Self-Exile in Lunawa

The Boy in the Grand Rest House -

Perched in his room, the boy watched the train station’s endless hustle, where whistles harmonised with the sea’s whispers. Each note was a poignant echo of his retreat, a forced sabbatical in the face of neighbourhood chatter.

The ghost of last year’s exams loomed over him, a grim reminder of the chaos that had engulfed his boarding days. His academic dreams, once ablaze with possibility, now flickered dimly. The charm of balance sheets and financial ledgers lured him from the monotony of secondary school sciences. Yet, his lacklustre performance fettered his collegiate aspirations to delve into the accounting world.

In a quiet act of rebellion against the prying matrons of his community, whose interest in his future surpassed their concern for their own children, he fortified himself to confront the exams again. This was not a performance for their satisfaction but a personal quest for redemption. He refused to give the porch-dwelling spectators the pleasure of witnessing his departure for school; he would deny them the spectacle. They might assume his past failure, but his pride prevented him from correcting their misconceptions. His journey was his own, and their expectations would not define him.

From his window, the boy surveyed the world beyond his uncle’s opulent rest house. His belongings were scattered, a testament to his newfound independence. The room boasted two double beds, a luxury for one accustomed to sharing cramped quarters with his family. In this expansive space, he revelled in the solitude that home had never provided. No longer under the watchful eyes of neighbours, he could savour the simple joy of being alone, unobserved, and completely himself. This was his sanctuary, a place where he could nurture his dreams and forge his own path.

In the quietude of his room, the boy found his solitude pierced by the presence of the waiters. These were no strangers; they were kin, distant yet bound by blood, hailing from humbler roots. His uncle, a paternal cousin had chosen to employ these village youths over market hires. Among them was the uncle’s wife’s younger brother, who, buoyed by familial ties, assumed the airs of an assistant manager in this vast rest house.

The boy, naive to the subtle intricacies of family hierarchy and influence, became the centre of their world. They vied for his favour, eager to converse with someone from a more prosperous branch of the family tree. They jostled to attend to his needs, be it serving meals, laundering clothes, or refreshing linens. And the boy, basking in the glow of their attention, willingly indulged in their company.

Each morning, the young lad would rise and join his uncle and aunt for breakfast in the dining hall before setting out for school. His journey spanned over twenty kilometres, involving a train and bus ride that lasted upwards of an hour to reach his examination venue. He adhered to his father’s wisdom, believing a mind should rest for a full week before any major test rather than cramming at the eleventh hour. Yet, study sessions were foreign to him, as his innate talents negated their necessity. Rather than pore over textbooks, he revelled in the guesthouse’s ambience, basking in the attention showered upon him and savouring the meals prepared for visitors — all without cost. For the boy, it was akin to a vacation. He felt like a royal.

After his final exam in Kotahena, the boy would embark on a familiar journey: a bus ride to Maradana rail station, followed by a train heading south to Lunawa. His routine was precise, ensuring he arrived at the rest house by two in the afternoon. A sense of accomplishment washed ay as he reflected on his performance. His hard work was paying off, and his proficiency was evident, especially in English, Art, and Applied Mathematics. His knowledge in Religious Studies also shone through.

Upon his return to the rest house, a sense of anticipation hung in the air. The waiters, who had become his silent cheerleaders, eagerly awaited his arrival. They had taken care to launder his clothes and refresh the linen, transforming his room into a sanctuary of cleanliness and order. The boy’s presence ignited a friendly competition among the waiters, each vying for the honour of serving him. A hot meal was promptly presented, and the boy couldn’t help but bask in the warmth of their attention, a welcome reward for his academic endeavours.

As the clock struck four, the rest house settled into a hushed stillness. The bustle of lunchtime guests had faded away, leaving behind a tranquil atmosphere. It was during this lull that the waiter lads would trickle into the boy’s room, each taking their turn.

With a mix of reverence and mischief, they shared tales of the guests — mostly couples — who sought brief refuge within the rest house walls. The rooms, they said, were havens for whispered promises and stolen moments, though the boy was too innocent to grasp the depth of these encounters. Nevertheless, he listened, his imagination painting pictures from the fragments of stories he was told.

As the final bell rang, marking the end of the exams, the boy stepped out into the freedom of the afternoon with a sigh of relief. His steps quickened as he made his way home, eager to leave the stress of the examination hall behind. The neighbourhood mamas, ever watchful and curious, were usually quick to notice the comings and goings of the young ones in their vicinity. Yet, this time, they were none the wiser about the boy’s academic endeavour and how he tricked them.

He had taken the exams once more, a fact he guarded closely like a secret treasure. As he walked past the mamas, their eyes followed him, questions forming in their minds. But the boy was swift, his presence fleeting like a breeze that left no trace.

It wasn’t until he was spotted at the local market, picking up groceries for his mother, that the mamas saw their chance. “Where have you been, young man?” they inquired with a mix of sternness and concern. Without hesitation, the boy replied, “I was on holiday with my uncle.” His tone was casual, his face an unreadable mask. The mamas paused; their curiosity piqued but not satisfied. They nodded and let the matter rest; for now, though, his secret was safe.

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