Chiquadees

I have a habit of guessing what a person looks like based on how they sound and text. I was sure Sam was tall, taller than me at least, and had a very popular haircut. Because his voice sounded like it had swag. So I was also sure he'd do that squinty thing like you're trying to see something that's far off but can't quite make out what that thing is. (I know you know what I'm talking about. Its also known as light-skin-facing) True to my guesses, he was tall, and had swag, well, kind of.  Hippie (he did do that squinty thing though) .

" Ah, the famous blue hair." He says as he greets me.

I notice a scar running from his eyebrow to the side of his chin, smooth and a bit lighter than the rest of his complexion. It looks like an old scar, and after a little banter, I ask him what he says when people ask him about his scar.

"Well, it depends, back in my hunting days I used to use it to get chiqadees."

"Chiqua-what-now?"

"You know, girls... Chiquadees." He sees my incredulous look,

" Oh, I get it, people don't say chiqadees anymore? Anyway, I used to tell Girls I was cut defending my ex. Which isn't how I got it."

He tells me how on his 19th birthday, he got into a shouting match with his father who was drunk at the time and Sam was kind of high. Then his dad took a knife and promised to cut his mouth off if he didn't stop talking, which he didn't,so his father slashed him and it never healed. He stares at me as he tells this story, with intense eyes. The eyes you feel can see into your very soul. I ask him if violence was common with his father.

" Well, every African house hold was violent to a point, wasn't it?" He smiles one of those sad smiles " Let's just say, talking about violence at home when everyone has a story of being beaten... Well, people just assume you're exaggerating, or that your parents are just more strict. It's a thin line is all. My dad just blurred the lines between discipline and abuse" he shrugs like it's no big deal.

We keep talking and I ask him the last time he cried, because guys with swag, who do the squinty thing like they're looking at the sun hardly cry, right?

"Umm, actually, I watched this movie the other day, I don't even know why I cried, have you watched Collateral Beauty?''

" Do monkeys eat bananas? Of course!"(Actually, I'm not sure monkeys actually eat bananas.) He smiles and tells me.

"Yeah, that story was sad, but really, my last serious cry was when my father died."

I swallow my food and know the big wave is coming. Sometimes you poke and prod, and out of nowhere comes a big wave. Sometimes the smallest places carry the biggest waves.

"So, I'm the last born, and all my other siblings thought he was the beginning and the end, that the sun rose and set on him, I don't know what happened with me that was so... Different." He stops to sip his ginger tea (who drinks ginger tea in this heat?)

We were walking one night, he told me to go out for a walk with him. Which has never happened before. By then, I had been out of his house for 5 years, I was just visiting my mum. So as we were walking, these two guys come out of nowhere and ask for our money (he clenches his fist) which obviously we don't have, we were just walking. Then my dad ,big and strong and macho, tells the guys to walk away because we didn't have money. Then they pull out a gun and tell us to remove our phones. I try to comply by emptying my pockets to show them I had nothing.

My dad just laughs like they're his friends. And says we have nothing and we don't want a fight, they're just threatening us with the gun. Then my father tells them, "you won't waste your bullets." And he moves like he's trying to walk on past them. Then the other guy pulls out a knife and stabs him. Then removes it and stabs him again. I jump forward to help my dad or stop the stabbing or something but the other guy blocks his friend, the one stabbing my father. I think that guy stabbed my dad a few more times but I blocked out most of that night.

All I remember is wondering who to call, what to do, the guys ran and my dad was on the side of the road, dying. My phone was at home, so was everything. I remember asking myself,should I leave him like this or go call for help. I tried to wake him, because I thought maybe it wasn't that serious that I could help him get home then I'd drive him to hospital. But he didn't wake up. And he was bleeding. I looked around me calling and I couldn't see anyone. Then some old Watchman who was guarding a nearby gate came to see.

I told him to stay with my dad then I ran home. I woke my mum who was dozing In front of the TV and told her to get in the car. I hardly remember doing anything after that. How I drove my father to the hospital, I don't know. Or how I called my siblings, or told my mum what happened.

Everyone was crying and I remember having like, an outer body experience where all my feelings were numbed. Everyone thought I was traumatized. He died in surgery."

He tells me how complicated his feelings were and how the most prominent feeling he had was anger.  He was mad that he didn't get a  chance to work things out with his father. That he couldn't save him. That they got to hospital too late,and that seemed like his fault too. That he couldn't even grieve his father properly. Because every good memory he had was tinged with a bad one. He remembered the many negative things he was told throughout his life and as he held his grieving siblings and mother, he realised he never got to experience the same things as everyone else. Like he was special but in reverse. They didn't seem like they were grieving the same person.

"But enough about my family issues, there is more to me than that, promise."
I asked him what his plans for Valentine's were and he tells me he met a girl the other day. He doesn't like people who look at themselves in those reflective windows in town. The ones we all use as personal mirrors. But he bumped into a girl who wasn't watching where she was going because of a reflective window. They were acquaintances then they started talking more after that day.

Now he tells me he's waiting for a text to tell him if he's spending Valentine evening sleeping early or going out with a beautiful girl. I wish him all the best and we stay silent for a bit, me soaking up his story. Him, probably taking deep breaths, realizing it's the first time he's shared with anyone that much.

"That was scary," he tells me " I've never told anyone that much about my family, and my dad."

And once again I feel honoured to be here, doing this. And for probably the third time since he said it, I ask myself, who says 'chiquedee'? (Between you and me I didn't even know the spelling, hehe.)