The wheat field swayed in the winds from the north, pulsing like the beat of the earth’s heart while the sun reflected a luminous hue that warmed the tips of vegetation as far as the eye could see, as far as Aniya could for that matter. Aniya graced the field near her village when she needed to think, to sort out her issues, and more importantly to wait for her. “Wait for me where the sun gives life and the winds sing on the warmest of days, and I will be there in three years,” Aniya recalled the voice of her lover and friend Ona; conjuring images of her beautifully locked hair and smoothly continuous brown skin, and that scent; the efficacious effluvium of the oils she used in her dreads. Aniya stood in the whitest garment that complimented her body and sweetly allowed glimpses of her bare skin; her back dawned by the beauty of her long locks that escaped from the trap of the white scarf that cradled the thick stubbornness that her hair is. She felt the wind on her skin, cooling as it whipped past her playing in her ear the whispers of times to come, and the pollen from plants far off moves about her as if it were blessing her, wishing her the best of hope. The sun rained down her in praise while the dancing wheat seemed to be as happy as she was. Today, Ona would return.
Before this day, many summers ago, Aniya was simply a young woman, preparing to go to a university in her small Kenyan village a few miles away from Nairobi. The only difference between Aniya and the people around her was that she was in love with another woman. It was forbidden. ‘Lesbians are the scourge of the devil,” her mother would always say even after she was deep within the earth and recycled into the circles of life, replaying in Aniya’s nightmares. She walked along the lines of complete exile because of her love affair with the beautiful Ona. Aniya disregarded the dictations of her culture when it came down to Ona. She met Ona in the vital wheat fields near her home, unlike Aniya, Ona was not privileged and had to work in the fields to provide a living. Aniya’s family had a thriving clothing business in Nairobi; they lived in the village because they chose to, unlike most that were tied to this land like a child not cut from the extension of their mothers.
The notes from Aniya’s beautiful mahogany acoustic guitar hung in the fresh air like the heaviest cloud of happiness. Aniya would sit in the fields in the early mornings and sing and play to whom or whatever listened; even if the dank dew of the first clouds were the only thing present. But one particular morning, Aniya’s music was startled by a soft voice, “Prettier than a bird.” Aniya strums the wrong chord in her surprise and stumbles to her feet dusting herself off saying, “Hello, I thought that I was alone, forgive me for intruding if this is your work space.” Standing with a stoic silence, Ona simply nodded and stared deeply into Aniya’s eyes. Ona had these deep dark scorpio eyes, they inhabited Aniya, capturing her beneath their intensity, speaking to her. Aniya’s body quivered, under Ona’s demeanor. “I have to go. My father is expecting breakfast…” Aniya stammered to say trying to leave the realm of Ona’s glare. “Could we get together later this afternoon? There is this nice place I want to show you,” Ona gestures Aniya with her eyes once more. Aniya couldn’t say no.
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