Waterways

Our souls, like waterways, reveal themselves in gradations of being: there are streams—crystalline and clear, where sunlight shines through to the shimmering stones beneath the surface; and there are rivers—tempestuous in their temperament, and as you traverse their serpentine paths, you can find both rapids that roar and a silent stillness somewhere that, if you stare long enough at it, you may see all the way through. And then there are oceans—vast and deep. They may be young in age, but have already lived for a lifetime, and they may seem old, yet the eternity that they have endured passed by in a mere moment. These souls are an eternal mystery, whose depths defy measurement, whose spirits shroud secrets far beyond our comprehension, and whose waves of expression can simultaneously caress and consume.

Okra was none of these. She was a whole universe—a living, breathing universe, encompassing streams of consciousness, rivers of emotion, oceanic depths of contemplation and planets of unexplored potential. Each morning, she unveiled new celestial landscapes within herself. As the scalding waters of a broken shower-head ran down her skin, she would release mellifluence from her lips, transforming her favourite songs into enchanting music and her little bathroom into a majestic amphitheatre drowning in the rain.

And as she dried herself in the sun, sat on her small balcony that overlooked the concrete jungle below, she would sketch away the terrible feelings that would well within her with a cheap B2 pencil, trapping them within a masterpiece that she would soon crumple and toss away to the streets far below. As she pranced towards her kitchen, she would twirl like a world champion figure skater and fling her frail limbs about like a martial artist, compelled by the music blasting through her Focal Utopia headphones. With everything she did and everything she touched, Okra always exuded unexpected brilliance. By nightfall, she would have unfurled an immense constellation of talents, nebulae of obscure knowledge, and uncovered mysteries so profound they remained unnamed, still waiting to be discovered by the world.

Seated in a little café, far from home, her delicate frame seemingly fragile, headphones enveloping her as usual, a long-forgotten cup of tea growing cold beside her—she appears as merely another common urban silhouette, like any other city girl, tethered to some distraction on TikTok. But those who would but look at her for more than a glance, and only if they possessed some powers of perception, may determine that she was a entire universe, compressed into the form of a Kenyan girl.