Standing in front of the mirror, he braced himself and slapped his cheek abruptly. The skin stung, and he stood staring ahead. 

Was he actually awake? 

Had his life with his Coke Studio shirt and those damned electric buses been the dream instead?

He returned to the bed, and thoughts ran through his mind like flesh-eating termites as he weighed his hypotheses. His life after forty had felt like a bad dream. From being restricted to being forced to work to generate taxes, there had never been a moment for rest. Cher shifted in his arms as he pondered, and in that moment, he decided that it was all real. This time it was. He was sure of it.

__________________________

Driving into the Laikipia business district felt natural to Rukwaro. Travelling between the different spheres this easily was slightly surreal, but his heart rate did not increase anxiously, this was his real life, after all. He nodded to himself proudly when the ground gates rose to open for them. The security guards at the gate sported strained smiles, calling him mkubwa. He adjusted his sunglasses, smirking as Cher genuinely smiled back at them. 

The late morning sun beat down on the vehicle as they drove further into the business district. Cher was hosting a dinner party the following day, and they needed to do some shopping. Though he did not recall this, apparently Rukwaro had promised to accompany her on this shopping trip. He owed it to black-out drunk talk. 

Parking the car outside a shopping complex, the couple alighted and made their way inside. Cher walked slightly ahead of him in an apricot sundress and turned back to give him a grin, extending her arm to pull him along with her. She chattered on about the items that she wanted them to buy and was delicately beautiful in her huge orange beach hat, avoiding the sun's rays. She still often claimed that the sun's rays were very toxic despite global warming being an issue of the past. The ozone layer had been restructured a decade before by ground-breaking scientists who encouraged population reduction and the city structures that currently existed in the country, among other methods. Population reduction was an unspoken phenomenon. The number of people had suddenly seemed to decrease and although it was strange, nobody spoke of it openly. Rukwaro was not concerned about this himself, he still had his family after all.

__________________________

Their cart was full, and Rukwaro was troubled. His heart raced as he looked at the cashier, who looked eerily similar to the man from his nightmare. What was real and what was not? Was he dreaming, or was he awake? Was he married to Cher, or was this a dream as it had always been?

He pushed the cart towards the counter, and the man slowly rang up their items. Too slow. Rukwaro tapped his right foot on the ground repeatedly as he stared at the cashier, who tore the receipt from the register and extended it towards the couple, staring directly into his eyes. He waited to see if the cashier would smirk. It was vivid in his memory, and he could almost see the corners of his mouth twisting.

“Rukie?” 

Cher's voice snapped him out of his trance, and he grabbed the piece of paper, pocketing it as the cashier gave him a slight smile which unsettled him. A doppelganger perhaps. 

__________________________

The sun was setting, and Rukwaro was lounging with Cher in their garden. A book rested on his lap, next to her head, and he stared down at her face. She was dozing off, her mouth slightly ajar, small breaths escaping it. He gently touched her locks, deep in thought. That cashier looked too much like the strange man, and this worried him. He reached into his pocket for the receipt and pulled it out, looking at it absent-mindedly from the top. The bell suddenly rang, causing him to jump slightly, waking Cher in the process. She opened her eyes slowly and stared at him as she sat up.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing. I was zoned out and the bell just startled me a bit,” he said to her.

“Probably the boxes from earlier.”

“Mm-hmm."

 Guiding her head back onto his lap, he glanced at the living room through the sliding glass garden door. It was silent for a moment then he heard quick steps on the marble floor as one of the maids scurried to open the door. He could vaguely hear the exchange between the young lady and whoever was at the door. Her tone was level as she stopped speaking, and he heard her walking towards the garden and timidly sliding the door open.

“The items have been delivered and the courier insists you must sign for them yourself Sir.”

Raising his brow, he sighed and nodded at her prompting her to leave. He slowly shook Cher awake, and she frowned, opening her eyes slowly.

“Be back in a second baby,” he said as he placed the receipt between the pages of the book.

“Alright, I'll be here love.”

Stretching out on the garden bench like a feline, she took a deep breath and pushed his book to the furthest end of the chair. Rukwaro sauntered past the garden door and headed towards the door. His sandals were uncomfortably dragging on the marble, and he looked down at them, frowning. As he reached the door, he looked up, and his breath caught in his throat.

It was the cashier.

“What do you want?” He asked impatiently.

“You need to sign the book to confirm delivery and blah blah blah…”

Rukwaro stared at the man, who was now smirking. His heart quickened as the man's smirk grew wider. The man from the nightmare. Now he was certain it was him.

“Okay, to cut to the chase, I know you don't belong here and that's because I sent you here but instead of actually doing something you've been lounging around like a house cat, eating fruit and fucking your wife,” he put air quotes around the last part.

“What do you mean?”

The man rolled his eyes and scoffed, “You, Mr. Rukwaro, have been playing a dangerous game with my time.”

“What gam-”

“Shut up!” He yelled.

Rukwaro stared at him, genuinely confused. 

“Do you think it's easy for me to sacrifice a few people so I can send you here? I am a very very benevolent man and I have tried to make this light-hearted and easy for you but all you've done is waste my time with your stupid act and now you've left me no choice.”

“What do you mean? What act?”

Rukwaro's heart raced in his confusion. Nothing about the man seemed familiar besides the nightmare he had featured in where he had appeared to make the bus crash. What he was sure of was that the man was trying to send him back to wherever he had been, and this aggravated him. In a mixture of anger and confusion, he lunged for the man and held him by his collar. The man tried to hit him, but he instinctively punched him across the face causing him to fall on his back.

“Rukie!” Cher screamed, rushing through the garden door and towards the two men. Her eyes moved between the two men confusedly, the receipt tightly in her hand. The man spit on the floor, and it was bloody. A tooth clinked against the marble floor.

“Call the police Cher, he's crazy!”

“Ma’am this is not your husband,” he shook his head and laughed hysterically, pointing at Rukwaro. 

“Rukie, what's the meaning of this?” She asked, her voice shaking as she pushed the receipt towards his face. The bottom of the receipt was scribbled in pen, and he wondered how he had not noticed it.

“It's time for you to go back to where you came from,” he read it aloud and looked down at the man who was smiling with his missing incisor. 

“I mean it. You're wasting my time Rukie,” he said slowly as he pulled something from his jacket’s pocket and shoved it towards them.

All Rukwaro registered after a single clink of metal on the floor between them was a sudden force that instantly sent him and Cher apart. His body was flung onto the floor, and he fell on his back, the wind knocked out of him. His surroundings spun, and he felt searing pain all over his body. The house was hazy with smoke, and he breathed painfully as he tried to get up to no avail. He could not move his limbs. He was thankful the kids were not here even as his vision went dark.

“Cher…”

__________________________

“Cher!”

Rukwaro jumped awake, grabbing his sheets and heaving loudly. He tapped on the other side of his bed and realised he was all alone.

“Cher?”

There was no response as he woke up to turn the lights on. Blue sheets and a duvet.

“Am I dreaming again?” he whispered to himself and pinched his arm. The pain was stark even as he did it again and again. He stood up from the bed and walked towards the bathroom, reaching for the sink and turning the tap. He watched the water rush through the sink holes and looked up at the mirror, meeting his own eyes and scowling at his reflection. Rage suddenly rose inside him and he punched the mirror, cracking it and wincing as his hand started bleeding. He stared at his split reflection and took deep breaths, shutting his eyes forcefully and shaking his head. Nothing happened. With his fears confirmed, he solemnly walked back to his bed and sat on it.

For the first time in years, Rukwaro had been happy. Gently elated under the sun in Cher’s arms, lying on the garden bench and not thinking about work. It had almost seemed too real and he desperately hoped it was not a dream yet he had woken up. His chest constricted painfully as he looked down at his calloused palms and sighed, eyes stinging with tears. 

“No, this can't be,” he breathed, shaking his head, “No, no, no…”

He gripped his blue bed sheets, and blood seeped into them as tears rolled down his cheeks. A sob wracked his body, and he shook with its succeeding attacks.

__________________________

Rukwaro anxiously shifted from the dining table towards the door when the bell rang and his hands trembled as he hurriedly put on his house slippers. He took a deep breath and touched the cold wall next to the door to ground himself, contemplating not opening the door but the bell rang again. Gathering up courage, he reached for the doorknob and opened the door to reveal a lanky young man in an orange cap. His ears rang as the man held an orange bag which he extended towards the door together with a small book to sign. No pleasantries were exchanged between them; a thumbs up and slight smile from the man after Rukwaro finished signing the book sufficed to close the transaction. The lock clicked as he shut the door behind him securely and scurried to the dining table as if he were being watched. Placing the bag down, he was briefly reminded of Naivas bags which had been orange too. It had been a while since privately owned supermarkets were closed down by the state.

The blender whirred as he held its lid down, and he zoned out, wondering how the juice would taste. It had been ages since he enjoyed a glass of juice. He turned the switch and opened the lid, smelling the fruit in the air. He had not had other fruits besides thorn melons for years seeing he was not a fan of sweet things. He suddenly remembered how Cher squeezed fruit into a bowl for them to drink together, and his fingers reached for the porcelain bowl at the corner of his cupboard instead. The evening was warm and silent, and he sat down with the bowl before him, staring at the juice. As he drank it, he was transported back to Laikipia. He could almost feel Cher’s hands, the bright morning sun, and the birds chirping away as he sat in his dark kitchen. Tears rolled down his cheeks uncontrollably the more he visualised his other life.

Did the accident happen, or did he dream that up too? Had the explosion been real? Was he imagining it all?

Rukwaro wanted to tell someone everything, but who would believe him even if he did? There was no evidence to support his claim. He would be deemed crazy and locked away swiftly. He would have found a way to travel to Laikipia and search for Cher, but the mansion was not in an accessible place for a man like him. It was fenced away under the roads. His hands shook slightly as he gripped the bowl and let his mind wander. The common thing between his strange experiences had been the traumatic impact, and he hypothesised that such an impact would trigger a seemingly permanent shift in his reality again. He was not sure which state was the real one anymore. Due to the city not being walkable, a crash was harder to achieve as compared to a fall. His workplace was ten storeys high.

__________________________

The sky was rising as he locked his house and made his way to the platform, joining the rest of the workers amidst the familiar buzz. The bus creaked to a stop as he took slow breaths and boarded, finding himself a seat next to a tall man in a hat. It took a couple of minutes for it to fill up, and once it did, the doors were shut, and it started moving. It was cold, like all the other mornings, and the windows were fogged up from the inside. He thought of Cher as he reached out to run his finger on the glass, spelling her name out on the window. He was slightly giddy and did not pay attention when his knees knocked against the passenger seated next to him. A minute passed, and his knees knocked uncomfortably against the other man’s again, causing him to pause his thoughts, his heart rate picking up, but he did not turn. The bus jolted, and his knees knocked against the man’s one other time. Rukwaro slowly turned and felt his breath leave him as he saw a smirking man with a missing incisor.

“Hi, Rukie.”