“Yes my name is Alexander Bowe” he says again.

“And I am your fine arts teacher” he resumes walking towards the board. And then writes in capital letters

“Alexander Bowe”.

He turns around after placing the marker on top of his desk. We are currently in the biggest hall that is owned by the school of arts, studying the legendary course, the only course without a number as a code. “Fine arts”

He claps his hand twice like he is trying to wake us up.

“As we all know. This course is a major course.” He walks down the podium and then into the crowd.

“This is a course that puts you in your place, you will have the opportunity to submit your works in an anonymous way” he turns around and then walks behind the second row.

“I handle two things. Drawing and painting” he smiles then laughs, nodding his head he continues.

“I don’t know why we are many this year. Because you see, most students flock to poetry, and pottery. So...”

“I would love to say I am so happy to meet you, and I hope we will be best of friends” he begins walking towards my position, and I become cautious, because my encounter with teachers have been ruthless so far, who knows what this lecturer would say. As he reaches my side our eyes connect, and I have to say, he is a fine man. His mouth clips shut as he stares at me, eliciting murmurs from the students in the hall.

But after a few moments of staring at each other he nods at me and then walks out of my view.

“Painting is a little bit similar to drawing, but they definitely aren’t the same thing. To me, at least”

“But here is what you need to know for now… they both are all forms of art. And art is a method of expression” I nod my head in agreement with what he says because I definitely understand him.

An hour and half later the hall is clear of any student, as the school announced in the morning. Starting today the preparations for the graduation/convocation of the law students of the University of Koura 2023/2024 session will commence.

So prior to the announcement students begin flooding the school gate, and I am no exception.

***

As I drop the last of the ice cube into my juice a content smile appears on my face. “Home sweet home” I say. The door opens, and my mom walks into the room looking so dehydrated, with her suitcase in hand she walks fast so as to reach the chair and slump, as her back touches the small sofa I pat her welcome and walk to the kitchen to get her a glass of water.

“It’s so good to be home Kat” she says as she massages her ankles.

I take the cup of water from her and drop it on top of the stool beside her, by the seriousness of her face I could tell she has something to say. I walk down to where she is currently sitting and squat in front of her.

“What’s wrong mom?” I ask.

“You will have to meet with some of my superiors Kathy” mom says while holding my hands, I could see the tears clouding her eyes. “And we are losing the house Kathy” her sobs becoming louder each passing moment. I begin wiping her tears; I can fell tears pricking the back of my eyes. I hate it when she cries; last I saw her cry was when she lost two of my sisters. She cried for up to a week.

“I so much wanted to give you the best, and I had that dream for you” she pauses looking dreamily at me. She smiles like she is thinking of a happy moment. “I used to dream you would be that first black to speak up for blacks, you know like Mandela” she says thoughtfully, a smile blessing her face.

“But I guess it’s all going so wrong” she buries her face in her hands, and oh boy I wish I can stop my own tears from flowing. “Apparently your dad was making some research, and it was costly enough to mortgage the house” she pauses; at least that I can understand.

“So what are you trying to say then?”

“I don’t know how else to tell you this Kathy but…” she begins to rub my hands making them feel warmer than it was minutes back, and as she bends her head i begin to feel her sadness, and worry.

“I think at this point we are the victim” she raises up her head and smiles at me, her wrinkled collar coming into view, oh how much I would love to swallow all her pain. Isn’t it better for me to just give up, what’s the use of being the only black person in your country when all you consider as important to you is being targeted.

“I’m so sorry honey” her tears begins to wet my cloth, forming a patch around my knee, even the mucus coming out of her nose seems to find a home on my cloths.

“Its okay mom, it’s okay” I begin to console her.

“Maybe we can make money off of my painting” I say. Immediately her head shoots up,

“What did you just suggest?” she asks me, her face quizzical. “I could use my pen name” her face immediately drops, making her lips look dry and somewhat dehydrated.

“I never planned for it to get to this… I didn’t even plan for the death of your father”

“I’ll make it up to you okay; just don’t try to think no one has your back, because I think of you all the time."

“I need an Advil or at least a pain killer” I peck her nails and then get up from my former position.

“I know this is your way of telling me goodnight, and whatever talk we just shared is over. I know” her laughter erupted like it usually does, soothing every fiber in my being.

“You know me so well darling” she counters while getting up.

“I better have some rest. Goodnight” she says giving me a peck.

And with all might and happiness I bounce up the stairs and into my room.

Please if you are a reader, I would like to know when its most suitable for me to post chapters. Please my lovely readers I need your support in order to be motivated to go, please share this book if you can, have a splendid day.