Diary Of A Deltan Kuffa

Chapter Four

A GAME OF CARDS is the initiation. It meant acceptance into a circle, this circle had one too many faces, spoke in different tongues; but that didn't matter. like every circle, it had a core, a value, a belief. Be a player. It went beyond playing cards from a packet of Whot, it took on other forms: Chess, if you knew the strength of an army. Ludo, if throwing a die was your thing. And Scrabble, with its fan base of diehard witty-heads. This was the philosophy. Playing marked your existence, it stamped out the newness in your eyes, even though you were a day old from camp.

That night, ripples of laughter split the air like a knife to bread. Parallel benches aligned above the patched-up concrete floor. The laughter of fellow sportsmen, women too, diced the air around, the night was ripe and alive. I had to get in, "feel among" as they say. Playing either of those games was my pass. "Lastttttt cardddddd," he echoed after placing a card above a litter of others, the person seated opposite him did the same. His lips arched downwards at both ends, before parting with the words, "check". That was my cue, I'd been watching from the shadows ever since I got here. It was now or never, "I'll play..." I interrupted taking my seat, they passed me a card, it had a circle and a six. My reaction time a second slower but I managed through that round.

The next round had eight of us seated, each with a peculiar idiosyncrasy. Mine was obvious. The Fresh Kuffa (like my green stripes shun a bit brighter), you could see it in my eyes. Another was a cheat, and would always sneak away a card or two just to stay in. Then the Pro, flipping cards like they played at the casino. Someone checked his last card and the rest of us had to sample ours, the person with the highest would opt-out.
And so in no particular sequence, we mentioned the sum of cards we had:
"I have twenty"
"Thirteen"
"Ten"
"Eleven"
"Three"
"Twenty five"
"Thirty"

The last person hadn't uttered any words and we knew what it meant, knowing this he placed all his cards on the bench, we didn't have to count, he had one too many. And as was the custom we sang him a song, to make his lose just a bit harder to swallow. The game continued until a victor emerged. I somehow made it to the last three before I got knocked out.

This game that had started from the early evening had grown into the night, at some point I even emerged a winner, which for me was a bonus. The adrenaline rush as I faced that opponent one-on-one, his precise play against my ignorance, was exactly how I won, even when others kept bantering, "you no sabi." well I played for the fun of it. Cards with matching shapes or numbers were pretty much my game plan. The win to me was in playing and being the victor was the icing on the cake. I earned my stripes and from that night onward, I was greeted with a knowing look. I belonged.