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She had weird names. Even her english name was a little altered from the norm. She said she was Ugandan. She was tinier than us. We were ten years old and in class five. She arrived a little later than us into the term. On the first day of her arrival, we took her around the school. I don’t remember who else we were with but I know that I was there with that beautiful new girl. On my first day in boarding school, I was scared. I didn’t even want to speak, lest I say wrong things. But she wasn’t any of that. She was talkative. Confident. And un-afraid. We finished showering at around 5 o’clock and went and sat somewhere waiting for supper. Her first supper in that school that is. The sun was just setting. I have always been taken in by sunsets. But anytime I remember that day, I’m not so sure if it’s the sun that excited me or her. She had that fresh energy vibes oozing out of her. And on she went on to tell me of her father’s 36 children. And her mother. And her step mother. And the other step mother. And the big house they lived in. They had come with one of her big sisters to school. The other one was in an international school somewhere. Time flew fast. Her sister went to high school and she was thus transferred. But we wrote each other letters. Hers used to come with some glittering things that used to stick on the paper. And some flowers drawn on the side. I’m not so sure whether even all the above information is accurate. But of what I’m certain, is how she made me feel. Of how I genuinely liked her. And how sincere and simple our friendship was. No complications. We were not even best friends. We were just friends, but that word meant every damn letter in it. We grew up, grew apart and adulting happened. After high school I found her on Facebook. We liked each other’s pictures and commented on almost all of them. There was some lady she was calling “wifey” and I remember not knowing what that meant, and feeling as if being a millennial, I should at least know the jargons of my times. The likes reduced. The comments disappeared. And years passed. I forgot about her. That’s a lie. I pushed her to the back of my mind. We got in touch with other primary school class mates. As is the norm in these times, we formed a Watsapp group. Sent each other pictures of what we look like nowadays. Someone sent a picture of us them days. Chatted for days, reminded ourselves of the hey days of our childhood. Planned a member’s baby shower. Some people attended. They had fun. The conversations reduced. Once in a while a meme would be posted in the group. A joke once in a blue moon. Last time I checked, the silence in there was so loud that even the air inside there can be heard moving. We let go. But my sunset was not in the group. I guess no one knows what happened or became of her. I would love to look for her and find if what we had can be re-ignited. I have changed and so has she. I don’t love freely anymore. And it takes ages to let someone in, not less than a day like we did. I’m suspicious of everyone and everything. You are guilty till proven innocent of I’ll motives or selfish interests. But I still wonder, what happened to her? Does she still have the brightest smile on earth? Does her back have the same scaled skin that it had due to being in an incubator when born? Does she still talk unreservedly? Does she still hope? In life, friendships, career? Is she as confident in new places and people as when I first met her? And you may wonder why I have just unarchived her right now. A lady I follow on facebook, has just posted on how she misses some two cousins of hers that they met when she was young. And people are telling her to find them and tell them how much that little time they spent together meant a lot to her. I have reservations on that. What if the person who lighted your world those days, does not even remember what transpired as vividly as you do? That to them you didn’t mean as much? Or is that right there ‘adulting’ talking? That you only love if you are sure you will receive it back? I don’t know. When I was young I was sure of so many things, now I’m not sure of anything. Except that, down in Kinangop, the place of the noisy wind as described here.
I only remember only one sunset. And I miss her.

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