Falling In Love, 1919

“The president just declared a state of emergency in the country, and we have to close the school for now. You are all required to go home immediately and to those who need the train, it will be at the station in an hour, so be quick and have a good day.”

That was our strict headmaster informing us of the crazy happenings in the country. In an instance, the assembly hall was filled with a perfect chaos of mixed reactions. Most of the students’ parents were settlers or missionaries, so they were happy to go home to their mansions and dinner parties. The rest of us, on the other hand, children of servants, were headed for the exact opposite. The sound of multiple conversations going off at once was a nuisance to my ears. I had to leave.

I hated that the Spanish flu was here. Being a third world country, you would think a god of some sort would spare us from the disaster but no. The fact that we all had to go home and stay quarantined was another thing that angered me. My mother, a former cook at the school, had just retired and moved upcountry 700km away from the school, to join my father and I couldn’t imagine being on a train for that whole distance. On the bright side, they would receive the news about the closure a week later, giving me time to do as I pleased. I could not go home just yet.

Outside the hall, rays of brightness cast triangles onto the stone pavements, reminding me of the season we were in. Mombasa was always hot, but this time of the year, the torridity was unbearable, and for that reason, we had two weeks left until the term was over, unlike the usual four. Unfortunately for us, being the first missionary school in Kenya, we had to set an excellent example to other schools by following the president’s rules, which I hated. I Sprinted to the hostel to avoid the heat, and 5 minutes later, I was in my room. My three roommates were all moving up and down packing their bags, but I was not in a hurry like them, my mind was elsewhere.

I had received a letter from Charles, my boyfriend, two days ago asking me to meet him as soon as the schools were closed. Reaching for the creased letter from my bag, I stared at it. It was a two-cent paper, but the words were priceless. I had stored it together with the other ones he had sent before. I had responded with excitement that I would visit him before the morning assembly. I was not going to cancel my plans because it had been two months since we last met when I had sneaked into town to see him, and I couldn’t wait any longer. I packed my ten pieces of clothing as I thought of the look on his face when I arrived at his place.

I met Charles 2 weeks before school opened for my last year in high school, three months ago, and we instantly clicked. His parents were friends with the missionaries who founded our school, and they had come to visit after surviving the world war. It was a few days before my mother retired, and I was helping her serve them. There he was, at the farthest end of the rectangular-shaped table, drawing circles with his fork. Our eyes locked, and he smiled at me, fine lines appearing on the side of his eyes, and I looked away. I couldn’t look directly at him, but he was all I saw; the rest were a meaningless backdrop. 

When I left for the kitchen, he followed me with the lame excuse of going to the washroom. He gently pulled me away from the other servants. “You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” He was obviously lying, but I appreciated the sentiment. If only he knew how that statement applied to him, but I couldn’t tell him that. He had a pair of grey trousers and an open single-breasted jacket showing off his muscles unsuccessfully hidden by the tight, white button-down shirt underneath. To top it off, his hair was unusually long for a man which made him more attractive.

“You are not supposed to talk to me, sir. I don’t want to get in trouble.” I had said nervously.

“I can talk to whoever I want. Plus, you won’t get into trouble. I’ll make sure of it.” Smiling, he added, “You can call me Charles, what’s your name?”

“It’s Anna.”

My mom had given me an English name because she wanted me to fit in with the settler’s children as we had lived in the school premises my whole life. During this time, my dad was across the country, working on the Uganda-Kenya railway.

“I want to know you, Anna.”

The next few days were spent with me carefully sneaking into his room at the school to strolling in the field at night. We both knew that our parents finding out about us was a death sentence. With that in mind, he decided to rent a tiny apartment a little bit far from the school so that we’d see each other under the pretenses that he loved the country and wanted to do some exploring on his own. He was 24 years old and done with his studies so his parents couldn’t say no. The following week was the best in my life as my mother thought I was visiting one of my five sisters, but I was at Charles’ place. It was very quick of me, but It felt right at the time, so I didn’t question it.

“Anna, we have to go.” One of my roommates shouted at me.

We took our bags and went to the station to wait for the allocated transportation to arrive.

Waiting was the hardest thing for me; my long, loose dress was already clinging to my body, and my face wet with sweat. I curled my fingers around the thin fabric of my dress, waving it in and out to create an airflow but was not enough. Days like these were the worst in Mombasa, and I couldn’t wait to be done with school and move upcountry, where the hills and trees surrounded us, and the wind would make you feel at peace.

I didn’t see the need for ‘education’ as they only taught us religion, English, cooking, sewing, and other skills needed to serve the settlers. The other students were taught different things from us, and I found it unfair, but It was like complaining about my lack of shoes when my friends had no legs. My agemates back upcountry didn’t even know a single English word, so I appreciated my situation. After watching all the elite students get picked up by their parents in private cars, some jealousy stirred In me, but I shoved that thought away when the train finally arrived.

I only had two more hours of constant blinking to adjust to the illumination directed at me from the window before I arrived at Charles’ so I patiently sat there cursing that day. The journey became a bit better when we could see the Indian ocean from a distance. Having denied access to the beach our whole lives, this was the closest we could get to that dream.

I alighted the bus and sped up to Charles’s house, which fortunately was close to the road. His apartment was in a gated estate housing other missionaries’ adult children and some of the settlers. Lucky for me, the watchman was a friend, so I had no issues getting into the compound.

I knocked at the door, nervous and excited, waiting for him to open.

The look on his face is forever etched into my mind. He was overjoyed and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug, and I squeezed him back, not wanting the moment to end. I even forgot about my sweaty body, and he didn’t seem to mind.

“I thought you weren’t coming, with the situation right now, but I’m so happy you are here.” He said as he let me in.

“I had to see you at least for the last time before you head back home.”

“If I go anywhere, it’s with you; otherwise, I’m staying here till you get tired of me.”

It was no longer the worst day.