An Image in a Mirror by Ijangolet S. Ogwang

Author:Ijangolet S. Ogwang
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2023-10-02T15:33:08+00:00

RED

Red is the colour of romance, of letters containing secret words that find their way past your eyes and into your heart. It is the strange tale of a stranger… whispers between white sheets, the language that hands and skin speak under skies full of stars. Red is passion. Red is not safe.

Nyakale

Ntombi and I walk to upper campus together to register for the first semester. We could take a shuttle, but there’s something about being in a new place that awakens a sense of adventure in both of us. The campus looks breathtaking from this angle: clear blue skies, the mountain, green grass untainted by footsteps, the clouds precisely drawn.

“I can’t believe we’re here, starting the rest of our lives,” Ntombi says, a determined look on her face.

“I know, right? It’s exciting but also strange… we’re like little birds, pushed out of our parents’ nests.”

“Nyakale, I like you, but you need to stop using metaphors in your everyday conversations.” We both laugh.

Upper campus is full of crowds of people walking up and down. Some hurriedly, others casually, evidently delighted by their conversations. The beginnings of blooming friendships, the discovery of common interests. We start at the Humanities building, because Ntombi’s convinced me that it only makes sense to start at the south end of campus, where she has to register. The building is filled with artists, politicians and philosophers. Vintage outfits, pants with turn-ups, dark lipstick: urban revolutionaries.

“Nyakale, these lines are ridiculous, perhaps you can wait for me there?” Ntombi points to a canteen not far away, with tables and chairs.

“Okay…” Already I can feel Uncle’s impatience taking me over. “Let’s see how long it takes?”

“Just text if you decide to leave,” she says. I’m still shocked at how easygoing she is: nothing is ever too serious for more than a mellow response.

But after an hour of waiting, I’m starting to get a little agitated, tired of sitting, thinking and people-watching. Mid-thought, I feel a soft tap on my shoulder.

“Hi. Nyakale, right?”

Standing beside me is a grinning, athletic guy. His muscular legs are bowed into slight “brackets”, and he has the haircut Kendrick Lamar made famous – skinny dreads, short on the sides. His overgrown beard gives him a unique look, coupled with round, brown-framed glasses. He’s wearing loosely fitted, faded black jeans, an ironed white T-shirt and brown loafers. He has the kind of eyes that say a lot: they’re on me like magnets, telling me he’s already decided that this hello is the first of many.

I give him a goofy smile, searching my memories. “Umm… hello? You look familiar but I can’t recall where I know you from,” I finally say, embarrassed.

He smiles, a skew smirk that curls just the left side of his mouth. I can tell he’s aware of his “boyish charm”.

“Well, you wouldn’t remember me, we weren’t reeeally friends back then, but we went to the same high school. Does the class clown ring any bells?”

I think of all the guys in my matric class… this guy was definitely not one of them.

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