Days of many awaited days had come. It had not been easy. The journey that is. It was gruelling. It was tough, the beginnings was not easy. The first one did not sell, though the third was a banger, after that it was rise after rise. Win after win, growth after growth.
When he remembered where he started, it sort of made him cry. Tears of joy that is. It did not begin well, he tried to come up with one but nay, everything it was a failure. He learnt his ways, he learned from one who was in the business and was told that there was a need to read a particular book to know the ways.
He learnt of reducing characters, of making the outlook look pretty and amazing. Poetry became easy, that was natural. It was as if tap tap of the shoes and there behold a piece, fluent as a flute performance from an award winning professional.
Scary it was, would it be the one, would it be this? Twenty five years since he decided to write and it reached to this. The penultimate, the prize at hand, the biggest that it was. He carried a lot of weight. Born from a marginalized community from where he came from, trending the ways and still making it big, to such a name recognised. Money came from that also, but this was expected and dreamt, now it was here. It had come, a nomination to Nobel Peace Prize for Literature. He carried the weight of his family, community, county and country at the back of him. The country had always lost its chance to grab the award.
He prayed before checking again the mirror to see if the suit was well in order. He walked out of the car with his wife shouldering the match to what we call a date with destiny. It had arisen, it has set, it is the start to a legacy written. Where for eternity his name would ring bells in the world book of history. For he did well, he grabbed it, the dream. It came, he chased it and caught it by the bear hands during the daylight sun.
He checked the streets as he was going there. It was normalcy, everybody was going on their business doing their things they knew best. A florist was arranging the flowers on his deck while the hamburger and ice cream vendor were serving their customers.
Five minutes it took before the place that where he was needed was reached. There where all would be written.
The event started with prayers, entertainment followed. Then it neared the date with history, speeches were done a little, then came the moment to name the person who won. Five were there, the names, but only one today would rule supreme. Who would it be?
Though seated, he looked nervous, the heartbeat was a quickie and his wife saw it maybe guessed it and hands were held to each other, supporting each other and fluidly flowing was the love between them.
“And now, the Award today goes to…”
Did he hear it right? It was his name being mentioned. He smiled while seated, his hand brazed the face to tune it and see that he was not dreaming. It was real. He then stood up and walked to the podium.
Cameras were at work, click click. He began his acceptance speech.
“ Thank you…”
“Wake up, wake up. It is Suhur, you have to eat to fast nicely.”
“Aah, bro, what is this?”
“I have woken you up, if you sleep again do not say I did not wake you up. Do not complain when the Ramadhan hits hard on you.”
Photo by Mateusz Dach on pexels.com
*Suhur: The time when Muslims eat early in the morning so as to begin fasting in the month of Ramadhan.
