One, two, three, four

One, two, three, four

Five, six, seven eight

Roba has set the tune, and the entire class is following. With their cheap metallic spoons, one other person hits the wooden part of the desk, while others the metallic parts. The rhythm widens to acquire a bass boost, and a little hum. With their feet, they tap. It has become a sort of synchrony. Even the chopis who pretended to be busy reading their books had their heads bobbling up and down. The whole class was in the groove. The beats, crafted by the spoons that they used to eat lunch, and the spoons that each one of them owned, or stole from somebody else. Spoons were such a crucial part of survival, and one moved around the school with his own spoon in his pocket. Lest, you leave it in your desk, and it finds a way of sneaking out of that very desk and into the hands of another. And after that, you would find yourself, struggling to grab that soothing hot piece of Ugali that will burn your fingers even before it reaches your mouth, and you won’t be able to write for the rest of the day. The spoon, is a weapon of war, with food of course, but also a means of war against a person. It is how you weaken a person’s resolve. It is how you control them, like a puppet. You would sleep with it, under your pillow, and you would take it to the field with you, and even to the washrooms, and even at home, because it is never safe outside the reach of your hands.

The groovy beats rise to a crescendo before OJ produces another smooth beat and the whole class follows, erupting into a sort of disco like trance. It’s all so orchestrated, a spoon symphony, and they all follow each other in dropping beats, Kanu, then CJ, then Niz. And before you know it, there are juniors peeping through one window, trying to observe this spectacle of beauty. And it’s not long before there are people who are surrounding the entire class, struggling to peep through the grilled Windows, shouting at the crazy beats.

Music, especially such of the random kind as that, was a way of letting loose, from the routine, from the daily rituals that drained the memory of one in this high school. It was such randomness that people craved, that people wanted, that people needed, and it would rock the school, till they were almost addicted to the beats, until they would lose track of time, and suddenly, all the pupils would scatter like chaff, because the Physics teacher had opened the door. There was silence, all of a sudden. The teacher looked at these pathetic students who all feigned this innocent face, and the students stared at the teacher, who had this condemning look. The day went on, as if nothing had gone down😅

5 thoughts on “Spoons

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