Donate Fiction

THE REGRET

That was one of the most fabulous mornings of Baros until late in the afternoon. He had woken up as usual; did his cleaning, brushed and prepared for work. It was the job he had although not his dream job. That was not what he wished to do four years back in high school. He however took it easy. This is Uganda. Most people will study, have papers and lack a job. “At least I have something to do.” He thought to himself.

 

Nansana is one of the filthiest places of the suburbs of Kampala but that was Baros’s place of residence. His room, well decorated with old newspapers on the wall to give it the clamour of modernity, was its own history. Whoever could check behind the newspapers could be shocked about the dilapidation of the building; it portrayed its old age, crucks cut through the wall and the person on the other side would properly see light from Baros’s room. This did not bother him a lot. Still this is Kampala and the most important thing is having where to put the head for a night.

 

On the night of that day, Baros had a chance to think about his parents; the sickly elderly creatures in one of the deepest villages of Masaka. His failure to support them especially in this moment of illness cut through his heart like burning coal. They had called him the previous day to inform him about the need for an operation on his mother. This was among the calls he had got used to but about the operation, he got scared. He had failed to raise money for simple sicknesses and now this was an operation; not less than two million shillings was needed. He realized it needed him to save his full salary for one and a half years to manage that.

 

Baros’s parents were very rich people. This sickness was nothing to his father to handle. Baros was the only sun of Mr. Mukasa, a very wealthy man of the twentieth century in Masaka. Mukasa’s four daughters had got involved in an accident while visiting their aunt seven years back. The accident that circulated all Uganda’s media for its unique occurrence. How the chicken that was meant for the aunt moved out of the car without a scratch and all humans in car could not be recognized was rather puzzling. By then Baros was in high school.

 

As he entered the city that morning, Baros was a usual creature. His work mates met him with that usual smile on but deep in his heart he knew the betrayal and guilt he felt. He had decided to pretend that nothing was happening to his parents. He could not do much and so pretense was his hideout.

 

Among his customers that day was his former teacher, Madam Grace Akello; a slim dark skinned elderly lady in his early forties. She carried her traditional basket just as usual. This made Baros puzzled. To him it was just yesterday when he had left secondary. His teacher had not changed after these six years? He reflected back, madam Akello in class always shouting at those who had not drawn maps in their books. Among these people he was. What he felt as an excitement for meeting his teacher became shame all of a sudden. He did not know exactly why yet it was not because of lack of maps in his geography book.

 

Madam Akello too portrayed confusion in her half-wrinkled face. She stood strongly at the door way for a minute before saying a word to Baros as if giving him chance to talk to her first. She was that teacher who always wanted students to first greet her and whoever did not received scolding from her. Baros knew that was not what his teacher was about to do. That was not school anymore.

 

She simply stood there watching the creature in a well pressed attire and gentlemen shoes. His hair well kept and no droids at all. What happened to the torn jeans and plaited hair? What about the ear rings and ragged shirts? Where did the rings on the fingers and chains around the neck go?

 

The teacher’s voice to Baros came like a shock, “My son, Baros, are you the one?” his reply was affirmative although shaky.

 

“What happened?” the teacher asked, “You told me you wanted to be a musician and that was why you were behaving that way in school,” she continued. “That you never wanted to be at school but outside practicing your talent of singing.”

 

Baros was totally guilty. That week was disaster to him. It did not rain but poured. Every crime was revealing itself to him in nakedness. He had thought his parents’ trouble had been covered but now Akello had brought another bomb. He remembered back in school when during one night prep madam Akello encountered him up in the tree branches hiding from teachers and prefects. That was of course his habit but madam Akello was lucky to see him that day. He had been so clear and told the teacher that his dream was not in academics. He was at school only because of his parents who forced him there.

 

He did not see where formal education led him to in this era. He had a talent and he would practice that rather than waste time in school. He remembered the following day his parents were called at school for his behavior had been beyond management. He recalled his parents plead for him to finish Ordinary level exams. “Mr. head teacher, I have him as the only child. I have spent all my money on him so that he can help us tomorrow,” his father had explained to the headteacher. “Whatever wealthy I had, in past three years I have spent it paying for the crimes Baros commits in schools,” he continued. I have changed him from school to school hoping he changes but all in vain.”

 

He was registered but had to do exams from out. All these memories came to him like hailstones. He answered his teacher, “Madam Grace, I’m very sorry, I was wrong. That is not what I became. It was fantasy and I was misguided.” He took a deep sigh and continued, “Unfortunately, I cannot change anything, I can’t go back to rectify that. As a talk now my parents are in serious need and what I get from here as a shopkeeper is only two hundred.” My friends who concentrated are well-off. The time I took thinking Uganda does not have jobs, they used it to read and they surely have the jobs.”

 

By this time Madam Akello was seated, watching the boy sorrowfully. How could she take Baros’s story to the rest of the Baros in school? Could the current Baros believe her anyway? Could she take the story to any of them or ignore? She made a resolution; she could continue talking to them even if they do not take it so that tomorrow, they say their teacher did her part. Madam Akello told Baros what he had come to buy, he picked the decoder, handed it to her and she paid the two hundred thousand he had asked for and told him to keep loyalty in his current venture.