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econd coat of gesso and had dried, I could begin sketching out the drawing.
I called my father using Skype and we had a quick chat about his campaign, which was closing in on the nomination meeting to determine if he would be the candidate. He was pretty confident but it was always possible that his opponent could drum up enough support at the last minute to win the most votes.
"How's that man of yours?" he said in his gravelly voice. "Is he treating you like a princess?"
"Daddy," I said, my voice chiding. "I'm not a princess."
"Isn't he treating you well? I'll have to speak with him…"
"Father, he's treating me wonderfully. But he's awfully busy right now, shadowing Michael Owiti, his boss. He's teaching two classes and will be taking on a surgical slate of his own. I'm taking an art class at the Nairobi Institute for Fine Arts. The instructor is an award-winning artist."
"That's great," he said, his voice sounding pleased. "I'm so glad you'll get the chance to work on your art. I was a bit upset when you didn't major in art when you went to Columbia."
"You were?" I frowned. "I thought you wanted me to take journalism."
"I wanted you to take whatever you wanted to take, but I thought it would be fine art. When you said you were thinking of journalism, I tried to encourage you. Like any good father is supposed to do."
"I always thought you didn't want me to study art."
"Of course I did. Your mother followed her passion and was happy because of it. I wanted the same for you, whatever your passion was."
It felt so strange even now to be talking to my father about following my passion. That he even said the word 'passion' surprised me. As a former Marine and as a judge, he was so gruff and business-like most of the time. I had been misreading him all my life, certain he wouldn't understand me or what I loved.
"Can I have more than one passion?" I said. "I love art, but I also love to write."
"You can have as many passions as you want. Follow the one that feels the most urgent. The others will wait."
I nodded, smiling at his image on my laptop screen. His face was a bit grey, but maybe it was the lighting on his side.
"Are you feeling well?"
He pursed his lips. "A bit exhausted, as you can imagine. All this political bullshit, excuse my French, around keeping the base happy has me frustrated, but we'll get through this and onto the election soon enough."
"Take it easy, Daddy," I said, a sense of unease filling me. "Try to get enough rest. You know Grandma had problems with her heart." I thought of his mother, a tiny woman who had a series of heart attacks in her forties that left her with a failing heart and an early death in her sixties.
"My heart is like a racehorse's, so don't you worry your pretty little mind. I had a stress test and it was fine." He struck a pose, pressing a fist against his forehead to show his bicep. Then he laughed and turned back to the screen.
"If you say so," I said, unable to keep a smile from my face. "But you should still get plenty of sleep when you're under so much stress."
"Has Drake converted you into a nurse, my dear?"
I laughed. "No. This is your concerned daughter talking."
"I'll try," he said, making a face of disgust for a moment. "Elaine wants me to do yoga, of all things."
"You? Yoga?" I said and laughed out loud at the image of my father on a yoga mat in Downward Dog pose. "The world will surely self-destruct if that happens."
"You'd think so, but I did some meditation the other day so who can say what I might try now. Granola. Hemp seeds. Organic tofu, for Christsake."
I smiled at him and he smiled back.
"I miss you, Daddy. Give Elaine a hug for me."
"I miss you, too, sweetie. Say hello to that man of yours and give him a hug for Elaine and me. Love you."
"I love you, too."
I closed the window and sat back, smiling, a feeling of warmth flooding through me. Things were so much better with my father now and I owed it all to Drake. He made me see my father through different eyes – through the eyes of a grown man who needed a father-figure when his own father died. What I saw was a man with a very busy life and a family of his own, who took Drake under his wing, regardless. Who thought highly of me and who tried to protect me during my most vulnerable times when my mother died and when I came back from Africa with PTSD. Who only tried to encourage me when I expressed an interest in anything.
