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Minutes of Glory 5
wealthy. They were also good Christians. We lived under
regulations. You must never walk with the heathen. You must
not attend their pagan customs -- dances and circumcision
rites, for instance. There were rules about what, how and
when to eat. You must even walk like a Christian lady. You
must never be seen with boys. Rules, rules all the way. One
day instead of returning home from school, I and another girl
from a similar home ran away to Eastleigh. I have never been
home once this last four years. That's all.'
Another silence. Then they looked at one another in mutual
recognition.
'One more question, Nyaguthii. You need not answer it. But
I have always thought that you hated me, you despised me.'
'No, no, Beatrice, I have never hated you. I have never hated
anybody. It is just that nothing interests me. Even men do not
move me now. Yet I want, I need instant excitement. I need the
attention of those false flattering eyes to make me feel myself,
myself. But you, you seemed above all this-somehow you
had something inside you that I did not have.'
Beatrice tried to hold her tears with difficulty.
Early the next day, she boarded a bus bound for Nairobi. She
walked down Bazaar Street looking at the shops. Then down
Government Road, right into Kenyatta Avenue, and Kimathi
Street. She went into a shop near Hussein Suleman's Street
and bought several stockings. She put on a pair. She next
bought herself a new dress. Again she changed into it. In a
Bata Shoeshop, she bought high heeled shoes, put them on
and discarded her old flat ones. On to an Akamba kiosk, and
she fitted herself with earrings. She went to a mirror and
looked at her new self. Suddenly she felt enormous hunger as
if she had been hungry all her life. She hesitated in front of
Moti Mahal. Then she walked on, eventually entering Fransae.
There was a glint in her eyes that made men's eyes turn to her.
This thrilled her. She chose a table in a corner and ordered
Indian curry. A man left his table and joined her. She looked at
him. Her eyes were merry. He was dressed in a dark suit and
his eyes spoke of lust. He bought her a drink. He tried to
engage her in conversation. But she ate in silence. He put his
hand under the table and felt her knees. She let him do it. The
hand went up and up her thigh. Then suddenly she left her unfinished food and her untouched drink and walked out. She
felt good. He followed her. She knew this without once
turning her eyes. He walked beside her for a few yards. She
smiled at herself but did not look at him. He lost his confidence. She left him standing sheepishly looking at a glass
window outside Gino's. In the bus back to Ilmorog, men gave
her seats. She accepted this as of right. At Treetops bar she
went straight to the counter. The usual crowd of big men were
there. Their conversations stopped for a few seconds at her
entry. Their lascivious eyes were turned to her. The girls
stared at her. Even Nyaguthii could not maintain her bored
indifference. Beatrice bought them drinks. The manager came
to her, rather unsure. He tried a conversation. Why had she
left work? Where had she been? Would she like to work in the
bar, helping Nyaguthii behind the counter? Now and then? A
barmaid brought her a note. A certain big shot wanted to know
if she would join their table. More notes came from different
big quarters with the one question; would she be free tonight?
A trip to Nairobi even. She did not leave her place at the
counter. But she accepted their drinks as of right. She felt a
new power, confidence even.
She took out a shilling, put it in the slot and the juke box
boomed with the voice of Robinson Mwangi singing Hunyu
wa Mashambani. He sang of those despised girls who worked
on farms and contrasted them with urban girls. Then she
played a Kamaru and a D.K. Men wanted to dance with her.
She ignored them, but enjoyed their flutter around her. She
twisted her hips to the sound of yet another D.K. Her body
was free. She was free. She sucked in the excitement and
tension in the air.
Then suddenly at around six, the man with the five-ton lorry
stormed into the bar. This time he had on his military overcoat.
Behind him was a policeman. He looked around. Everybody's
eyes were raised to him. But Beatrice went on swaying her
hips. At first he could not recognize Beatrice in the girl celebrating her few minutes of glory by the juke box. Then he
shouted in triumph. 'That is the girl! Thief! Thief!'
People melted back to their seats. The policeman went and
handcuffed her. She did not resist. Only at the door she turned
her head and spat. Then she went out followed by the policeman.
In the bar the stunned silence broke into hilarious laughter
when someone made a joke about sweetened robbery without
violence. They discussed her. Some said she should have been
beaten. Others talked contemptuously about 'these bar girls'.
Yet others talked with a concern noticeable in unbelieving
shakes of their heads about the rising rate of crime. Shouldn't
the Hanging Bill be extended to all thefts of property? And
without anybody being aware of it the man with the five-ton
lorry had become a hero. They now surrounded him with
questions and demanded the whole story. Some even bought
him drinks. More remarkable, they listened, their attentive
silence punctuated by appreciative laughter. The averted
threat to property had temporarily knit them into one family.
And the man, accepted for the first time, told the story with
relish.
But behind the counter Nyaguthii wept.
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