Jack stood quietly at the counter in the office at Kiambogo.
“No. Tigoni-529, not 59” – Jack repeated again to the operator who was trying to connect him by phone to a house in Limuru, Kenya. As he waited for a connection, he wondered why it was “Tigoni-529’ and not ‘Limuru-529’ – he knew she lived in Limuru, and Tigoni was the next town over – 'it's another one of those African things', his mind wandered - he felt helpless. The operator didn’t speak good English, and Jack didn’t speak Swahili. It was a painful process, but in 1975 – it was the only way to make a phone call in the hill country of Kenya.
“No. Tigoni-529, not 59” – Jack repeated again to the operator who was trying to connect him by phone to a house in Limuru, Kenya. As he waited for a connection, he wondered why it was “Tigoni-529’ and not ‘Limuru-529’ – he knew she lived in Limuru, and Tigoni was the next town over – 'it's another one of those African things', his mind wandered - he felt helpless. The operator didn’t speak good English, and Jack didn’t speak Swahili. It was a painful process, but in 1975 – it was the only way to make a phone call in the hill country of Kenya.
"It's ringing" she said, and handed the phone to Jack. He stretched the long black cord as far away as he could, inching toward the far wall of the small office here at Rift Valley Academy. The 2 ladies behind the counter could hear every word he said - nothing was private here. He heard them giggle as he awkwardly tried to muffle his voice into the big black receiver of the old phone.
Jack, now just 16, a boy – was desperate to hear her voice – one
more time before the day ended. He only
had 4 shillings to his name, and this was taking 2 of those shillings, so he
didn’t want to waste time talking to an operator.
When Jill picked-up the phone, the conversation
started. But ended, too soon. They both had fumbled over words, not able to
complete entire sentences without those uncomfortable pauses –
teenagers falling all over themselves to say just the right thing – but not
doing well at saying anything at all. Still – they
spoke, and Jack now had enough energy and hope to get him to the next day. It was school break – a month of separation,
and Jack’s heart ached. It was just too
long to wait. He had to see Jill soon.
Jacks father had a car, but it was difficult to drive the
distance – the rains had come, the mud was thick, besides, what would they do,
even if they did get a chance to meet before the next semester started?
“Hi, yes it's me again. Can you ring-up Tigoni-529?” – he
asked the operator at Kiambogo the next day. "No, 529, not 59". His
last 2 shillings.
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