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Fania's Journal Chapter 2

Beads of Rain

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Beads of Rain

Fania’s Journal: Beads of Rain

“F ania!” My friends greeted me as I approached the red painted metallic benches hiding under the lacy shade of the enormous

maple trees. I shook my head off a bit, hoping that that motion would erase the thoughts and memories lingered in my mind during my train trip. The sun was brightly shining yellow gold and the clouds were uncannily shaped like fennels seeds, seeds shaped like grains of rice only longer and have a distinct minty flavour that spiced up our everyday dishes in Africa ten years ago. “Hey!” I greeted them back with my usual smile and involuntary wave using my right hand. Their eyes were fixed at me – gazed at my light blue felt hat, velvet striped jacket and magenta boots. What’s wrong my outfit? I wanted to tell them. If people could only know how much these items cost perhaps I might enjoy some extra fete and obedience from everyone.

Any class involving numbers and calculations is completely boring. It’s the pinnacle of boredom. Why does someone pursuing a major in communications need Elementary Statistics? I don’t just get it.

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A guy named Gero asked me to have lunch with him. The person sitting on my right discreetly slipped a note on

my desk under my notebook. The guy Gero was three seats apart from me on my right in Stat class and on my left is a window. I turned my head to the right and caught his glance. I smiled and passed the note back. “Okay, maybe next week,” I wrote. He unfolded the note and grinned and his eyes widened. As he stretched the edges of his mouth to his ears, an interesting smile appeared.

I twitched my head to the left, acting as if nothing happened, and stared blankly again at the window. The

fennel seed shaped clouds in the morning transformed into a vast heavy grey woollen blanket lying low in the sky. It grew greyer and laid lower until finally small drops of water fell from the woollen blanket hitting my window diagonally. The name “Gero” means fierce or fierceness in African Luo – people from Kenya and some parts of Tanzania and Uganda. I’m not African Luo, but if he’s from Uganda then we might be compatriots. What a small world!

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T he rain kept on pouring. Every time each drop hit the glass window, it created a

rhythm of mesmerizing music marked with tranquillity, joy, melancholy, solitude, and happiness all whirled into a perfect convolution of emotions. The small beads of water remained on its place unless if it had become heavier due to a fusion with another raindrop spitted out from thy sky or an intersection with a heavy drop hastily coursing down through gravity.

The rain has stopped. The bell rang. The small beads of water stayed on the glass window.

Gero offered to share his umbrella with me but I refused. The rain did not stop completely as I thought; it was drizzling – raindrops almost obscure yet the tip of my nose felt – when I went outside the lobby. Without second thought, I ran from the main building to the line of maple trees. The soft breeze dampened my face. I squinted. My heart danced in rapture as the small beads touched my dusky skin and a montage of random memories and fancies wound up inside my head. A familiar honk grabbed me out of my air castle. “Baba!” The face of my father emerged as the car’s tinted glass pane at the driver’s side slid down.

Talented African Generation

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Beads of Rain

Fania's Journal Chapter 2