Indigo

Rainbow

A framed photograph right at the wall opposite to the entrance door. Faded brown frames like freshly watered volcanic soil with a cotton thread behind it supporting it on a nail peg. The nail is inclined forty-five degrees to support the photograph and make sure it does not fall. The rest are dusty, but it is not. The rest have rusty nails but this one has a brand new half inch nail. It hangs right next to the portrait of the owner of the house, slightly below though because the owner of the house has to be distinct. You see his face immediately you enter the living room as if to prompt you that you were now in another man’s territory. The head of the family’s portrait did not catch my eye, what did was the photograph next to it. It was a little bit smaller and lower but it was the newest thing that had happened to the art and walls in that house. Now I will tell you how this is indigo.

Indigo is that boy in class, his grades are average therefore away from the teachers eye because if he was last then the teacher would be on his ass literally pushing him from a D to a B using a cane, if he was first then the teacher would applaud him. This boy never gets picked to answer questions in class because he is just unobtrusive. It is not his culpability that he does not engage in any co-curricular activities and that he does not astound his peers with his out of this world soccer moves, no, he just likes his cup of silence because he does not know any other way. He is not exultant when the teacher calls out names and refers to him as ‘YOU’, it does not impress him that his classmates share tiny secrets in loyalty groups of which he is an outsider. So he weighs his options, do I fail to get noticed? But then his mom, the only person who understands him would be confounded in case of insubordination so he resolves to count the years, one by one until he is done with primary, high school and college, he hopes he can get redemption then.

That feeling in the morning after you caught him red handed cheating on you. Lying to your face with promises of a love and everlasting pleasures. You wake up in the morning, eyes heavy from crying, red as crimson and you begin playing in your mind the other day when he kissed you in the streets, introduced you to his cohorts and made you think that his life is all about you. The million times he bought you expensive gifts and took you out for expensive dates. At one single time you sat and thought that you were now on the winning side of life with a one plus one equals one equation, you even went ahead and declared that you had a ‘zing’ (street name for eyes flashing when you meet Mr Right). But like a warrior once said, the gods could bless you in the morning and curse you in the afternoon. That singled out feeling that morning is what I have been trying to put across all this time, the feeling that your life is a mere annihilated piece of crap hanging on a whisker. That my friends is indigo.

The last time this happened, you had your ego turned upside down, torn apart and came crushing down all around you. Yet, like a bad behavior you are doing it again. Falling in love with that one girl. You had many options, thousands, hundreds of which would ensure a hundred percent success but like an overzealous egocentric hero you had to go for the one that could make or break you. But caution precedes your moves so you watch her from a distance, you begin going to get your finger nails done and getting weekly haircuts. All this but deep down you know you are not ready to ask her out, not yet because you have so much negative energy clinging onto to you irrefutably from your past. So you watch her go with the other guy, the guy you kill countless times in your head but he is not to blame, you are not to blame either, life is just unfair. The only smart move is to wait patiently as you hope one day probably the day before the apocalypse everything will fall into place and you will walk into the sunset with her, beautiful, brown girl in a pink hoodie. Indigo.

These are the reasons the photograph caught my eye last weekend. Mr Njenga senior and I took a drive to upcountry to visit an old home. Earlier he had tried to explain how we were related saying that his dad, my grandpa, may his soul rest in peace, and the owner of that home shared an aunt or uncle, not really sure if that what he said but you get it, very distant relatives. The home was deep into the interior of the rich Agikuyu lands in Nyandarua County. The kind of place the car gets stuck thrice midway and you find some very welcoming locals who offer aid willingly to push the car out of the mud. For a moment you are grateful as you see them enthusiastically push your car off the gutter but then once they are done they look at you with demanding eyes, they want to get paid! So, Mr Njenga chucks a one thousand note, am pretty sure he was looking for a smaller note but unfortunately the one with four figures had to show up first. He hands them the note and with a smile suggests that after such a good job they should go grab a cup of tea, you know how Kikuyu’s love green tea.

I wandered off, I was just about to begin telling you of this photograph. It had two ladies smiling, one was a very beautiful attractive young woman, very modern on her early twenties and the other one had to be the grandmother. That’s not all, the very beautiful young lady, let us call her Njoki because she is probably my cousin, was in a graduation gown. Black, extra-large with blue stripes at the collar gown the one they lend you with at the university after four or five years of your course and make you pay for it. Both ladies were smiling and looked very happy even the grandmother who is in her early eighties.

The other photos in the house dated back to the nineties but this one dated back to two or three years ago. One look at Njoki in the photograph said it all, this was a new age. The old age was handing over to the new age. The old age where ladies stayed home to wash the dishes and do the laundry was over now. In this new age these ladies who would have stayed home are bringing redemption to their families. After deep thought I decided not to ask our hosts about this photo and instead make all the possible conventions about this photograph. Therefore I thought of the rainbow.

Of the seven colours of the rainbow my situation concurs with the colour Indigo. How many times do folks say, ‘I have a new indigo handbag’ or ‘Lil Wayne bought his daughter a brand new indigo Lamborghini’. The answer is none which is sad considering, red is for roses, blue is for boys, orange is for oranges and so on. Each time Indigo is singled out and relentlessly desolated. Out of seven possibilities, the chance for colour indigo to be picked is zero which is erroneous even in probability mathematics.

Indigo is my colour of the seven in the rainbow. It reflects utter despondency which often happens to us in life. Loneliness, heartbreaks, failure and betrayal only to mention a few. But Indigo is not all sad, redemption, success and achievements are also represented by colour indigo. Whenever you stand out from the rest good and bad alike of which the others seem inclined not to understand then be glad because in the million past millenniums that has been the sixth colour of the rainbow.

March Edition Blogathon Challenge
Seven Shades of Love.
#RainbowLove

The Writer:

Dennis Peters
Dennis Peters

Author: Dennis Peters

When I was I younger, my mother told me not to do drugs. She said something about addiction and it sounded so distant. I never did drugs, instead, I read and wrote and I still got addicted. Now I am here, and you are here too because we have to be here and there is nothing we can do about it. | ©Dennis Peters.

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