Chapter 11 | After

I guide Alex through a labyrinth of monorails and alleys, flying high over a line of matatus and boda bodas beckoning customers in high voices. When we pause at a traffic stop, I show him some of the important landmarks in New Nairobi. The Parliament House with its arched entrance and a clock tower so tall, it stands like a guardian keeping a watchful eye over the city. The Kenyatta International Conference Centre, an impressive slab of glittering glass and polished stone. The kaleidoscope of colors from Nadar Hanging Gardens, home to hundreds of botanical species indigenous to Africa. And the Jamia Mosque with its twin minarets and beautiful domes that glow silver in the sun.

When the traffic lights flash green, we keep moving. Alex tinkers with the radio, picks a channel broadcasting local music. The song is catchy and I recognize the lyrics. The desire to sing along builds within me, a bird of melody ready to soar high. I can't help but reminisce over our riding days in Scepter. When we weren't free-roaming across the Martian wildlands, guns blazing as we hunt down rare alien monsters to earn skill points and loot, we would go on leisure rides in the coastline of Hera, the most beautiful planet in the game universe. And sometimes we'd play music on our rides. I'd sing at the top of my lungs just to encourage Alex to join me. He was completely and hopelessly tone-deaf which often resulted in hilarious riding sessions.

"I've always wanted this," Alex says, his voice half-swallowed by the wind.

"What?" I freeze.

He slows down the hoverbike. "Spending time with you in person. This beats any virtual reality moment."

"Listen, Alex." My fingers squeeze the luggage rack. "Don't bring up the past."

His shoulders droop. "I'm sorry."

Every minute I spend with him returns a shade of our shared past. I don't want him to speak about it. It will make the past feel more real and ignite my anger and heartbreak. It's bad enough that I keep remembering things I shouldn't.

Just one day, Kelrina, I tell myself. You're already halfway through it.

But even though I tell myself that, a part of me is terrified of how fast time moves. I keep pondering if I should force Alex to tell me the truth or let it go. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss. 

"I see the park," Alex says, pointing at the entrance gate.

It takes us less than ten minutes to slip through the traffic, park our hoverbike and pay the entrance fee. With only five minutes left, the hoverbike will soon return to the nearest designated spot on autopilot, ready to serve a new customer.

Alex beholds Uhuru Gardens in all its splendor. Every monument in this memorial park is either a testament to the struggle for independence from the British reign in the Old Era or a mark of freedom and unity. There are couples, children and picnickers basking in the sun. We first stop at the independence commemorative monument, a twenty-four meters long pyramid-shaped column sheltering a pair of clasped hands that balance a dove of peace. Alex doesn't have his EyeCOMM on so I tell him what I know.

"On this spot, in the year 1963, independence was declared in Kenya." I run a hand over the dove. "Over forty thousand people gathered on these grounds to celebrate."

He stares at the monument in awe. "This is amazing. I feel humbled."

I smile. "Wait till you see the Fountain of Heroes."

We walk past a statue of freedom fighters raising the Kenyan flag, follow a cobbled path through a cluster of trees and emerge on an open courtyard. Twenty-one sculptures of famous freedom fighters stand at ten meters high, made of black polished granite. They circle a water fountain of a giant acacia tree. Plumes of water trickle from its branches.

"Whoa it's huge," Alex says, his eyes wide.

"That's Jomo Kenyatta, the first president of Kenya." I point at the statue of a bearded old man in a kofia holding a fly-whisk. "Let me show you something." I press a button beneath his feet. A hologram of a live Jomo Kenyatta materializes behind his statue, twice as tall.

"Our children may learn about heroes of the past. Our task is to make ourselves architects of the future," Jomo Kenyatta says.

Alex watches in wonder. We stop before a statue of Tom Mboya. His hologram shows a smiling man in a patterned shirt.

"There is no Superman," Tom Mboya says. "It's up to us."

"He was a brilliant politician," I say. "He advocated for better working conditions, helped create education opportunities for African students, promoted economic development and fought against tribalism."

The next statue is my favorite. The hologram reveals a woman in a white hando and a red scarf over her shoulders.

"That's Mekatilili wa Mwenza." I watch as she sways her hands and hips in a traditional kifudu dance. 

Alex tries to pronounce her name slowly. 

"Mekatilili was a woman who led a rebellion in the year 1913 and 1914 against the colonialists." I imitate her dance, feel my hands move in a haphazard manner. Alex laughs at my futile attempts. "She used to perform a funeral dance from one village to the next, attracting the crowd with her cries for traditional governance and the need to integrate her people," I continue. "She opposed land seizures, forced labor in the plantations and overtaxation. When the colonialists deported her to West Kenya, she walked all the way back to the Coast, facing deadly creatures and hunters in the forests, to continue with the resistance."

"Brave woman." Alex looks impressed.

I nod. "A true shujaa worth recognizing."

When we're done seeing brief glances of the famous freedom fighters, I buy some fruit salad from a vendor. We find a free bench on the terrace and settle down to eat.

"So where to next?" I ask as I stab a grape with a toothpick and take a bite.

Alex shrugs. "Doesn't matter as long as I'm with you."

I breathe out a sigh. "Alex..."

"I had this list." A pair of white rings glow over his irises. He has activated his EyeCOMM. "Take a look."

A projection of an online article appears before us. Alex magnifies it with a flick of his hand. It's an article with a list of places to visit in New Nairobi, written by some travel blogger who brags about having visited over fifty countries. "Uhuru Gardens. Sarit Centre. Village Market. Fortuna Mall. Nadar Holdings Entertainment Centre. Seriously what kind of a crap list is this? Eight out of ten places are malls."

He turns off his EyeCOMM, the list vanishing into thin air. His eyes return to their usual grey. "Why don't you show me some fun places? Just like old times."

I swallow back a sharp retort. I want to call him out for bringing up the past again but the look on his face is so hopeful. "Fine but no looking them up on the hypernet, you turd."

He holds his hands out in a peace gesture. "You have my word."

"We could start with the ostrich farm."

"Hell no. No more ostriches. You know what happened last time."

"Izze nawe. It wasn't that bad."

"It almost bit my face, Kelrina. My damn face."

I laugh. "It was only trying to peck you. Get it? Peck you."

"I know I'm hot an all but"—he stretches his arms above his head and leans back against the bench—"what kind of an ostrich tries to eat people?"

I shrug. "Fine, we'll go somewhere without ostriches."

"And malls," Alex says before plopping a strawberry into his mouth.

As we share our fruit salad, I watch a group of tourists taking selfies in front of the water fountain. A rustle among the shrubs snags my attention. There's a Sykes' monkey peering at us in silence. Drawn by the fruits, it scuttles closer. Alex leans down, offering a slice of mango to the monkey. It gives him a wary gaze, head inclined as if passing judgement on him and then the monkey darts a hand, snatching something shiny and metallic that had slipped from his shirt before racing into the cover of the trees.

In an instant, Alex rushes after the monkey, leaving me dazed and confused.

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So sorry for the long wait. When I sat down and made a proper Missing Stars plan, I finally got rid of my lack of inspiration. If you're still reading this after all the huge time gaps, thank you so much. Please don't forget to offer your support by voting and commenting.