Hidden Dream – Episode 1

Hidden Dream – Episode 1

A Story By Tisa Phiri

I looked at the books laying in front of me.. I really wished I could feel even a slight inch of desire to read what was in them but I just couldn’t.. how do I get to read the books when whatever was written in them didn’t make any sense to me. In fact I sometimes thought the words written inside those pages danced around in my eyes every time I tried to focus and read them.

Giving up, I stood up and grabbed a Music player before me on the other side of the table.. I plugged the head sets into my ears and tuned on the volume as i stood.

Now this is the feeling… I smiled to myself as I raised my hands up and did some slow moves following the beats of the song playing softly in my ears..

I danced around my room like my life was complete. It was the best feeling ever, to always do what I loved the most. In the moment I was being my true self. Nothing hidden, nothing fake, the real me and I loved the feeling.

Humming to the lyrics, I moved about extending my arms and holding my imaginary girl dancing with me. She smiled as she slid down and did her moves and i followed suit. It felt home…

I was lost in my own world dancing gracefully with my eyes shut and my lips mimicking the song, that I didn’t realise that my mother was watching me. .the next thing I felt was a hot slap on my chick which made me jump.

As I turned to face where the interruption came from, I froze when I came face to face with my angry woman who starred at me with so much diappointment. I felt my knees go weak.

Here we go again, I thought to myself as I carefully removed the headsets and placed them back on the table as my mother’s gaze kept on me.

“Jared”, she started calmly, “my son”. She paused making sure her first words got deep inside me. I was sure she was wishing I wasn’t her son and the words were a consolation to herself hoping if she said it so many times she would come to terms with the fact that she gave birth to me, Her dull and unreasonable non dreamer of a child.

“How many times have we warned you to stop that stupid dancing of yours and concentrate on your studies?” she yeld, and I knew it had begun again.

I slowly sat back at my chair and looked down. Hoping that she would at least understand me. But I was wrong. Even after looking like an apologetic lunatic, she still went ahead and started yelling telling me how I was a disappointing child who couldn’t study and pass like my sisters.

She scolded me and told me all the failing I had gone through.. clearly stating how I failed grade 9 more than 2 times and how she had fought hard to make sure I only managed to get a certificate to grade 10 after she practically bought leakages for me, just to make sure my father never kept his threat of throwing me out of the house if i failed again.

She reminded me of how she and my father spent a lot of money to ensure that I went to a good school. She ranted about so many things so much that her voice pierced my eye drums and got to my nerves.

I couldn’t talk back so I decided to hum some song in my mind to avoid hearing the rest.

Not that I didn’t want to hear it but because she had told me the same words over and over again. I could even say them back word by word.

She frowned as she stopped and looked at me.

“If you fail your grade 12 this time.. theres nothing left for you in this house. We won’t spend any more dime on you. You better think about this cause we are tired Jared,” she added before storming out angrily.

I looked at the door she left open and saw my little sisters laughing and making faces at me. “Woohoo” Nina whispered at me and made a face.” Dull” She shouted and ran back before I could stand to slap her stupid face.

My sisters where very inteligent. Nina was in her 11th grade a year behind me and she was doing so much better in her studies. Sometimes she even helped me with my homework, of course after I paid her to.

She was very brilliant and it hurt that my parents clearly favoured her and my other sister Tina who was in her 9 th grade.

The two were so different. They easily passed even with little effort and I didn’t just understand how they did that. I tried all I could to study, I paid attention in class. But for me at the end of the day, all I got where 9s and I had over time lost all hope of ever passing.

What I loved the most, no one seemed to understand nor accept.

I was a dancer.. I loved to dance with everything I got. The sounds of music was my very drive. But everyone i tired to tell that would clearly display displeasure and remind me that, that wasn’t to take me any where in life.

“It is a damb thing for a man to love dancing,” my friends would tell me. “Just get yourself to study man, Its your best chance at life especially in out country they would say.”

So I decided to keep my mouth shut and never bought up the issue again.

I could only dance when I was alone in my room or hiding in the school abolition Block when everyone was in class.

I had not realised I had been staring at the biology text book in front of me for moŕe than 2 hours. not really studying, but lots of thoughts running in my mind, my own thoughts tormenting me to the core.

I pushed back the chair as I noticed that it was past 22 hours. Slowly I walked out of my room to the kitchen. I just realised I had not eaten my meals that evening and the stings of hunger started having an effect in my stomach.

I passed through the living room ignoring my father who was plugged in the couch, his legs on the coffee table as he watched the soccer game.

One look at the screen, I could tell it was his team, Arsenal playing with some team I didn’t want to know.

He stopped me just as I by passed him.

“Jared!” He called out making me to freeze in my steps. The thing with my father was that, he was a very strict man and had a certain way of life he wanted me to adopt. He was a colonel in Zambia Air Force and most of the times I noticed how he brought his military thing home.

To say the least, I feared the man more than I loved him. He was exceptionally harsh with me. Stating his reasons of me being a man and so expected to lead by example to my sister’s.

“I asked you a question boy!” I heard my father speak up.

Um am sorry dad, I quickly apologised and I could see his eyes looking sharply at me.

“What is wrong with you boy? ” He asked firmly..

“You are always upset minded and never pay attention to anything. Am talking to you and you are busy day dreaming!” he shouted.

Am sorry sir, I starttered.

“There you go again.” He frowned.

“You are always sorry, But you always end up doing the same thing, tell me son,” he continued. ” What are you sorry for?”

I slowly sat down knowing if I didn’t do so another ballock of why i was so disrespectful would follow.

Am sorry for not paying attention I responded, almost in a whisper..

From the corner of my eyes I saw him move in his seat and I knew I wasn’t going to have my meal which I so much desired any time sooner.

I saw the game on TV going on half time and I prayed to God that time could Fly so that the game would begin and I would be saved.

“You are turning 19 this year, mind you” my father continued.

” this year you are sitting for your grade 12 exams and I don’t want anything to do with failing, you have to work hard at school like your sisters. Put in your best and pass and then I can assure you, you will go to whatever university in this country and I will get you that car you want” he added..

” make sure you make me proud son. You are growing and we won’t be happy seeing you play around instead of working hard at school. We grabbed the phone from you so that you can conctrate in studying. Am I being clear? ” he asked me.

Yes father I nodded.

” Now I will pretend I didn’t hear stories of you doing some stupid dance in this house and always playing some music. That is no way for a Zimba.” He warned sternly.

“You can go” he indicated with his hands as the game was starting again.

I smiled in my heart. Wow, thank God I thought, now I can finally eat.

I quickly warmed the food from the refrigerator and walked back to my room making sure I was as silent so as not to disturb my father.

Slumming the door to my room and almost regretting as I waited to hear my name called out for another rebuke for making noise.

I stood with my plate waiting to hear ” Jared!” But when a couple of minutes passed I did a quick way of the cross thanking God for saving me that minute.

My name is Jared Zimba, son of Colonel Jared Zimba Sr. The first born in a family of 3. My mother is a banker and my sister Nina is the second born doing her 11th grade at Rodes Park school.. Our last born is Tina in grade 9 also at Rodes Park. I am a grade 12 pupil at Lusaka West School in Lusaka.

My family has everything we need. The best looking vehicles, our house which lots of people refer to as a mansion is in Lusaka West.

We have maids and garden workers so I barely get to do any work around the house.

We are the envy of a lot of people. But dispite having all that around, am a very unhappy child.

If I say am sad it’s an understatement, Am deeply saddened and depressed.

This is my life story and you will know why am unhappy…

Is there chance for me to make It? Is there anything like achieving your dreams in this life or its just a metaphor people use to wish for the best in their lives?

How can you be happy doing what everyone expects and neglect your true dreams and passions..

Well, follow my journey of life and answer the questions for yourself..

To be continued

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