Late for Madam Irene's class
She smiles at me; a shy smile. I smile back; a
friendly smile. "I got carried away...music does that to me" she (I
don’t know her name yet) says."Don't mind me, endelea kuimba uko na
sauti nzuri sana! “I say, before shutting the door behind me and approaching
her." Hi, I am Gitonga...Leroy Gitonga...Programming class..."I introduce
myself, and with armpits becoming rapidly sweaty; I stretch out my hand in that
amiable way you acknowledge an acquaintance. She takes it. “Hi Gitonga, I am
Doreen...Kawira. Nice to meet you… Niko
ICDL class.” The daze that had engulfed me has now mellowed into a pressing
curiosity about this music lady and I can’t help but query her, “Where did you
learn how to sing like that?” This is both an obvious flatter and a sincere
question. “Thank you. I have been singing since I was a kid. It’s kind of a
family thing”, she acknowledges. “So there are more of you?” I say in that bland,
not-trying-too-hard-to-be-funny manner. She chuckles. “Yeah, we are. We are
four in our family. I am the only girl. We are all different but music is our
‘common denominator’.” This is starting to sound interesting and thanks to
Madam Irene’s crazy rules about “…kuchelewa
chelewa ndarasa ni kama ni murano (kimeru
word for wedding). Ukichelewa kaa nje...My class is not a kirabu! (Kimeru word for club/pub) ” I have all the time to
spare.
“Tell me
about your family, if it’s okay with you of course,” I tread carefully, trying
hard not to let my curiosity get out of hand. “It’s fine. Well, my family is a
normal family. I have three brothers and I am the last born. I adore my
brothers and they care about me too. My parents are awesome. I am much closer with my dad though. His
love for music drives me and my siblings love for music.” I listen keenly, intently absorbing the weight and meaning of
every word. I venture further, “Tell me
about this musical bond you all share?” She halts a bit and with a searching
expression on her face says “We have this piano at home and dad used to play for us. I like to think
he played it for me most. He plays really well. He can also read music. My
brothers mainly play instruments; drums, bass guitars, and piano too…you know
the stuff. One of my brothers is a DJ. My mum is the calm one in the family and
not really musical but she is supportive.”
It’s a pretty detailed summary of her family and
family life. She has lived in Meru all her life, with her family, learnt about
Christ and studied hard to get to where she is now; the main theme in her life
has been music. Being here with her makes me start thinking, about myself. As a
slight diversion from talking about her family, I offer “I did music once. In
high school, I loved it but I had to drop it because I had to take other
subjects to suit my career options.”She looks at me a little while, silent and
with a questioning expression on her face. I wonder if she’s suddenly upset
about something. “Why would anyone drop music?” she asks, and in her eyes I can
see a distant bemusement—she’s trying to understand or trying to make herself
understand. “I loved the music classes but I was limited to the stipulated
‘choices’; I was 844’d.” I offer this feeble counter. For the first time, I
feel guilty about choosing Newton’s three laws of motion over the five barred
G-clef.
“Tell me about this love of singing out loud in
the ICDL lab?” I say, grinning sheepishly. She laughs. I laugh with her. A laughter,
which only those who have shared in a small secret or near embarrassment can
have. “Well, as I told you, music is part of my life. I love singing but not
more than I love playing drums. When you came in, I was listening to one of my
favorite songs. I love the way the music sounds and I just like singing along
to this because I find it so inspirational. Let me show you one of my favorite
drummers?” A few deft clicks on the mouse and we are watching a drum video on YouTube,
and sharing her earphones--those green, corded ones that only people who value
and love listening to music would bear to afford. On the screen, this guy with
thick dreadlocks, drums furiously. There is a maniac passion to his beating, to
the way he moves his hands from drum beat to chime bell, which makes me think
of someone possessed. It’s a brazen performance by drummer standards, and
judging from ‘the look’ on Doreen’s face; of immense satisfaction and even
greater yearning, it must have been spot on. You can see she wants to play like that one
day. She wants to be possessed like that too.
“With such great passion for music you must have
tried pursuing it. What are some of the challenges you have faced so far?”The
drumming video is over but she’s looking at the screen searching for another to
play. “Well, pursuing music in a place like Meru can be really tough. There are
few music schools and most are unaffordable and there are very few places apart
from music recording studios that have the instruments. When I fell in love
with drumming, I wanted to be shown how to play. I made a personal effort to
ask anyone who I came across who could play drums to teach me. They all made
commitments but they never came through. I think instrumentalists are just a
proud bunch!” There’s an acerbic undertone here that makes me picture her saying,
“Screw them, I will do this myself!” Passion…check, Support...Check,
resolution…Check. I know now that walking into her singing in the lab like that
was not a momentary affliction of lunacy. “Let’s watch this one! I love the way
he improvises using buckets for drums and they still sound so good…” ‘The look’
is back on her face; I pick up my earpiece and we happily watch the possessed together.
She looks at her wrist watch—a cute, bronze
thing, that seems more ornamental than time efficient. “I have a music class at
3:00pm, I have to leave now. My music teacher will be waiting for me,” she
says. “You have your own music teacher?” I ask, rather surprised. “Yes, I do.
He is not a formal teacher; he is actually my dad’s friend. He comes to our
home and teaches me how to read music. I want to learn how to read music like
my dad so that I can make my own compositions.” She looks down at her watch
again. The drummers are still at it on the screen. She plugs out her earphones
and bids me bye. She has to leave now so that she is not late for her class. I
watch her leave the lab still holding on to her earphones. I am suddenly aware
of the time, of Madam Irene shouting in the other room, of tasks uncompleted…of
all the things that come on when the music goes off.
(About
Irene--Sometimes I think the only reason she tolerates being our programming concepts
teacher is because she learnt that one of the pioneer computer programmer’s was
a lady, ADA LOVELACE)
I could eat this up quick
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