The afternoon sky had its usual blue appearance dotted with a deprived number of clouds of the fluffy kind, somewhat static and amorphous. The harvest season was always meant to be like this, bundled with the calmness of food security. I lazily tramp towards my feeble 36-inch wide wooden gate, passively wiping sweat from my lower forehead and determinedly holding the harvest basket in my right hand. A meek push at the gate, and it surrenders my home. The existing peace could tell you that Atieno wasn't back from the market yet. A growl in my stomach doesn't just disturb this peace but also announces how starved I feel.
An uninvited realization of the lack of ground millet makes my predicament more daunting. I'd need to grind the millet if I want food prepared. Nevertheless, Atieno is supposed to come with kales, and since she isn't back yet makes me less regretful of the situation. I let out a huff as I lay down the harvest. I opened the door casually and dragged out a sack of millet that was just beside the door. Occasional twitters of finches and weaver birds, which provided a familiar tune, for some reason made the work bearable. I may have forgotten how hungry I was as I got drenched by nature's airborne melody.
I could sense the angle by which the sun had moved meant Atieno had been gone for far too long. She should have been back ages ago. I remember I once looked up into the sky to make out the time, and Ochieng' laughed uncontrollably. He narrated of some item and something about him not being able to afford it but will never allow himself to be as primitive as I am. I stared obliviously. I am not sure if that hurt. I still wonder what would be more convenient than just a mere stare at the sun. The sun never gets misplaced. I was growing worried. I couldn't tell if the worry was because of her missing or that her missing meant my lunch was being delayed. What meant more?
Atieno eventually shows up a lengthy hunger strike later. A considerably modernly furnished man follows her closely. I act unmindful. I knew better than to jump to conclusions. The urge to bellow my distress itches though. A hungry man is an angry man. I was probably about to give in to my irritation when our eyes locked, and she breathtakingly smiled softly. I am drowned in utter satisfaction. I perhaps forgot I was hungry. Her fairly tattered dress moves gracefully as she reaches in for a warm hug. She explains she had sold a lot today, a lot that when she met the man who apparently was a photographer, she realized she had enough to spare for a photograph. I can't remember the last time I was this delighted.
She beckons at me to make myself as handsome as possible. We gladly change to our best clothes. We have waited for this day for as long as I can remember. Almost everyone in the village had managed to take a photo. It is said you could choose whatever look you wanted to have in your photo. There were curtain-like pictures that would make your photo look as if it had been taken in a faraway good place. Nobody would know; it was stressed. We swiftly chose a picture of a street in Nairobi to be used as our background.
I ensure I wear the frames I had picked up a month ago during one of my necessary treks to the market. The photographer requests us to choose a pose for our photo. He realizes we are deficient in the knowledge of the trending poses, and so he generously guides us accordingly. I remember the statement I said to Atieno before the photo was taken, "Let us be static honey, let us hold still and look enlightened." We showcase our happiest faces. It may perhaps be a week or two till we are given our photos. It is worth the wait anyway.
