The millet garden

Nadunga was the perfect girl. The gap in her upper teeth gave her the look of a princess, her not-so-bulging curves would turn even the most impotent of men on. Her catwalk needed no red carpet, it accompanied her to the well, forest and even pit-latrine.
If her looks sent you crazy, her voice would leave you in a trance. Unlike other girls in Namabasa village, whose pre-occupation was gossip and many times discussing the size of the men’s manhood or lack of it, Nadunga only opened her square lips to utter sense.
You can therefore understand the envy among the other boys of Namabasa Secondary School; when Nadunga chose me as her boyfriend. The battle to win Nadunga’s soul had begun four years ago when we joined Senior One. By then, she had all the features of a belle and the four years had only refined them. Looking at her now, one would see copper ore that had gone through the flame to end up into pure metal.
I was in the crowd of boys who did all that they could to at least get her attention---even if it only meant attracting her smile. Unlike my friends who were gifted in height, I was very short—compelling most of my friends to describe me as down-to-earth.
But I was above the surface when it came to the mastery of English Language. Whereas most of my friends had had their primary schooling in the village, I had studied at Fairway Primary School in the middle of Mbale town. I spoke with an accent that mesmerised the village kids. My English received similar attention like Nadunga’s beauty.
But that was not a straight ticket for me. It had taken three years of making passes and offering my packed lunch, usually busima and malewa, to finally get real audience with Nadunga. And when that came, in the first term of S4, I had spoken in a manner that would shame Mark Antony.
“My heart bleeds for your love,” I had started the conversation conducted under the mango tree. “Your looks have sent electric waves down my spine. For the past three years, I have been a silent sufferer of your good looks. Admit me into your heart and I promise to forever make it flourish.”
She replied: “You look good. I love your English even if I don’t understand what you say. You can become my man but let me not see you with other girls.”
It was the best feeling I had since I had been able to withstand the surgeon’s knife two years ago during my rite of passage to manhood.
But the real quest for Nadunga had not been in her company. I would listen in amazement as boys talked of how they had floored girls, how the girls would scream in the millet gardens as they made love.
My craving to make love to Nadunga grew by the day.
one evening I gathered courage as we munched at the roast maize I had carried for lunch. “Sweetest of hearts---my inner soul longs to mate with yours,” I began.
Looking at me with a blank stare, she asked, “What do you mean?”
“I want to make love to you,” I said this with utmost difficulty.
She promised to think about it and give me feedback.
The following Monday, she walked to me and told me to prepare—for the coming Friday would be our big day. Nadunga was finally letting me take her virginity. I quickly made it a point to brag to my friends, we even agreed on a common venue so that they would hang in the neighbourhood and watch me make the conquest.
The venue was a millet garden near school. At exactly 2pm that Friday, I walked to the garden. I dashed to the corner I had agreed to meet Nadunga.
There she was lying with her legs spread. I fidgeted with my shorts, just as I finished removing them; I saw the black object slide slowly near my foot. God! It was a snake. I did not have the time to pull up my shorts. “Help! Help!” I screamed as I dashed off, not giving Nadunga a second look. My friends jumped from their hide-outs and also ran like madmen. We ran towards the school and it is only when I got to the school football pitch did I realise I was naked. By this time, the whole school had come to see the cause of the noise. I never spoke to Nadunga again.