Walking Blind

Nairobi, 1978

 

Don't open your eyes until I tell you to open them, he said.

I squeezed my eyelids tight.

I have a surprise for you, he said.

He clasped my hand as we walked.

The crunching twigs beneath our feet

The scent of bougainvillea

Bazooka gum at the corner kiosk

The chatter of the passersby

My senses were heightened even though

He tried to distract me with the

Convoluted circle we walked.

Logs, branches came.

We veered off the main road

Ducked under a fence.

Then I heard it.

Humming, splashing, and gushing.

The scent of water lilies saturated the air.

Water drizzled on my arms.

Now! His voice echoed in the clearing.

I opened my eyes.

Before us was a waterfall

Water, like satin curtains dropped over rocks draped with moss.

Water, like the gates to heaven where sins were washed away.

I looked up at my brother. 

His arms were crossed, right hand cradling left elbow, left hand cradling right elbow.

He smiled.

Eyes as luminous as the light slating through the canopy of eucalyptus above.

How did you find this place? I whispered.

Mama Shujaa