Silver Patch II

Capture d_écran 2018-02-01 à 12.51.40 PM
Wax Prints

But women can put men in a net too.

Yeah they can, I mean we all can put whoever in whatever net we please..

Yeah, so I wonder why the story is so gender biased then…

That’s how we’re wired. We’re taught to think that way, I guess. I wonder if there are any stories in our society that paint vulnerability or compromise or suffering masculine…they’re all conveniently painted feminine, and I think this also puts some kind of pressure on men because they aren’t themselves. I imagine they go through the worst situations cos all this pressure makes it hard to be a man, I mean they’re human first before their sex comes into the conversation,..but I digress…

Yeah, I get you. I need to go though, we’ll talk later.

I could sense the irritation in Bibi’s voice. Her unnecessarily dry tone and the way she asserted the thought that men alone didn’t have the exclusive right of placing women in nets. We all can do it. She emphasized. You know I can put him in a net too right?!  I can get complacent too! Her voice broke and I knew she was probably already teary. I was wide awake now. Maybe the awfully cold analogy had triggered a nerve. Maybe she hated the depiction of vulnerability that came with the story. I’d gone and said the wrong thing with my big mouth. I wondered if this analogy had been the right move. I doubt Bibi considered herself some old beaten down and conquered saltwater fish. Though tense, I really couldn’t shake off the mental picture of Bibi in a net; – well she did kind of look like some creature to be quiet honest with that big head of hers. I stifled what would have been a resounding laugh.

Are you upset?

No, I just have a lot of things on my mind.

Well, I hope you keep in mind that you have the power to change your situation.

Yep, thanks, sis, I agree, goodnight.

She had hung up even before I could say goodnight back to her. I lay there looking at the ceiling and its white nothingness. I concluded that our minds were like this exact same white ceiling of nothingness. Imagine the ceiling remained unpainted for years. The colors or cobwebs that would form over the whiteness can be compared to our minds. Our cobwebs and cluttered minds fill with years and years of the reception of information. Good or bad. The information eventually determines whatever comes out of our actions and maybe lives. In retrospect, I’d heard a bunch of stories similar to the net story while growing up.

There was another one that told of a shimmery piece of fabric that wore and tore after constant use. The shimmery fabric was a person or more appropriately, a woman who had slowly and gradually lost her sheen from an abusive relationship. In the tale of the wax prints, the logic followed that the wax print would withstand the lashes of time if its owner was gracious enough to take excellent care of it. On the other hand, the wax print was destined to fade and whither if its owner forgot or worst still stuffed it in a drawer and went off in pursuit of newer print fabrics.

***

Bibi needed something, anything, and everything to distract and take her mind off the net man. She’d changed her WhatsApp display photo to an image with text that read; Starve your distractions, feed your focus. It was all too funny to react to. After the abrupt end of our last conversation, I preferred to let her be the one to come to me. I had to make sure to give her enough room to deal with whatever she was feeling. I decided I’d be kinder to her this time round. I had better have good things to say this time. No morbid fishes, no net analogies, no stupid references. I had to say something more meaningful, something more uplifting, something maybe cliché like oh everything will be just fine or something less implicating like oh give it time. I googled up ways to comfort or help a person going through a breakup. My search returned; Take walks, take up a hobby, go running. Utterly useless recommendations. The suggestions weren’t good enough.

Silver Patch I

Capture d_écran 2018-01-31 à 8.33.51 PM

One hour to midnight. I’m half asleep listening to my cousin cry about her boyfriend and how she isn’t so sure she can get over him. I have good intentions. A part of me is on the phone comforting her, another part of me is asleep and yet a third part of me is very frustrated with the situation my cousin is in. The man or boy is probably fast asleep or nestled in the warmth of another woman. Not to be entirely pessimistic but flashback to a couple of years ago I thought men and women or to put it quite right, people, could stay faithful and true. Times where we could attempt to raise glasses in a grand and bubbly hope of a happily ever after. I was wrong. People were selfish quite honestly, and no amount of science or providence could explain why or how we had things in hand and still had eyes on other things. I guessed her boyfriend loved/loves her but sort of feels she’s entirely in his grip. I blamed it on complacency. He’s become complacent, I breathed into the phoneI said this in a matter of factly way.  It was midnight after all, and no one had time to spare mincing words.

He feels there’s no need to keep trying. You’re in the net hun.

What net?

The net…

I rolled to a more comfortable position and tried to help her understand what net I was speaking of.

Haven’t you heard of that analogy?

No. I rolled my eyes in disbelief. She’d never heard of that analogy. Interesting.

Well, I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.

Tell me now.

Sigh…

Grandma always spoke of a man at sea who stood aboard his vessel with impatience and a fiery determination in his eyes. He was literally and figuratively hungry for fish. Fish, any kind of fish, big or small, silvery or dirty black, scaly or scaleless. Fact is, he had to return home with a big catch. The sea was boundless and dangerous and he knew he had to take his chance because there was so much more to gain. The gain outweighed the inconvenience. The vessel rolled lifelessly on the undulating current. The man’s gaze was indifferent yet expectant. He had a dirty cup in his big chapped hands. He drank slowly out of it while keeping his eyes on the vast body of water before him. He stayed transfixed until he suddenly let go of the cup. He shook his head several times and shielded his eyes with his hands. He had to see for himself if he was actually right! Fish! Fish! Oh my God Fish! There was fish! The proof was a shiny silvery patch in the water ahead. He sped ahead and threw his net with a great fuss. The silver-gold lay right beneath the water’s surface. He waited. Held his breath and stared. In a flash, he began, tugging his catch back on board. The fish jumped and tossed and wriggled and gyrated. The man remained nonchalant. He’d gotten his catch, after all, and that was all there was to it. He’d been at sea and in pursuit of the fish for ten plus hours, he’d been stressed out and frantic, yet the fish was safely in the net and the chase was over. Mission accomplished, it was time to move on.