THE HAPPENING GIRLS- ONE

The very first days of my college life were very unbearable. With imagining how my fellow year-o’s used to dress up and treat themselves for lunch, I couldn’t even afford a standard meal from the college's cafeteria. Poverty taught me to live the hard way.

Tiyamike was my name. I was the first born in a family of seven. My parents were tea pickers at Chitakale Tea and Coffee Plantations in the outskirts of Mulanje district. The number of children in my family always kept me wondering why my poverty-stricken parents kept on giving birth.

Happening to be the first child, miracles fell on me, and I was the first in everything; the only one who got selected to a national secondary school, and also the only one who at 22 was handed the privilege to pursue a bachelor’s degree in Public Administration at the Chancellor College. Luckily enough the company my poor parents worked for had offered to help out with the tuition fees, thereby lifting the heavy burden off their shoulders.

I too didn’t want to miss college. I wanted to go to school and acquire wealth to at least help my siblings excel in their education. My siblings and I would usually do minor chores for those well-to-do residents from the company. At times, we would sell zitumbuwa, bananas and sugarcanes around Chitakale Trading Center. We were doing it all just to help our parents as the tea picker’s payroll was so less to feed the huge household of ours.

When the news about my college selection came forth, we were all excited over it. The only worry was on what I would take along with me to school. I still remember when my mother picked out three of her best java wrappers out of the five, she owned and gave them to me. She said I should go to the tailor and pick out a new trending dress style. I went to school with three chitenje dresses and my old school uniform skirt that would keep me going. Father managed to slaughter a hen of which we had breaded for a while and made me chiwamba. I also carried along with me roasted maize and some popcorn.

Upon getting into college, there was almost nobody who seemed interested to interact with me. I understood all that. Everyone seemed to have been coming from a financially stable family. I had promised myself to work harder and aim for all the goals I set which of course wouldn’t have been easier.

I got teased and bullied. I was just like a living shadow amongst my course mates. It felt like everyone knew of my poverty state. I even could hear what people got to say whenever I passed them by. Some would spit out, saying I stank. That was another misery I had to adapt to. My parents’ occupation became a topic of discussion. Everyone would laugh badly whenever I talked about what my parents did for a living. Some would go as far as getting me into mockery. I kept on weeping but my mother’s advice kept me going. I still remember what she said under that mango tree which was just a few yards in front of our small company house. She had her serious-loving face with her beautiful eyes fixed on me. She stretched out her arms across my head and said: “my daughter, sharp edges have consequences. Watch the friends you keep". Those were the only words she said to me. I kept recalling them every day whenever I was faced with a difficulty.

Through those hardships I managed go get into third year. That was when I became friends with Pauline and Wanga. They were so out-going and easily adapted to the expensive campus life which made their every single day easier to live. There was nothing they lacked. Pauline and Wanga never really talked about their family backgrounds. All they knew was to dress, eat and live well and they called themselves ‘the happening girls’. My association with them introduced me to a lot of things altogether.

I was getting changed bit by bit. And then came my first encounter to take alcohol. It was when they had invited me for a night out along the streets of Chikanda. At first I was resisting but after giving it a thought I found myself getting interested to drink more. A Hunters extreme six pack was given to me as a starter. The more I drunk the more my friends gave me praises. They said one doesn’t get drunk with more than four bottles and I believed them. The next thing I remember about that night was how much I danced to Rihanna and Drake’s song ‘Work’. I was not a dance-mania but I still remember how well I danced and all the whistles I got from the men that were around. That was not me. Had I easily forgotten where I was coming from? Despite getting a transformation of what I wore, ate and my English ascent, my family remained the same, poor and a low class household. I wasn’t supposed to be doing all that. I had to have mercy on my family, especially my mother. She had always tried to give me a new cloth whenever I was going for a new semester. My conscience was breaking me apart.

Like I had no brains, I found myself joining Wanga and Pauline on a girls' night out to Salima. It was along the beach. I went there because I was anxious of what Salima looked like and how life would be spending a night along the waters. I was getting more and more excited over the trip not minding about the assignments I had to do. I wondered how my friends survived their school life with how they loved outings and parties and I came to discover that they had some fellow students to write-up their assignments and exams as well. It all just needed some cash to go along with it all and surely it was all possible.

Then I was curious of how they got all the money they spent out. My curiosity was fed with answers that very same night. After having a few minutes tour around the Livingstonia beach, Pauline led us to a summer hut. Three men were sitting there, drinking. They didn’t just seem like other men. They looked more like big shots and from my poor interaction with my college mates I believed they must have been the so called ‘Blessers’ or ‘Merchants’. They looked rich. What a glorious way they lived! Since I had studied psychology during my first year, I could be so sure to tell that the men were married and had children of my age.

I almost got choked from the beer I was having. I wasn’t so familiar with ciders but I managed to capture its name as Savanna. I couldn’t believe it all to myself that Wanga was sitting on one of the men’s laps. Maybe that was why I nearly choked myself. I was still that local Tiyamike who knew nothing or less about these things, I was new in this world and I found every move made by my colleagues strange and awful. I felt like stopping her from sitting there, but the bundle of K2000’s that came out from that man’s pocket had already carried her away. I learnt that his name was Chosafa. I don’t know if that was his real name or if it was just a nickname given to him by his friends. Mr Chosafa looked richer than the others. But wait a second! Both of these men had money, and they were even ready to spend it anyhow, even on me.

What baffled me the most was that I had spent two years of my college life suffering and struggling whilst there were people like Mr Chosafa and his friends who splashed out so much money on pets like us. Couldn’t they have used all that money in helping the needy like my family and the many poor others who couldn't even afford a meal? 

Anyway, it all stopped being my concern when I was approached by the other man amongst the three. He looked younger from the rest and I liked him a bit. He had a good sense of humour. “What a perfect man to get cash from!” I said under my breath and smiled. This man was extremely ready to spend on me and he had vowed to do so no matter the circumstance. From what he said, he only wanted me to play the obedient girl part which of course was not hard for me to do as long as it was to just sit on his laps like how Wanga and Mr Chosafa did.

I had given in to my lifetime desires to take control of me. I had totally forgotten the promises I made to myself not to be a part of this again. But who would really resist that in anyway? There was a bundle of 2000 Kwacha notes on that headboard of the bed in Oga Timo’s room. So far that was the name his friends called him. He had those Oga features, the ones in the Nigerian movies which I got privileged to watch on Pauline’s laptop.

Well, whatever name he was bearing was out of my business. The only thing I cared so much for then was the money. I had a lot of expenses I needed to settle and that was the only thing running through my mind.

“You can get the money and do with it whatever your heart desires. Just don’t forget the promise you made earlier on,” Oga Timo said to me.

I quickly found myself rushing to get the bundle but I was stopped in no second.

“That’s not the way we do it. Patience, please. Hold on, baby,” Oga Timo said to me softly.

What was more to it than just getting the money and leaving the room? I was obedient enough as I had promised. Was I supposed to do more than that? I quietly left the money where it was and sat down. The next thing I heard from Oga Timo made me sweat much more even if I felt a bit tipsy. I didn’t want to give a thought to what he said by him and I getting into intimacy. Why? For what reasons? Wasn’t he the one who said he was ready to spill money on me despite all the circumstances? So why getting intimate?

(To be continued......)