It was raining heavily outside. Thunder and lightning were intermittently showcasing themselves as if competing for a show. A thundering roar, rattling like an atomic weapon, could immediately be followed by blinding flashes of lightning even before the roar hit the horizon walls. Lightning was dangerous, it killed people. Thunders too, they turned people deaf. An ice-cold storm grazed with a wide chilling girth across the earth, even as the ground leaked everywhere.
In the middle of the drama was the infamous, Rabuor. It was like nature was competing for his attention. They were calling him, cheering him, or maybe intimidating him. Unfortunately, they would never grab his attention because he was oblivious of everything.
He slept in the pool on the sidewalk, tired and deflated like a broken promise. Water entered his mouth and left at their own volition, almost suffocating his lungs. The cold kept sending its seismic bouts of chills through his skin. And the sky kept screaming at him. But Rabuor was lost into the world of indifference. He slept because his system was full of drugs and devoid of fear.
Rabuor had been a household name in his country, a hero at the sport he loved so much. Boxing. He was celebrated for his gusto, swift, and thrift when fighting in the ring. He was not only accustomed to winning; he was also entertaining to watch. A 6 feet 3 tall boxer, with a high speed and sharpness, it became an uphill task for the opponents to go against him and win.
It was his infamous signature punch that distinguished him. It could make an opponent run wild. Whenever he was in the ring, everyone waited for the moment he would unleash the Rabuor-left-hook punch. The media talked about him. People, out of curiosity, churned out conspiracy theories about its magic. He was the talk of showbiz and sport. Graffiti on the street, billboards, caps, and t-shirts bore his defining image.
Clout and fame followed him with grace, and he loved it. He was at the pick of his glorious life and the world had opened its doors into the room of charm, wealth, and celebrity. He had entered it and sat right on the high table. Money became his maiden name. He shook hands with the high and the mighty of his country. The president knew him, while other politicians adored and respected him. Traveling around the world was so frequent that it seemed places were screaming to meet him.
Now, aged 33 years, he had fought so many fights and won all of them. The only fight that people could consider his loss was a fight where he took six rounds before he floored the opponents. All the boxers who dared challenged him couldn’t muster any courage for a re-match. They had given him the respect because he had earned it.
But Rabuor couldn’t stay for long until he was challenged to fight by a young upcoming and little known boxer, Ong’wen. Ong’wen grew up watching Rabuor throwing his opponents to the floor in the second or third round of a fight. If an opponent sustained a fight with Rabuor to the fifth round, that opponent would receive acclamation not only from the commentators but also Rabuor himself. He was such a vicious boxer who never allowed an opponent to stay longer on his feet.
Ong’wen loved boxing; he was in fact, inspired by Rabuor to become a boxer. Importantly, he was craving for the fame and clout that Rabuor enjoyed. So he knew exactly what to do. He challenged himself to train and take the challenge to Rabuor’s doorstep. Of course, he began fighting other novice boxers of his cadre, and he reigned on them but those victories didn’t excite him as much. He was 6 feet 5, he ate well, and built huge arm muscles; and was only 21–full of vitality.
When Rabuor learned about a young man who wanted to take on him, he thought that would be his last chance to show his country that he was the king of boxing. In his grand plan, he wanted to retire thereafter. “I’ll floor the little boy, and call it to quit to the world of boxing,” he told the media. “I’ve made so much money and have carved my name with metals on the pages of history. This will be my last moment to append my grand signature on the blue skies, that I am the greatest.”
***
The day came, Rabuor entered the ring, looked Ongwen into the eyes, and felt something sneaky and strange. But he gathered courage and made up his mind to take him down quickly. So he started throwing vicious punches, all of which were blocked by Ong’wen. The fight went on to the third round, and Ong’wen remained on the defensive side as Rabuor came in with rains of punches. Ong’wen threw a few left punches, only he ensured Rabuor’s signature punch never caught him.
It was the ninth round and Ong’wen hadn’t shown any sign of fatigue or injuries, he was still full of strength. Unfortunately, Rabuor had never fought that long and people were waiting to see what could happen. It was evident that he had become fatigued. And the match entered the tenth round when the unthinkable happened.
For the first time, Ong’wen came to the offensive, attacked Rabuor with a left hook, landing right on his face, and made him go dizzy. He then gave him a straight-up strong right punch on his head. The king of boxing was thrown to the floor. He fainted. He was quickly attended to by the paramedics who rushed him to a hospital. And while the boxing king was being rushed to the hospital, that night, the little-known Ongwen tasted victory for the first time.
Days later, a revelation would follow that Rabuor suffered a serious concussion that interfered with his brain. It was only a matter of whether he would fully recover from it. Unfortunately, the hero’s mental health was gravely affected that he had to be admitted to the mental health hospital. Many fans from all walks of life came to visit him, but the person they met was different from Rabuor they knew. His mind and personality had totally changed.
After a few months in the hospital, he began to stabilize and demanded to be released. His wish was granted only for him to go out and throw himself into the rut of recklessness and misdemeanor. He would be in and out of police custody for reckless and drunk driving. He started using cocaine and became a truant. Rabuor entrapped himself into drugs and sex life and plunged his money into the sex spree.
The boxing association having learned of his recent lifestyle, stripped off his titles and Rabuor became a nobody to the world that knew and revered him so much. He started experiencing episodes of mental health problems, depression broke his door and took rein of his life. He became broke. He couldn’t earn anymore but he kept on spending on drugs and prostitutes until he was flat broke and sent out of his rented apartment.
Unfortunately, Rabuor had never invested any money, so when he lost, he lost it all at once. He was lonely. He was homeless and the friends he once had all departed with him. His life had been to the youths of his country, a noontide at twilight; and his youthful zest had given them dreams to dream. But a hero in the ring, a victor at the sport, was now losing his golden belt in the ring of life.
***
One evening after stuffing his body with so much cocaine, he laid in the trenches to blissfully sleep through his sorrow. It started raining, and in the lonely road, the boxer was rained on like a rug. He was tired and looked defeated. He could hear the thunder roar and the wailing storm though from a distance.
It seemed like nature was summoning him to cheer up, something that humans couldn’t. And water entered into his lungs, he sneezed and got up. The rain had stopped. He was in a pool of water, drenched. Out of the blue, a small Toyota car approached at a slow speed and the driver noticed a man dumped in the pool. He couldn’t figure out whether it was Rabuor, the famous boxer. However, he knew he was a human being who deserved help.
“Hello, are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m very very okay. Mind your motherf*cking business, son of a bitch!!”
The man wanted to drive off, but there was a female voice in the car who insisted that they should check on him. So they got out to attend to Rabuor. He had emaciated, lost strength, and his mind was so weak. They pleaded with him to go with them.
Rabuor was taken to a hospital by the family of Karanja, where they monitored his health. When the family discovered that the person they had picked on the road was the famous Rabuor, their hearts were sorely hurt. They intentionally took it upon themselves to get him back to himself.
Rabuor would spend several months in a rehabilitation center. He would hold a me-verses-me conversation and came to understand life better. And there, in the silent chambers of his heart, he discovered a priceless truth: that victory is not in the boxing ring, victory is not in the number of opponents you take to the floor. True victory is in conquering one’s self and laying reins on the passions.
His entire life, he had mastered the art of victory but not so well. He had known that a victor is someone he never fears nor shrinks from challenges. But near the periphery of his glorious days, he would discover that the strong man begins first by conquering self.
He had also learned how success creates a bubble of clout, fame, and friends from high places, as well as foes of equal measure. But he’d discover that when the bubble bursts, you remain alone at the hands of fate. And so that day, when the rain stopped, he discovered that his reign as the former self was over and he was to start afresh.
END.
Le'ON 