The Dance of Self Love – A Short Story by Ndanu Jacqueline, Ken…

By Writers Space Africa Posted June 9, 2020 In Creative Corner, Short Stories

0

The day is slowly coming to an end, sun rays shine boldly into my living room and I take the moment to appreciate the warmth they come with. Filtering through the golden curtains in my studio apartment, they somewhat resemble golden showers and I can’t help but bask in the beauty of it all.

Kisumu has always been known for its magical sunsets, but this one seems intent on putting on a show. Oddly enough it’s eerily quiet outside, the neighbourhood children must have discovered another play spot. To me, however, the allusion is not lost, the sense of quietness and peace resembling the stillness after war. Only this time the war was within myself, and I am both the adversary and the attacker. Right now, I’m consumed by a sense of peace, which has felt alien in this body of mine, like an impromptu guest. I have had to try it out and break into it much like new shoes on the first few days.

I leisurely walk to my speaker, select a playlist and sweet notes of afro soul fill the room. Almost automatically, my hips sway to the beat; a joy that I’ve only recently acquired. You see, during war, every last available resource is spent on necessities for the sake of survival. I am no different. For me, joy was a luxury I just couldn’t afford, always an outlier in the budget of life. In the background, the beats get groovier, interrupting my train of thought and my whole body is compelled to join the dance, a celebration of life and victory. They say some of the hardest battles to win are the ones within. I had however fought valiantly, learning on the job with more failures than victories. There had been a few lost battles albeit the war was eventually won.

The music fades out as the song comes to an end and I find myself walking to the mirror. I gaze at the tall curvy dark-skinned female in the mirror, skin glistening from my dance earlier. At a height of 5`7, I had always towered over most girls my age. This however was not without fault. I always seemed to attract a wide variety of opinions: “too tall for a girl”, “can`t wear heels”, “maybe if you were shorter”.

My mind goes back to how shrunken the little girl within felt. I run my hands through my coarse hair firmly held in place in a short bun above my head. Years and years of straightening it had taken its toll. The damage had been almost irreversible save for its resilience, a trait I knew all too well. And this skin, beautiful ebony skin that had housed my body all these years, always glowing in the sun rays. How sad it is, that I spent so long fighting the war within, a completely senseless war.

I’m brought back to the present by the beats to my favourite song, and soon again, a smile lights up my face. My black silk dress swishes one way then another following the span of my curves, as I find myself breaking into dance once more. The sadness that earlier loomed on my head already vanishing into the air, nothing but a distant memory. I can’t help but pride in the woman I have become, the hard work that went into becoming her despite the odds stacked against her. Joy ripples in my chest, this moment is perfect. In the end, I have transformed from that quiet little girl to a confident self-loving woman.

Perhaps what I never anticipated is how much strength and beauty I would acquire in my transition.