Flavored rubber

A hot Saturday it was in the August holidays of the Millennium year. I was sweating. It could be from the common heat of Mombasa town, no one would wonder why a person is sweating on the streets. But it could also be the uneasiness, worry in me that made my heart beat faster. I was behind G.P.O. Close to my destination, Makadara Chemists which was opposite Makadara grounds.

There were Pharmacies in Ratna-Square, but one or the other staff might easily recognize me. What if I meet someone I know inside? Or just when I was going out and they saw me carrying the rubbers? These were goods identified with an activity done in secrecy and in darkness even if its legal. I wasn't going to let anyone have reason to paint a bad picture of me in the neighborhood. I was just twenty years old, unmarried.

It would be my first time buying protection. I had not seen the need to purchase some before because I was not a playa. Shy guys rarely get dates or girlfriends, hence the little knowledge I had on these artifacts. While in Upper primary, just about the time our Science teacher taught us the topic on adolescence, a neighboring health center came to visit us in class. They advised us more on young adulthood. Told us about AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases.

We were given a free box of condoms each. We felt like men having them although we were still virgins. I took the box home and hid it on my clothes' box. After a month, I could not see the box. But I wasn't surprised much because the wooden box had no padlock to secure its contents. After that, I saw condoms on TV commercials and in hospitals beautifully hanging on racks indicating “Please take one.”

I entered Makadara pharmacy and it was full of buyers. Everyone raising their hands to hand out their prescription wanting to be served first. No one knew me. And when I told the attendant I wanted “rough rider”, he acted cool. His eyes, I suspected he was laughing inside. I was still worried about those who are coming now to the Pharmacy. I hurriedly put the box given into my trouser pocket to avoid any surprise embarrassment.

When you sit in Maskan, neighborhood peer groups, we hear stories about these things. That rough rider is the best love making rubber. We assume even if we go rough due to cumulative sexual energy we have banked since childhood, it wont get torn. How could it be so sweet if the rubber is so thick and hard? Some boys said they looked down upon the love tool. To them its either 'meat on meat' or forget it. We tell stories of girls we have scored and give details that excite our friends. Those of us who had not, we come up with one beautiful lie about a girl far from our neighborhood. We cant lie about many, we will be caught. But one or two stories are enough to gain respect from the band.

Today, as I had those three pieces of rubber, my heart kept debating with my mind as I was undecided. Our faith and culture strongly opposes pre-marital sex. I had gotten the rubbers not because I suspected the girl had a disease, but just to prevent unwanted pregnancy. Somehow protection gave us a sense of security. That It will be a sin done and forgotten. No residue or evidence will be left behind to brand us sinners.

Samya was a sweet girl. She loved me. Our relationship did not start over the phone, but after we discovered that sms is a sweet and cheaper way of communicating, we were all over our Nokia 3310s every night sending each other romantic messages. Few times we met at Mombasa beach and we enjoyed the shyness and company. It felt good to be with a person full of love for you and willing to do things for you at your request. I Felt so lucky. This girl had the curves of a marmalade. Pretty, and she was the first girl I kissed.

I always got the signal that she wanted more in our romantic beachcapades. Kisses and touches were just a dessert, she had not received the main course. She wanted me. I wanted her too, so badly. But there were conscience wars in me. Its funny, usually girls want to wait till marriage and boys want to have the cake without delay. Here, that rule was reversed. If I say anything that suggested I don't want the Adamic-Eve pleasure, I might be mistaken to be gay. Or she would think that I have no feelings and love for her. The last time while she was on me while we were alone, I told her I didn't have a condom. what a lame excuse. I sometimes laugh at myself how silly I was to utter those words. And to think a girl would understand while I swiftly get off the hook. Disappointment could be seen on her face. I didn't even know how to wear the rubber, that which I was taking defense on.

So that is why I had gone to all that trouble today to acquire the rough riders, strawberry flavor. We had planned to meet at the beach between 4 and 4.30 in the afternoon. In my head, I was planning to take her to a cheap cottage I had rented for twenty four hours. I knew I could not use the foolish alibi again. She arrived ten minutes late. I would understand even if she didn't come at all after last time. She seemed low in mood but I knew my dexterous hands would cheer her up in no time.

We held close, kissed, talked, did our things and the air was whistling in a rhythm that gave promises. Sea waves joined in to praise our romance too. And as I was high with hopes of scoring for real tonight, she told me that she was on her days. Oh, I was a little taken aback but I knew the natural concept. Somehow it was a relief that it was not me who disappointed her this time.

Flight of the Queen-bee

Taarabu, a unique East African type of music mainly performed during wedding ceremonies. And now, there was one on line. My good friend Beka was marrying her long time love from Barsheba. Maulidi Juma was performing here, at the groom's home. We heard it was Juma Msomali with Changamwe stars performing at the Bride's.

Though I was not the first best man, I was happy being chosen to be one of the best men. I would wear marching Islamic best man gown just as Kombo and Sule in the morning for the nikah/tying of the knot. And later when we go to take the bride, six of us will wear matching suits. Michael, Digger and Fuadi will be the inclusion to the best men panel.

Celebrations were going on well. Ladies belly dancing under the chandarua while men ogling on the sides. We had to keep company the groom in the first room where we could see the musicians and dancers outside through the window. All the best men and friends were chewing Ghat, but I wasn't. I haven't been a fan of any intoxicant or addiction.

Few minutes past eleven, The groom got an sms that the bride could not be located. Some of our friends and relatives had gone to celebrate at the bride's just as some of them had come to ours. It was customary. We had to get up from the chairs and sofa to go to Barsheba and inquire more about this. Mlaleo to Barsheba was just a ten minutes walk.

Word had not spread when we reached down there, because people were sill dancng. We found a private room where we talked with the mother of the bride. Kibibi had disappeared at the salon where they were doing her hair, manicure, henna and all sorts of decorations stuff on her. We took a matatu back home then took my saloon car to the salon which was in Kongowea. I knew the salon and the owner, it was near my home, Ratna Square. We found two of the bridesmaids there as startled as we were. They told us that Kibibi, the bride had excused herself to take fresh air outside just after her hair was done. They waited inside for five minutes before deciding to check up on her. That's when they discovered she was nowhere near. There was no sound of car which might have come to pick her up, neither a noise of struggle to suggest robbery or some crime.

We were all confused, and I saw sadness on Beka's face. I had known Beka since childhood. The soccer games which we used paper made football, the hunt for kunazi in Freretown area, and we even went to the same Mlaleo Primary while many of our friends went to the neighboring Kisauni Primary school. After standard four, we migrated to Mombasa west area and then to Ratna square. But I did not cut ties with my childhood friends. Two years ago, I saw them together. Beka and Kibibi in a wedding Taarab in Mkomani where I had just gone to enjoy watching belly dancers. He introduced her to me and we hit it off instantly. Kibibi was a talkative girl, and fun to be with. I could understand why my friend fell for her. I was happy for him, because he was a reserved man. Not a noisy fellow who does his business quietly and swiftly. He was also a fan of reggae, just like me. Kibibi will be good for him if he will make him outgoing, I thought.

After the salon, I gave the team an idea. Call her other friends while we go to the brides aunts and cousins who had not yet arrived at the wedding. By five in the morning, we had gone to every relative's home and made more than a hundred calls but still, fruitless. The main ceremony was to be at ten in the morning and we were so tired. We had not even started preparing yet. We got back home to the Groom's room and threw ourselves down to rest while pondering.

I had seen something like this on the movie before, they call it runaway bride. I have heard it happen in reality, but never seen it. Personally, I think it's a selfish thing to do. People usually go to expenses and cancel their plans for you. You got all time to cancel and inform people so that no preparations are done. I could never believe that one did not know what he or she was doing until the wedding day to be clear for them. Its purely insensitive and inconsiderate. Either she is a drama queen or he just wants to shame the other family. The only reason I can understand for that kind of a scene is maybe one finds out on the wedding day that their fiancee is HIV-positive. Or any other seriously evil thing that your fiancee has been keeping from you, and you find it out on the wedding day. It cannot be you, making up your mind about your career or thinking about another person who you think you love.

At around seven in the morning, the Groom received a call from the bride. After talking for about five minutes with her, he looked down like a person nonplussed. The other best men had gone out to look for breakfast. He told me that Kibibi had gone hiding to one of her bridesmaid's apartment to think things over. She had doubts and concerns and that she needed time to be sure that she want to get in to this. She called to tell Beka not to worry and be on time for the ceremony because she had made up her mind.

Beka asked me what he should do. I asked him what he meant, “You should start preparing and be ready to get married in an hour and a half.” I replied. He looked at my eyes and saw them turning in a displeasing and worrying manner. I was being a good best man. I wanted to make sure that the wedding happened. Again, he asked me “Sincerely Ahmedinho, if you were the groom and the same happened to you. What would you do?” I was tired from the sleepless night and any more attempt to lie would have been caught on my eyes. I looked straight in his eyes and said: I wouldn't go on. A person has a lot of time to think before accepting to be in a relationship with you. Before accepting the engagement, one also had time to think about it. Time was at her disposal three months ago after the engagement too. All that time to think and be sure before getting in this big thing. This is a union that is supposed to last for the rest of your lives. Its life. And I wouldn't want to enter it with a person who is not sure she wants to be with me. If all the goodness she has seen in me during the period of our relationship was not enough and still has doubts a day before the wedding, then I'm not the man for her.

Beka threw his phone angrily to the wall and it got broken. He said I was right and he should do exactly what I said. I Told him that was my opinion, my thinking. And it may not necessarily be good advice for him. But he couldn't be stopped. He left me with the responsibility of explaining it to his family, wrote a note and gave me to take to Kibibi. I asked why and he said if he did the explaining, they would not give him a chance to escape.

An hour later, Sule, Fuad and me were making way between the joyful dancers waiting for the groom at Kibibi's home. We made way inside to deliver the note from Beka to Kibibi in the presence of her mum and dad. She did not read it aloud, but I had read it before. It said: I have loved you Kibibi, and I think I still do. My idea of love is one that is reciprocated. Might not be equal, but much enough to be sure of a person I want to spend the rest of my life with. When this surety is dented, the marriage ride will be bumpier than normal. I want a happy marriage, and your turn last night has led me to doubt if we are meant to be. You were not sure, now I am not sure. So its better that we don't proceed with something major that we are both not sure of. I think I should take a vacation after this. Re-evaluate myself, think things over, and find a way to build my strength to love again. For you, I wish you good in your life.

Such were the events of the big wedding of a friend twelve years ago. And to date, Beka is still single.

The saga ends.... (Do for love)

A week had passed without seeing Zuhura. She did not get out to sit in front their house, neither went to the shop. I had decided to go see how she is doing that Sunday. Her mum greeted me respectfully on the door and let me in. She called Zuhura from her bedroom who took some time to come to the sitting room. “What do you want?” she asked me. There was no happiness on her face and she seemed fed up. “I brought you these flowers.” I said while handing her. She took and placed them on a stool beside her then looked at me with a face that asked, is there anything else? I fidgeted for some minutes then I told her I was concerned. I just came to see how she was doing.

I had trouble getting sleep that night. I could not bare the thought that she was hurting because of me. Deep down inside, I discovered I had a tender spot for her. Its true, I like her so much. But what can I do if she doesn't want to hang out with me? I thought for long then experiences of greater things people had done for love came to me.

The things people do for love are sometimes insane and confusing. Some easy, some hard to understand. I have seen my friends change religion for love. Men and women, but mostly women. They  usually face an embargo from their families for sometime but the hatred dies down when the love seem unshaken.

In Kisauni, where we lived before migrating to Magongo, I had a charming friend who tricked me with her pregnancy once. Friends who knew about it warned me early because I sure was falling for the cutey's charms. She miscarried and later fell for another guy. It was a romeo and Juliet relationship for them and everybody knew in the area. After seven months, the guy dumped her for another girl. One evening when I arrived from town, I was told that she poured paraffin on her body then lighted herself up. Some neighbors went with blankets to help put off the fire on her. She was rushed to hospital having severe burns.

I have also seen some taking advantage of their lover's pockets. They spend a lot of their lover's money buying unnecessary things. Those who are ripped off see it all, but they just keep silent because they believe that's good for love.

People leave their families and friends if they don't approve of the love they found in a man or a woman. The worst i have seen, and stupid, is a person and her lover collaborating to kill her brother. Your lover tells you kill, and you do it. I have seen so much first hand, leave alone the movies and Romeo Juliet stories. When one truly loves, they reach limits that are surprising and abnormal. Its a fire burning inside which we are afraid of  letting it die.

Many people demand a proof of love. If you really love me, pay for my college. If you really love me, pay my house rent. If you love me, beat that guy. Prove your love for me by marrying me. If you really love me, you will do this for me? This was my time, it has reached me. What should I do to make Zuhura accept me?

I thought of money, it was a bad idea. And I didn't have much because I wasn't earning. I gathered my courage after three days and went to see Zuhura again. I had heard some people say “The truth shall set you free.” So I was determined to say it all to her. “Zuhura, the main reason I resorted to the jealousy game was to win you. I though if you saw me with another girl, you would feel something in your heart and come running back to me.” I told her. “You are stupid.” she replied. “I liked you. I wanted you to love me truly. And I know one who waits is truly in love. Those who want to rush to bed are not in love, they just want to fulfill their lust.” I told her I'm ready to wait now. I will wait for as long as necessary. I just want to end up with you in the end. She looked at me sadly then said, it has all gone away now. When I look at your face, I remember the party day. And I see Anne's face underneath yours. I can still hear the sweet groans penetrating through the wall.”

I had nothing to say after that heartbreaking speech. I stood up and returned home. It seemed an impossible quest to win her now. There was disappointment and love in my heart. I thought of taking poison to drink it in front of her but then I got scared. I would be calling a bluff, but what if she dares me to proceed? I thought of New things that I see on computers. New technology inventions we see on movies. There was a lot I had not seen in this world. I haven't even traveled out of Africa and here I was thinking about ending my life. I would like to see new things that will come in the future. Have fun. I wasn't ready to leave this Earth. But would I continue living sadly while the love of my life is not here beside me?

I loved her. Why couldn't she see that? I wanted to share this life with her. I wanted her to lay on my chest while I enjoy the love and intimacy. I wanted to be committed to her and she sees how devoted I was to us. I wanted to make her happy and ward off any wind of sadness that blew her way. I found myself sitting in front of Zuhura's home when all these thoughts were oscillating in my mind. Her mum saw me there and she called her out.

She came to sit beside me but I couldn't utter any word. “We can still be friends.” she finally said. But I continued being silent. I didn't want that, just being friends. We sat there for about half an hour then I threw out a challenge, somehow to myself. I asked Zuhura to tell me anything that she would want me to do for her. “Say anything. Even the one you think I wouldn't want to do in a thousand years. And I would do it.” I told Zuhura while tears were dripping down from one of my eyes. “I love you, and unfortunately I don't know of any way to prove it to you. Help me please. Tell me anything you want me to do and I would do it for you to take me back in your arms.” I was on my knees by now.

There was sympathy on Zuhura's face. She held me up and hugged me before sitting close again. She put her arms around my shoulder, then she said: I know you love me. I cannot think of anything to tell you to do. I care for you and have loved you since we have been friends for long. But I'm afraid its not romantic anymore. I could ask you to undo what you did with Anne, but its impossible. I could ask you to erase the voices and faces of Anne in my head but you are not a Magician. I guess we just have to leave things just the way they are. Lets be content with what we have. And I'm sure some day, you will find another girl to give all that love. With me, it will never happen. I'm sorry.

The saga continues... (Show offs)

It was a drizzling Monday afternoon in Corner-Soweto, Magongo, Changamwe, our sub-urban Mombasa west slum estate. Anne's left arm was grabbing my waist. And we were taking a stroll in our neighborhood. As we passed by Zuhura's home, we saw her sitting outside and I greeted her. Then I introduced Anne to her as my girlfriend. She appeared to have gotten a little shock, then she composed herself. I told her we are still taking rounds and I left with a smile. What a good start for me.

Zuhura was a polite girl. She was a girl of few words. You could see it in her brown sweet face. She was slim athletic and just about the same height as me. Attractive she was, and she doesn't give a hard time the first time one strikes a conversation with her.

The next day, just as I was coming out from the shop to buy bread and milk, I saw her. Zuhura, with the guy she recently started seeing. A smartly dressed guy. She stopped at where I was standing and she introduced his guy to me. “This is Juma Morowa, he is a very romantic guy. And he works at a clearing and forwarding farm in town.” I tried very hard to fake a smile but I think the lower part of my body went numb. It's good that I did not drop down my breakfast shopping because it would have put in the open my loosing emotions. What upset me was that just before they excused themselves, Zuhura kissed Juma on the mouth. Tongue to tongue, then smiled at me while they left to Zuhura's home.

I could not believe my eyes. We had known each other, Zuhura and me, for about five years since they moved to this neighborhood. After being friends for long, I asked her out one day. We had a good time but she refused a kiss when I saw her off her door. I battled for a second date because she didn't seem to  want it, and while on it, she told me about her intention of keeping it in the friend zone. We sat to discuss about this thereafter for a couple of times but she didn't agree to me even after revealing to her the warm colors of my heart.

I called Anne for damage control scheme. I was hurt but still acting strong. What was Zuhura thinking about? The kiss meant she didn't want me, and it was a lie that she didn't want exclusiveness and committing herself to somebody. And Telling me about Clearing and forwarding bullshit! Just because I was jobless now? That was childish, and she knows I have worked before and handled big money while I was in South Africa. She was jobless too, fresh from college. Couldn't she think about that?

Anne arrived a few minutes before sunset in a sparkling style. She was staying at Tudor, just fifteen minutes drive from there. She was in a White new Toyota Corolla. I invited her in to say hi to my mum and younger brothers and sisters, then decided to continue chatting outside. We didn't want Zuhura to miss seeing the class, beauty and the car which his Clearing and forwarding guy couldn't afford.
When they finally passed as Juma was seeing off Zuhura, they stopped and we introduced our partners while wearing fake smiles. Juma invited us to lunch at Al-Noor hotel, he said tomorrow and we agreed.

I guess Zuhura scorned him for doing that later, but the guy was in darkness. He thought we were good friends and we would form a fun group. They did come the next day for the lunch, and we had fine cooked chicken biriani at the restaurant. We told stories about ourselves, just like friends do. But Zuhura kept singing praises about her man so much to target me. I pitied her a little. The clothes her guy bought for her could not match Anne's. Anne had class. It was obvious her hair was done at an expensive salon. Her shoes, Prada. Her boyfriend in Dubai, which our friends knew nothing about, sends her expensive gifts and cash every month.

At last Anne dropped the bomb. She told that we wereonce married, and this unsettled Zuhura on her seat. It was as if a piece of cloth had been put in her mouth. After Mr. Morowa paid the bill, Anne also invited then to her birthday party in Tudor which would be on Saturday. She insisted they come just as we accepted their invitation. Zuhura's thoughts still seemed far, but when we got up she put her arm around Juma's and leaned on him romantically. This was a bad sign, but I dismissed it.
I wondered why she had not broken it off with Juma since its nearly a week now. I took theirs as a fling but it seems its lasting. I went to town and asked my friends working in adjacent offices and others nearby about Juma Morowa. I wanted to know more about this guy who Zuhura had set up to be a threat to me. And before lunch time, I had gotten the information I wanted, though not all.

On the party day, I went to Tudor early in the morning to help Anne with decorations and other preparations. Anne and Juma arrived at five thirty in the afternoon and there was music and drinks and many friends on the party. Fun was flying all over the house. I decided to stay away from Zuhura. I thought they should have their fun while we have our own. There were many people to talk to in the party, it cant be just us. Anne went to check on them from time to time to crack a joke or ask if they were comfortable then went to talk to others.

At eight, she blew the candle and cut the cake as we sung the traditional “Happy birth day to you.”  everyone got a piece of the big delicious black forest birthday cake. We drank more juices and started dancing. This was the time to show off. When it was a blues number playing, I wade sure I held Anne tight and romantic. She was the hottest of them all at the party. And when my dexterous hands occasionally were on her behind, we heard jeers and other noises from our friends. It made me feel that I was the man!

At ten thirty, many had excused themselves to go. Anne insisted that Zuhura and Juma spend the night there and she would drive them home in the morning. The bedrooms shared a wall. Perfect, because we would transmit our romance through the wall for them to hear. Anne knew how to moan like a pornster. And tonight, as I pleasure the birthday girl, she made them louder. We heard nothing from the other side of the wall, probably because we were busy with ourselves.

Before midnight, the door was knocked. After three trials, we heard a key opening it. We all went to the living room to see if it was a burglar. A tall guy clad in designer clothes and sports shoes entered and took time to say any word. He seemed perplexed. “Welcome home honey,” Anne went to him but he pushed her hand. Anne and I were half naked. Zuhura and Juma seemed to have read the picture and I could see a smile on Zuhura's face. It seems the Dubai boyfriend had decided to surprise Anne on her special day.

What are you doing in my house? The guy finally got something out of his mouth. While trembling I replied, we came for Anne's birthday party. He slowly headed to the kitchen, and after a minute we saw him carrying a large kitchen knife. I was already suspicious and went to stand at the door when he went to the kitchen. Seeing this scene, I opened the door and started running fast. I prayed my feet and breath not to fail me this day and after running as far as Kaa-chonjo, I could still hear people behind me. When I reached Makupa roundabout, I could not do even a meter more. So I stopped and looked back. It was Zuhura and Juma behind me. I was relieved. It seemed the guy gave up after a distance.

We sat at Makupa stage waiting for a matatu but only saw few private vehicles passing. After returning to our breath, Zuhura started laughing at me and I was annoyed by it. She thought she had won. But then I dropped it on her face. Don't laugh so much Missy, you are dating a married guy with two kids. I told her. She looked at Juma's face to see if it was true. Juma was startled about the revelation. “I know about you Casanova.” I told Juma. “You live in Mzizima with your wife Amina and two kids Gayoye and Dhadho. You have kept Zuhura in the dark. You don't want her to know about your family.” He turned to Zuhura and started apologizing. “I'm sorry my sweet, I was planning to tell you later. I swear. I'm not happy with my wife and I will get a divorce so that I can be with you.” Zuhura's face showed disgust. We remained silent and after three minutes a taxi stopped to ask us where we are heading. We got in, and as Juma was getting in, Zuhura told him no! “Go back to your wife in Mzizima.”

“I'm sorry” I told Zuhura while the taxi was taking us to Magongo. She didn't reply, and we remained silent throughout the journey back.

The saga begins

The waiting was making me impatient at Pizza-inn, Lights (its actually a place at the intersection of Malindi road and Nyali road, Mombasa. Traffic lights were responsible for giving this place the name). I looked  at my watch and it was half past one in the afternoon, Anne was forty five minutes late. I had already ordered without her twenty minutes ago. Maybe she was doing this on purpose. I couldn't leave because I was the one in need of a favor from her. So my thoughts wandered the universe as I unwillingly wait for her.

I thought of the first marriage which no one knew even from my family. Just a year after finishing high school. I knew people would think I'm stupid if I told them my intentions back then, so we made it a secret affair at the District commissioner's office.

There are many reasons people get married. It couldn't be just love. Many do it because they see time running against them, especially women. They settle, instead of a love marriage. Some crave to have companionship and intimacy, that's why to them, there is no “The one.” anyone who offers them the hand, they will gladly take it. Many do it for economic reasons. And others to propagate their seed.

 To me, this was some kind of an economic one. I had met Anne less than two months ago at the port. She was clerking for SGS while I was clerking for TRANSAMI. We became friends, and I never asked her out for a date. The supervisors and Clearing agents were the ones on her league. They could take her to expensive restaurants and Discos during the weekends. My money was for buying myself clothes, shoes and visit friends and go out to cheap places like beaches. I enjoyed the stories she told when we were working on the same berth and shift about the weekend treats. High maintenance she was, and she was a Luhya girl with noticeable broad hips.

One Wednesday during the second shift, she told me about a deal that could make us rich. She told me about a person named Cheyeza, a rich guy from South Africa who dealt with ships. He was interested in taking a few faithful Kenyans to supervise his shipments at a private berth in Durban, South Africa. Anne regarding me as a friend, she gave him my name and came to see if I was interested. It was a lot for me to decide, so I said I'll give her an answer the following day. She told me to meet her at Blue-room for dinner. The tycoon would be there.

The next day, I was early at Blue-room. I wanted to know more about the deal. At a quarter past eight, Anne entered the town restaurant followed by two men. He introduced the fat middle aged man as Mr. Cheyeza Akani. His black suit and white t-shirt made him look modest. The other guy wore a white suit and he was thin. Mr. Akani told me that I would get five times what I was getting currently. There was a small hitch though. He didn't want to give us a work-visa, he said its better to save the money and long processes of his government. So I had to get married to Anne and travel as tourists on honeymoon. The South African embassy would easily give us that visa.

What a quick start up to life changing event it was. Anne entered the cafe this time that my thoughts were traveling back to our unfortunate adventure. The pizza eaters forgot about their classy food for some minutes when Anne made the entrance. She was the kind of a girl that must draw attention. her body, clothing style, and make up emitted a romantic spell to all men who are in a hundred meters radius. That's why I chose her for this project, she  was far off Zuhura's league, the girl I wanted to give an injection of upside down love till jealousy hurts.

Anne excused herself to go to the ladies and I wandered again to our past. A day before traveling, I told my family that I was going to South Africa on tour. They were happy for me and did not ask too many questions. The flight took approximately five hours and Kenya airways landed us in Durban at six thirty in the evening. Our host took us to a villa in a posh neighborhood known as  Glen Ashley, and we spent the night sleeping on very comfortable beds. Although the house seemed expensive, there were things that went on that seemed cheap. First, the bedroom doors could not lock from inside and there were two beds in each room. There were four rooms in total and one had a lock, it Belonged to Phetoho who I later knew to be our supervisor. The servants quarter had two beds too.

The next day, at six in the morning, we were all woken up. Three girls and five men were lined up in Phetoho's room. He gave each one of us a blue leather bag. He said the bag has a hundred sachets, if we finish that we come home to get another. I was confused and asked about our jobs at the South African port. The other guys laughed at me. Even Anne laughed. It seems she knew what was going on.

Phetoho told those of us who were new that our commission is a hundred dollars for each bag sold. Everyone had his station to sell, and mine was Victoria street market, Phetoho said. I peeked inside the bag and saw the white substance in a hundred gram sachets. I returned the bag and told him I don't sell drugs and I wanted to return home. He told me to find my way home and leave that residence instantly. After about ten minuets of deep thinking, I took the bag and we were driven out. Everyone to his station. Small dealers came and we exchanged money with goods discreetly. One sachet had enough dose to  give to about twenty or thirty people. I had no choice. Where would I eat and sleep?

After Three weeks one girl dropped her shopping just a few yards in front of me. I went to help her and she was grateful. It showed in her sincere smile. After three days, she passed by just to say hello. And the next time she invited me for dinner after finishing my activities. She told me her name was Amahle. And when we were on the dinner table on Friday night, she asked me why I was doing that illegal dangerous job? I explained to her and she understood. She said she could help me. And she took my number before we said good-bye that night.

After three days, she called and told me good news. She had talked to her father and he agreed to employ me and Anne at 3rd Rock which was next to City brokers. On telling Anne, she refused. So I had to go alone. My employer was good, though I was not making a quarter of what I used to make with the heroine and cocaine. I stayed in a servant's quarter at his place in Umgeni park. During weekends, he would take us to North beach or long drives to Johannesburg. Amahle was so nice to me. She had even started teaching me some Zulu language like “Sawubona”, “Unjani”, which were greetings and how to reply “igama lami ngu Ahmedinho.” I was comfortable here, and peaceful.

Three days before payday, Police came to our place of work and arrested me. Later I found out that Mr. Cheyeza Akani's businesses were raided by police and only a few were caught. Anne and another Nigerian guy fled through forest routes to Mozambique heading to Tanzania which was a neighboring state to home. I was told one of the drug dealers was my wife and I had overstayed my tourist visa.

I was arraigned at a court in Somteu road the next day and was sentenced to Three years in Westville prison. Mr. Rethabile, Amahle's father was present in court and after sentencing, he told me not to worry. He spoke to lawyers and made deals with his high ranking friends and one Monday Morning he came to tell me I will serve six months. But will be deported back to Kenya when I finish doing time. Prison life was bad, but there were seven Kenyans who I could talk to while counting time in there. They were true drug dealers and thieves.

Anne returned back from the ladies and I couldn't help smile when I combined that pretty face with the past. She apologized for being late. I said no problem, then she asked me what it is that I wanted to see her about? I told her about Zuhura. I explained to her that I like her, but it seems she doesn't feel the same. She has started going out with another strange guy. The problem is, these outs, its just going as friends. I have told her about my feelings but she cant commit back, so she says. So I want you and me to act. To make our own movie in the estate where she would be our targeted audience.

Anne refused the idea at first. She said she was busy with her new perfume selling business and she has a boyfriend who is in Dubai. I told her it was important to me, and its not like we are going to hurt anyone physically. When she remained undecided for long, I reminded her of what she put me through. “I did time in South Africa because of you Anne. And had I wanted, I could have told the authorities and you would be caught before crossing the border. I know the secret route too, we were coached together on emergencies.” she released a heavy breath, then said O.K while flirting with her eyes. “But I have only one week Ahmedinho, Just tell me where to be and what to do and we will teach that bitch a lesson. She cant diss good boys like you."

Eternal lover syndrome

The date was 9^th of April, 1998. On Thursday night when we had finished playing “Keram” at my Friend's, Dili. We used to do this regularly after the evening prayers. On my way home, on the corner at the back of Jerusalem church, I saw her. Just a glimpse though, from the flood light of the two storied building next to the church. It was the sweetest, most beautiful face I had ever seen. She hurried past the corner and then she began running swiftly, just like how men jog. I saw something shiny fall off her while she was at the corner and I picked it. I called out to her but she didn't stop. I ran and she also increased her pace. I followed until she stopped at a house near Raudha Mosque. She asked why I was following when I reached her and I told her she had dropped her bracelet. She took it and said thank you. This was when I saw her face for some minutes and amazed at her beauty. She was middle height and had an attractive not so chubby body. Her youth was alluring, I couldn't help stealing peeks at her bust. I asked her name and she gladly replied Rachel Mbithe. Then I asked if I could see her again, which she signaled No by her head.

It was close to mid night when I was finally on my bed at home. I couldn't erase Mbithe from my mind so I had trouble getting sleep. I woke up early to go the port to do my first shift. Temporary clerical job I was doing to wait for college admission. I went straight to Mbithe's home after work at three. She was the one who came out when I knocked on the door. “I had to see you again, I thought of you last night and all day today at work.” I told her. I did not see a smile on her face as I expected when I said that, but a face that displayed pity. “You have to forget me stranger.” I said “Ahmedinho.” She then said her mum would take her to task if seen talking to strange men. “Just one meeting.” I pleaded. She looked behind her then at me for some time. She then told me to meet her at nine beside Kanu social hall, at night.

I left Dili, Aziz, Abdalla, and Swalehe early that night from the Keram game for the appointment at Kanu Hall. There was a dark corner between the hall and the edge of Doctor Kamau's Dispensary. She really came after about twenty minutes and she sat on an adjacent stone. There was music from The Mainland Rooftop bar and I thought it would be perfect for filling moments of silence. I first asked about her mum. She said her mum was OK. Her elder sister was taking care of her. She sleeps early, which gave her a chance to come to this spot yesterday. After a minute of silence wondering why any girl would risk coming to this dark alley at night, I asked. She gave me that sweet pity face I saw earlier in the afternoon, then said it's because of a promise.

“A year ago on this path I met a man by the name Samuel Kioko.” Said Mbithe “I had just alighted from a Bus from town at around eight in the evening when I saw him and he greeted me. He struck up a conversation and i immediately fell in love with the low voice and gentle way he talked. He realized that and did not give me a hard time. He offered to escort me to my home and I let him. He said he was a truck driver and his vehicle was parked at the Mainland junction. He usually works on Nairobi-Kampala route. During high season when they have to, that's when they come to load at the Mombasa port. On that night he kissed my lips and told me he is giving me time, and also to himself. But he will be back after one year on Easter holidays on this same spot, same time that we met. If he sees me, then he will take me to Machakos where his home is. And promised we will spend our lifetime together. If not, he will understand that it wasn't meant to be. He is the one who gave me that bracelet.”

I looked at the time and it was close to eleven. Now she saw pity on my face too because this was Good Friday night and The guy, Kioko had not shown up. The next day I went to work trying hard to forget her. We were paid double for working on holidays at the Port. Though I tried, I could not shake her soothing sexy voice off my thoughts. I did not want to be responsible for breaking up somebody else's love. But I also wondered if it was love. It seemed Fishy and I feared the girl would be heartbroken waiting for a rain of flowers. I cared that much for her not to see her hurt. And the guy, I knew truck drivers are not very faithful men. They have mistresses at Maungu, Mtito, Sultan Hamud and every Truck parking destination along the Mombasa-Nairobi highway. The bracelet he gave her seemed fake too. It was made of tin but coated with gold color. It was light in weight.

There are romantics who say When you love someone, let them go. And maybe they will comeback to you in the end. I was determined to do just that, but my heart could not bear it. I wanted to put on a fight, even if a mild one. Maybe a little effort would bear fruit and I wouldn't blame myself later for not trying. I left my friends early on Saturday night too. Dili realized that I was low in spirit and asked me what was wrong but I told them nothing was. So I went to the spot and tonight there was two sad people sharing company. One waiting for dubious storybook love, and one who wishes to snatch a beauty from her dreams.

Tonight she told me about the importance of integrity. When you give out your word, you must stand by it. Love is the most sweetest and beautiful thing a heart can taste. betrayal and untrustworthy signs destroys love. She asked me why I came today while I know she's there waiting for another man? I told her I feel like I have no choice. I really wanted to get out of this before I'm deep, but it seems I can't. We left at around eleven, still no sign of the mystery lover. And as usual, I escorted her to her home then returned back. That night I blamed myself for being selfish. I should not have shown her my disappointment because she was is in a more fragile situation than I.

On Sunday night I came early to the usual spot to wait for Mbithe. Some hope had sprung up that when she realizes the mystery man will not show up after all, she will have my arms ready to take her. So I started with some jokes when she came. Although she smiled, you could still see the sadness in her eyes. I opened up a box of chocolates and we had our bites slowly. The more time goes, the more the reality of Kioko not showing up made her sadder. There were showers of rain that had just started and I decided to stand up and make a fool out of myself. I did not know how to dance but I did to the reggae-muffin mixes from the Rooftop Mainland bar. I held her hand, pulled her up to dance on the rain with me on the dark. But after a minute she let go of my hand and returned to the sitting stone. Something was taking a deep toll in her.

I went to my stone and after five minutes of silence, I started: I love you Rachel. It kills me that your heart is fixed on somebody else, but it kills me more to see you breaking down inside. I want to see you happy. And I believe I can make you forget him if you give me a chance. Rachel replied after a deep silence too: I would like to love you too. I know you are a good man and it's much from you to help me through this difficult confusing time. But whenever I entertain the thought of shifting my heart to you, I hear something hissing “betrayal, betrayal, betrayal” on my ear. You are a funny and caring person, but..... my honor and word are very important to me. And although it seems foolish, my heart is for him, I cant even give an excuse to myself about it. We didn't realize the rain had poured much when we returned to our stones beside the dispensary. But then it stopped and I took her home. I had to hold her hand and help her cross the fast moving stream that was pouring south between Mainland Bar and Jerusalem Church.

I examined my feelings carefully while lying on bed and concluded it must be love. Why else wouldnt my heart let go of a person who has clearly indicated that she is not into me? My heart felt like it wanted to engulf her, keep her over a protective security blanket that would stop any harm from reaching her. I thought of touching her cheeks and it made me smile. Just thinking about her with me made me happy.

Tonight was Easter Monday night. The last of this holiday. We were both here at eight, sitting on our stones. Mbithe thanked me for Yesterday. She told me I didn't have to come every night and wait with her. I told her I knew, but I just decided to. She said she didn't want funny stories tonight. And I was not in the mood to make a fool out of myself again. So we sat and I told her about my childhood stories and crushes while in high school. She broke her silence and said Kioko was the first man her heart felt love for. After all, she was young. She couldn't have loved seriously before at her age of eighteen. I asked her what will happen if Kioko doesn't show up tonight? He didn't leave her his address and few people had land-line phones back in 1998, which he obviously didn't. Mbithe did not answer this. And we both sunk again to silence. To the right, we could see matatus and other vehicles passing by the road. Occasionally we saw patients and their relatives getting in and out at Doctor Kamau's. And the rooftop bar was playing blues tonight. It was already eleven at night and we were still here. I felt sorry for Mbithe. She could not come and wait here every night. Reality was finally sinking into her. We waited more and when the watches indicated midnight. She pulled herself up from the stone. I pulled her hand then to my chest. We hugged for long and I could hear her sobbing silently. I told her its gonna be OK. “i promise.” I said I promise again and again so that she understands I was really committed to make her happy.

She took a look at the main road, and disappointment made her take two steps with me heading home. She glanced behind for the second time and there was nothing. After about a minute she looked behind again and suddenly she broke free from my arms and I saw a slim guy appearing from the road. He had sunglasses and was walking towards us. Mbithe ran to him and finally I saw them hugging. I remained standing on the dark corner of the Dispensary as I watched Blithe touching the man's arms and him stroking her hair backwards. Then they started walking to the main road. There, what my heart holds dear is going away with another man. After a few steps, Mbithe turned to look backwards for about four seconds, then they continued. And I just watched until they made a left turn.

Twin stuff

A hot Thursday it was. It usually is in Mombasa, but there is a season when the sun seems to descend more on our city making us sweaty. It was lunch time, Two hours were enough to leave the volunteers in the computer hub while I rush to 'Books First' to have a lunch. It was just two kilometers away, on the Nakumatt Nyali complex building.

On Entering, I was surprised to see Nuru on the middle table reading a menu. She was one of the volunteers at Skomara computer hub who I was secretly involved with romantically. She text-ed earlier telling me she had a cold and headache and would not be able to show up. Maybe she had planned to surprise me here because she knew I liked this place.

I went to her seat behind, held her shoulders gently and kissed her. She started up and her eyes were on me like a lioness who had seen an alien lion in their territory. As I was showing my confusion sandwiched in a smile, she slapped me hard. “Are you crazy?” she asked angrily. The slap upset me and before I could think I returned one harder than the girlish one she threw on me.

I'm not a fan of hitting ladies. But I believe if I behave as a gentleman, they should behave as ladies too. They talk about this so much on magazines and television, Men who hit women pictured as “Homo-erectus.” But it should be fair. If a man should not hit a woman, a woman should not hit a man too. Women do not have a license to slap men and get away with it just because they are women.

Four or five people came to our table to make sure the problem doesn't escalate. They asked whats wrong? Nuru said, This guy kissed me and I don't know him. “Really, today you don't know me Nuru?” I asked her. “Who is Nuru?, I'm not Nuru!” she replied. I nodded sarcastically then told her, maybe you are not here to meet me. You must be waiting for another guy you cheater! “Yes, I'm waiting for my friend. And its not you. Who are you crazy man?” she retorted.

I decided to retreat without more fuss and returned to Skomara without taking lunch. Some volunteers saw that I was down. Hilu and Machu-beybe and Jay came to ask me what was wrong but I told them its just the stress of schools that wanted computers without satisfying the requirements first.

After closing the doors of the hub late in the afternoon, I went straight to Buxton, Nuru's home, to ask what was going on? I was welcomed by her mum and Nuru introduced me as her teacher. She was on the couch watching “Vioja mahakamani” and I could see she really had cold. I told her about the lunch time incident and she seemed surprised too. At a point, when I believed she wasn't lying, I thought maybe she had schizophrenia. Later I floated the possibility that they looked alike.

After two days, I took Nuru to Books-First and asked the cashier about the girl who slapped me. The cashier was friendly, she knew I was a regular there. She said she didn't know, she also thought the girl was Nuru. But after I left, the girl was joined by a girl she knew to be a cashier at the Nakumatt. They were both here during lunch today too. I thought of going to ask the cashier girl at Nakumatt but changed heart. It might raise alarm.

The next day at noon we were here, at Books-First. We sat on the corner table to wait for the girl who looked like Nuru. Unfortunately she didn't show up. The next day was Sunday so we didn't come, But on Monday we saw her and her friend enter and took the middle table. We approached them, greeted then I apologized for what I had done four days ago. And I told her now she can understand why. Nuru looked at the girl sternly and the girl looked at her too. It must have been shocking to them too to see another resembling the person they see on their mirrors. The same beauty on their faces. The same slightly chubby cheeks I liked to peck. Just different hairstyles and clothes.

She didn't seem angry today. And when Nuru introduced herself to her, she said her name was Munira and she lives in Mtwapa. We got to tell more about each other. Munira owned a hair salon in Mtwapa. Even Munira's friend, Violet, thought they look astonishingly alike.

We left after paying the bill and headed straight to Buxton. After greetings, Munira asked her mother if she had a twin sister. Her mum asked why? And she said we met a girl who looked just like her. At that point, the dishes Nuru's mum was holding fell down. She started trembling and it seemed as if she was going to fall down when I went to hold her stand. I led her to the couch to sit and she began telling.

I gave birth to beautiful girl twins twenty years ago. I remember just as if it was yesterday. We had been discharged from Makadara hospital and decided to have a cup of tea in the cafe just outside the hospital before we returned home, We lived in King'orani back then. I was holding you, and there was a nice guy who offered to hold your sister while your father went to order breakfast because the counter was crowded. I was exhausted and the humming of the guy holding your sister was so soothing as he paced about our table. When your dad returned, he asked where the guy and the baby was and I seemed to have woken up from a nap. We didn't see him or the baby. We left our egg sandwiches and tea on the table to go round the hospital looking for the guy.

Two hours had passed and we hadn't seen any sign of him. Tears started falling on both your father's eyes and mine. We had already reported to the hospital administration. So we took a taxi, headed to Central police station to report it there too. They told us to check with them the next day. But after eight months of checking up with the police, we lost hope. We decided to raise you happily and love you without anything hindering us. We decided not to tell you. But it was eating us though it did not show in our laughter. When your dad was on her deathbed ten tears ago, she uttered your sister's name, Nina.

A heartfelt, movie like real story we had just got. We released our heavy breaths then Nuru's mum told us she wanted to see the girl. She told Nuru, if the girl you saw is really your sister, then she must have a brown mark under her left breast just as the one you have under your right.

I was early the next day picking up Nuru and her mum, seven thirty in the morning. And were heading to Mtwapa. We reached the salon early before it was opened and ten minutes to nine, we saw Munira with the keys. After greetings, she opened her salon and welcomed us inside. Nuru explained to Munira why her mum couldn't wait another day to see her. Nuru's mum asked Munira about her parents. She said she didn't know her father. Her mother told her that the father left and disappeared when she was just a year old. She was raised by her mum, she lived and schooled in Malindi. After secondary school, she decided to start her own hair salon in Malindi. It was just last year her friend Violet told her salon business is very good in Mtwapa. “It pays tenfold what I was getting in Malindi, that I decided to move my business here.” My mum is still in Malindi, I go to see her every Sunday.

Nuru's mum told Munira the hospital story. Told her about the mark under the breast and asked if she could check it. Munira said she has that mark, she can show them to confirm. At this point, Munira's mum turned her eyes on me. For some seconds I was confused, then I marched out after getting it. I wondered what the big deal was because I had seen Nuru's boobies. Five minutes later when I got in, I saw Munira in Nuru's mum's arms crying while holding each other.

An hour later, the four of us were crossing Kilifi bridge heading to Malindi. We reached there around lunch time. Munira's home was a rental house in Majengo, just outside Central primary school. We were welcomed by Munira's mum and Munira explained to her why we were here. She seemed agitated when she started to talk, then Munira finally found out the truth from her mum. “Please don't take me to police, some guy sold this beautiful baby to me and I bought her. I cannot bear children and I wanted to have a baby so badly.”

Nuru's mum did not settle for that explanation. She asked the woman if she knew what she had put her through all those years? She is the reason that Nina(Munira) did not see her real father. The woman continued crying. Both Munira and Nuru were quiet. They could not believe the turn of their life stories. They had a sister. In the end, Nuru's mum said she will forgive her. She said she was angry at her for the agony she has caused her and her husband for all those years, but also thankful that she took care of her baby. She was glad her baby was still alive. “I would have taken my baby now but they are all grown up and independent. They can live wherever they do their jobs, or even with their husbands when they get married. I just want you know that I'm the mother to both of you, and I havent stopped loving you my daughter. Nuru is your sister. And please come to visit me and have sleepovers often. Thanks to my Lord”

Luminous

There is something about Janet. The girl who is in Ratna square just for this April holiday.

She is Mghanga's wife's cousin, the village Dry cleaner. Came all the way from Mghange to spend the holiday in Mombasa. She smiles at me whenever she passes through our home, but says nothing. She was a short ebony skinned girl whose brown color on her two front teeth will be first to catch your attention. I must say the stain decorates her smile. Makes her look more pretty. But she came at a time when I had decided to chill. I had been through a lot in relationships for the past six years so this was my break.

I would have been confused if it were the naive olden high school days. But this was post college, I am much older and wiser now. I didn't have the rush, the urge to go after her. I knew she liked me, but she couldn't come forward to say it. This set back is not held dear by only a few. We were never taught to say “i love you” as African kids. We didn't tell our parents, brothers, sisters, even though we did. It's common in Europe and America, and with our African high class neighbors who try to raise their kids the western way.

It becomes hard during puberty and after to tell a girl you like that you do. There is fear, of exposure of your feelings. And it becomes embarrassing when what you extend is not reciprocated. That's why some would rather conceal it in their hearts to their graves, than nurse rejection afterwards. Men, at least most have evolved much through this. A point reaches when Eighty percent of them try out. Not because they don't fear the unknown. But suppose the lady accepts? We rationalize and provide space for a probability that the girl might be liking us too.

This happened to me some years ago. I did not tell Mwanatumu about my feelings for her. I guess I hoped that she would one day see it in my eyes, but she didn't. I persevered passionate knocks on my heart whenever I saw her and had friendly conversations with her until she got knocked up by a more witty guy. I used to ask myself if there was a tuition where men are taught to say the right things to ladies, or do something that guarantees to make those you adore fall for you. I watched her, and others that I liked won over by other men. Some got married and I got to carry and play with their kids as an uncle when they brought them.

With Janet, it was a case of an unwritten rule that a female may not be the first to tell a male that she loved him. I have had a number of girl friends (two different words), say they would never say those words to a man even if it burns them inside. Double standards. I think ladies should come out of that age old cocoon, its the twenty first century!

Since I had no hots for her, I took this as a challenge. I wanted to see how much she will go, and observe the fire in her eyes as she aches. My mission was to make her say it first. “I love you Dinho” would be my gold medal. So after three days I called her out and we sat on the garden outside our house. Whats your name cutey? “Janet Righa.” she replied facing down. What do you do? “I'm on my final year in Bura teachers training college.” I asked her more questions to give her strength of being comfortable with me. And I told her she was beautiful. And she was, Dawida(Taita) girls from the hills area have this exotic beauty that takes a man less than a minute to fall for them.

My friends came to tell me that she has been asking more about me. I hid my smile. No one was to know what I was up to. After three days she sent me a dozen queen cakes. I made sure I complimented her each time we met. She seemed to enjoy my jokes, even the ones that were not so funny. On one evening she asked me if I had a girlfriend. I answered No. then she asked what kind of girls I liked? I said I look at a girls face first. If its appealing, then I check out her structure. I like them short, but not so much short. And I like them ebony just like you. She smiled to this. She said she liked fair colored guys. Strongly built, funny, and she stressed that she likes them from town. She continued saying if she got one, she would be faithful to him. She would go back to finish her course and return to him. She said she is a very honest girl, hardworking and loving. I stared at her as she was giving me her personal cv while smiling pitifully inside. I knew she was expecting my move at some point, but she only got the “interested smile” from me.

Days passed and she showed how fond she was of me. I introduced her to my family, something she was happy about. But as days canceled on the calendar, she appeared to be uneasy and less happy. Just ten days remaining to go back to Taita, and she had not gotten her man yet.

On her last Saturday holiday, I took her to Mombasa beach in the morning. I liked this beach. It has been in my veins since childhood. I may take girls to expensive restaurants on dates but if I haven't taken you to Mombasa beach, your claws haven't clutched my heart yet. This is not to say its the most popular or best beach in the world. There are all sort of snacks at Pirates beach. From ice creams to “kachiri.” to groundnuts. There is even Loud music playing in some of the beach clubs. And most people love populated fun areas because they bump into friends or make new ones there. Today was cool out here. No gigantic waves, and the tide was low. We stationed ourselves not far from the hotels because I had a horrifying incident three years ago on this same beach. But I still loved it.

Janet asked me if I would go visit her at her college while we sat on the sand at a beautiful corner spot. I said Maybe, I might surprise you. I had a feeling she was staring at me while I was not facing her. She came closer to me and said she feels a little bit cold. I held her dearly as a very caring friend. I began stroking her rasta plaited hair backwards and she seemed to like it. She murmured something then ccoughed. I asked her what is it and she said Nothing. I looked at her face and she seemed troubled by something. I told her she could talk to me. “you can say anything to me Janet, I might help.” I comforted her. “I want to have a picture of you when I leave next week.” she asked. I knew she wanted more than a picture but this was like a consolation request. “Sure, I will give you one.” I told her. And I continued enjoyed experiencing the bomb that was building up in her.

I wasn't gonna say the magic words to her. Here, I was representing all men who are against this double standard. If she wont say it, she will have to return to Taita with it. It will be her mind asking and answering herself the questions and confusions. And I will be congratulating myself for staying true to my game. I must give her credit for one thing though, smart mind. She looked at my lips and said she had not kissed a man before and would like me to show her. Obviously this was a trick. There was laughing in my brain, but I decided to grant her this request. I took her upper lips gently in mine and moistened them and tasted them. She had soft lips, sweet. And she kissed me back. She didn't seem an amateur though not a kissing guru too. Her emotions seemed to overpower her and she pressed herself more on me while she kissed hungrily. When I paused, she laid her head on my chest and her arms were around me holding tight. I could feel her body in mild tremors, then she finally said it. I love you. She was burying her head on my chest. I felt my name was Victory. I held her out and looked straight into her eyes and kissed her again. But carefully, not to reply “I love you too” lest I be branded a liar when I come up with a swift exit plan from this. Our hearts were not in the same place, so disappointment was inevitable. After all our lives were distance apart and I was not really into this. It would be better for all of us.

Rape kit

Parents usually do not talk about rape to their boys when they are young. It's a no go topic. It might confuse and corrupt the young mind. We trust in their innocent age that they cant do such a barbaric deed, and pray no psycho gets advantage of them. Yet boys start their interest on girls long before they hit puberty. For some of us, this was the reason we didn't miss school. We liked it to find ourselves in the company of the pretty girls of the class. But at this young age, liking and naughtiness mixed to instigate sexist pranks on our female colleagues. For example, some minutes before the last bell, we would hide a girl's shoe so that she remains the last in the classroom looking for her shoe before she goes home. And what did we do then? Treat her as a hostage. Fondle her emerging breasts or touch her places while she cried. Sometimes we decided not to go home for lunch. This gave us time to socialize with the girls whose homes were far or just wanted to spend lunch time at school. We got busy, it was the same games. Twelve and thirteen year olds, we were not equipped with flowery words to mesmerize our female classmates. All we had was hold the girls waist or wherever and we found contentment in their resistance and complaining. Some reported us to the class teacher, but no serious punishment was given to us. Just five canes on the hand or buttocks.

Maybe this is where it started. We found nothing wrong in touching a girl against her will, even if she complained and cried over and over. We thought they liked it. And others truly did. During puberty, this interest in girls grew tenfold. It is expected that our brains and reasoning should grow, and our manners too. But unfortunately some of our friends didn't. I did not find it strange when Rose was found in the back of our neighbor's house where there is a bush of banana plants, with three other guys. An adult was passing by and he heard the tussle. Rose had accepted to give her flower to Simon. But little did he know that Simon had planned with Katana and Peter that they would show up in the dark bush after some time and devour the secret buffet too. The matter blew up in our entire estate. Parents sat down to talk it over. In the end, rose was taken to her rural home to finish her studies. And the three boys, well what could they do to sixteen year old boys? They are still juveniles in the eyes of the state.

As young adults, we believed and still believe some girls like to be taken rough. Surprised. Some force spices up their world. But we never asked them first, it had to be try and error. The struggle warms up the guys adrenaline and the girls like the wild nature of it. This becomes a problem when the girl really doesn't want it. A TV feature changed my whole perception towards this aggressive seduction style. It was a girl who despite the thought of tarnishing her image in the society decided to come forward and relate her ordeal. You could see how the rape she talked about had crushed her heart despite the strength she had gathered to tell her story. My heart melted. I felt how unfair and injustice can destroy a person's spirit and her social life and life in general. It didn't feel enjoyable and manly after seeing that feature to violate a girl or any woman. I later read magazine articles about girls who came forward to relate their rape cases. The act was redefined in my conscience, it was evil. No means No finally had a meaning here after seeing the results of forced entry which in turn picture the doer a beast. Cruel, merciless, insensitive human being that can rob the honor of a woman without thinking twice. To date, any sign of unwillingness puts me off even when it comes when all pants are down.

In this context, rape can be defined as having a sexual intercourse with an unwilling partner. Funny, this happens to men too. Some women are in a position of power enough to force a man to sleep with them. Men do not suffer the same magnitude of confusion and pain as girls, but it is serious if they are not old enough.

Why do we do this to a fellow human? Cant we think about how badly this will affect the victim before doing it? We should have hearts. This is one of the most despicable and inhuman things one can do to another. And I'm here today to speak against it. Some would blame a girl for wearing clothes that are too much revealing. Or say, we lost control when our minds were fixed on gratifying ourselves. Or as the childish reason goes, “I thought she liked to be handled with force. Women hardly say it when they want to be taken rough.” I am not encouraging, but it seems a lesser evil to pay a hooker or to use a soap. Rape is uncouth.

Some years ago, we heard stories that a woman parliamentarian had introduced a rape bill that made it an offense for a husband to rape his wife. I thought she had taken it too far. There is nothing disgusting in a husband taking his wife by force. The action would never give trauma to the wife. These are people who know each other more than the common limits. From whichever angle I looked at the matter, I could not see bad rape between a husband and a wife except the legislator's intention to westernize our African beds.

On the first December Saturday in 1999, I took Brenda(True name concealed) to Mombasa Beach. We were college mates at the Mombasa polytechnic. I had requested her for a date numerous times and at last, I got this one before she traveled to her rural home in Kisii. The semester was over, and a celebration wasn't a bad idea. To the left side of the sea shore when entering the beach, there are coral rocks and caves about half a kilometer from where most people swim. Many people prefer the cave area because of privacy. In fact, on any Sunday afternoon you could count couples sitting in romantic positions here as you go further looking for a perfect empty spot. This was a Saturday morning, not so many guys were on the beach. So we strolled and jumped water traps while holding her hand. I felt lucky that this beautiful curvy girl was finally attracted to me. I showed her sea urchins and weeds that grew on the beach, and we enjoyed the company.

Deep in the rocky area, we saw three men coming to our direction. This made me uneasy, but also thought it could be nothing. We were about a kilometer away from the beach hotels. I told Brenda we had better start returning back. When the guys were near us, one grabbed Brenda's hand and I jumped to push him. I showed them my stern eyes on a somber face but they just smiled. “kaa kando dogo” One of them told me while Brenda was on my back. Hands trembling while holding my shoulders. One of them revealed an ugly piece of wood but I didn't show them I was scared . I dodged the first strike he threw but the second landed on my shoulder. My right arm was in pain now. And the other two guys had grabbed Brenda and pulled her on the nearby cave. I tried to stand up while shouting at them but another heavy blow landed on my thigh. Then another on my back. It was a strong piece of wood that caused me unimaginable pain. The other guys had already removed Brenda's blouse and jeans, but they tore her white lace because it seemed they couldn't tame their excitement any longer. One held her arms down as the other entered and defiled her. She was crying. I pitied her and wished I had extraordinary powers to save her from this animals. She was being violated while I watched. When the two guys had had their turns, one came to guard me as the third one went to satisfy himself too. I felt weak and worthless as the guys left laughing on their way up the rocks. Brenda picked up her clothes and I went and told her sorry. But she didn't reply. We walked silently to the direction of beach hotels. I suggested we stop by Nyali police station but after some minutes of pondering, she nodded to deny that suggestion. I didn't know what she was thinking. We boarded a matatu and I took her to Tudor where she had rented a room, with a roommate.

I did not go to see her off to Kisii the next day. Probably, because when I look at myself through her eyes, I see a coward. There was nothing I could do. But I hated this feeling of helplessness. I didn't know what I would say if I called her, so I remained silent and she was quiet too for long. She texted me after three weeks saying she didn't know how to tell her family about the incident. And that she would like it if we could be talking. I didn't believe communication would bring her relief. Probably it would keep memory of the rape alive and fresh.

On one evening on January, I was given a message when I returned at home that a girl by the name Brenda had come to ask for me. But I still felt heavy. I knew I should have been the support she needed through this difficult time, but do I have a face to face her? So I decided to cut off ties with her completely. And I applied to another college to continue my course.

Color me bad

Most of us start at humble(poor) beginnings. Be it talent, Business or whatever propels us to excellence in life. Same for me, Two years after secondary school and I still had not found my thing. I used to sit outside our home in Ratna square watching boys and girls early in the morning heading to work. I was broke and jobless. Sometimes I walked far to visit friends and relatives because I had nothing to do. But most of the time I was inside listening to music, watching videos, eating and sometimes scribbling unqualified short stories on papers I had.

I usually hide my earlier stories. Though not classically written, they move me when I revisit them. Because they made me cry while writing them. When I take a good look at the stories, I can’t help but think my life is wrong, and I made it so. The stories are real, but contrary to the success of the stories on the social media, the reality is, the subject in the narrative is either a bad person or he gets hurt really bad. Some men don’t know a good thing when they got it. Me being one of them, we sometimes don’t realize that we’ve got the whole world right in front of us. It is for this reason that I have taken a pen and paper today to give an account of that weakness. You will find the theme relating closely to my other two stories, ‘Eternal lover syndrome.’ And ‘A story of my heart.’ But never was I hurt by my own mistake than on the incident I’m about to relate now.

It was on my early days of writing career and joblessness when I met Aisha Shosi. A Bajuni girl who worked at Cinemax cybercafe in our neighborhood. She was cross eyed, always poor in spirits and never cared much about fashion in what she was wearing. The third time I went to the cybercafe I commented to her “Young girl, by not smiling you are going to hide that divine beauty under your face forever. No one will see it.” She looked up, half startled, her face beaming with a blush. Between the primitive colors in her wear and a face that advertised a person who doesn't enjoy life, there was something noble in the simple faith of this girl which compelled my respect. She laid her bundle of papers upon the glass table and then gave me a questioning look. “What are you up to boy?” She asked. “Well, if you get time, I would like to take a hike with you. And get to know you more.” I replied. “Who in the world would want to have a stroll with me?” Her face turned somber when asking this. “Me.” I gave her a plain answer. “If you don’t mind.” I continued. “Lets try today evening.” Said her with something of lost and found confidence in her face. And I nodded to accept. She seemed quiet enthusiastic after the deal.


We had our ramble in the evening. She had taken a little care of her face and skin. She was wearing a long blue skirt and seventies' long sleeved white blouse. Her starved youth seemed to bloom and modestly hide her plainness. Although much was still expected of her if she wanted to be a dot-com girl. “So, what do you do with yourself?” she asked. “I write short love tales.” I replied. “Aha! So, will you give me your fables to read?” “ I have written only three. I don’t even know why I call myself a writer. I’ve got ideas and everything but materials. When you see me coming to your cybercafe, it’s because I have got around fifty shillings and I want to write something and save in my e-mail. “I will help you.” she said. “Whenever you have a story ready, come to the cybercafe around lunch time and you can use a computer free of charge.


That was the cornerstone of my life. I used the free internet to stat a blog, job searches and networked with many people on the internet. Soon, my Facebook friends never got contented of reading when the combative style of the boy from Ratna had taken over their walls. This is because the allegories were presented in a unique style. A sublime phrasing and a stylish and aesthetic structure that stands apart in the history of writing. She was so fond of me, and the little things she would do just to please me. I also played my part. We got into the habit of having those evening walks everyday. And I made sure that she was happy. She had done a lot for me, I could not bear to see the smile fade even for a moment from her face.


We had a close friendship for about eight months. Then I received an e-mail from a company in the middle east that was recruiting truck drivers from Kenya. I had a strong fan base for my stories on Facebook but it was not a paying thing. I had to take this opportunity. Aisha paid for my driving license to be upgraded to the class of heavy commercial vehicles. She paid for my medical check up, agency fees and renewal of my passport that had expired a year ago. She couldn't see me off to Jomo Kenyatta International airport in Nairobi due to her work, but she gave me pocket money and asked me to notify her as soon as I arrive safely.


The contract was two years. Truck driving in the desert on the newly commissioned High speed Rail in the kingdom. We got handsome salaries but I missed home so much. After work, I used to bury myself on the internet where I would share stories or just chatting to friends. Internet was fun and before long I had become a flirting celebrity.


I was happy when my vacation was due. I was going home to see my family and friends and my beloved country. After two days rest, I met Aisha. I brought her gifts from Saudi Arabia and fifty thousand Kenya shillings to be a gift for her.


After three weeks when I met Aisha again, she asked “Now that you've become a star, why don't you come to our little cybercafe now and then. Pay us a visit, and chat? Its still free for you.” I told her that I have a laptop and broadband internet, I don't need to come to the cybercafe anymore. She nodded sadly but to suggest that she understood. Then, after a minute’s silence, she asked again. “Is this love? Is this love that is between us, or I’m just deluding myself.” “Now, don’t go too far with ‘us.’ We are just friends, and forever we will be.” Her eyes were wet now, and she was playing with her fingernails as if she had nothing else to touch. “What’s the matter now. Why are you crying, Aren’t you happy for me?” I asked. She excused herself saying that she had to get home early. But asked to see me before I return back to Saudi Arabia for my second contract.


I had booked Coast bus that was leaving at Seven in the morning of Wednesday. It was raining on Tuesday night when Aisha and I had our farewell meeting. It was a weird silence in the air. I was confused. I recalled in all our chats that I did not affiance her. Why was she having those feelings for me? My heart had already been captured by another girl I found on the internet. She was fun and sophisticated, the kind of girl I should be with when I'm at the zenith of my career.


“I want to be with you in all my life, and in death.” She finally gathered her courage to speak. Aisha was a sweet girl, but she surely doesn’t fit to be my girl. I told her I had already replied her about this. Oh! God, how can I force myself to love someone whom I can’t love? She was sobbing now. I was afraid of even touching her because she wasn’t trying to control herself. And I knew I had inflicted on her a fatal wound. She got up, opened the door and walked out slowly. I followed her and asked her to wait inside until the rain was over. She turned to me and held my both arms and said “Kiss me please. I adore you.” Her eyes were still wet, but conveyed the message that if I had nothing in my heart to give her, then I should grant her this. “No! That would spring up something else. Please understand, there’s a big career ahead of me.” God knows the inappropriateness of those words. They sent her to a freak. I wasn’t considering the fact that I am where I am today because of her help. Call me heartless but there are many things to consider when in a position like mine. She was heart broken, but I had hopes that she would be alright after sometime. Her raison d’etre can’t be only sir Ngombo’s love.


She was still crying, and I was still confused. And we were both soaking in the dark deserted pathway. My heart was filled with pity now. Is it pity or love? No it’s confusion. I didn’t know whether I was making a big mistake in my life. Had you seen her tears! But anyway its always so with women. They cry in their own way. The way their tears move, you feel like changing the world so that it doesn’t pain her anymore. But how they feel you against how you feel for them, it matters not. You have become their world and everything, while to you they were dispensable friends. When you look in their eyes, traveling to the depths of their hearts, you say a million things to yourself. For a million reasons you should love them. No paper would do it justice. Its anything not in the mind but of the heart. A feeling only felt, which I didn't.


“How about in the future, Could you include me in your life? I'm willing to wait for you for as long as it takes. You can have your fun then return back to me. Do you think there’s any chance for ‘us’ in the future?” She asked after a long silence. I gathered my courage and remembered the saying told to me by my grandfather long ago while I was still young. “Love is a part of life. But life is not a part of love. Therefore life is more important than love.” And I just replied a blank No! , I don’t think there is a chance for us.


No more words were needed. She started running away. Her knees seemed to give way and she fell on the muddy ground. She writhed as someone who is in severe pain and her limbs were dreadfully convulsed. She got up just about when I started her way for rescue. And she rushed away. I didn’t look at her this time. I just heard splashes upon the stagnant pools of water, then the sound of crisp running footfalls from the street.


The departure time to Nairobi was eight o’clock in the morning. And I was still wandering aimlessly about the garden outside our home. It would be useless to have laid myself on a bed because I surely would be hag-ridden all night. I do not know what pushes time so fast when people are in depressing thoughts, for the moon had sunk and a bright morning was breaking when I came to myself. The ejaculation had been drawn from unusual sounds of marching footsteps and a distinct sound of police siren somewhere. I decided to follow the trampers, and I saw that the siren was from the direction of Aisha’s home. The place was choked with villagers from North, south, East and West of Ratna square. And there was an ambulance accompanying the police car parked beside the guava tree that was in front of Aisha’s home. Up there, I saw her hanging from a rope tied on her neck loosely so as to swing from side to side. She had committed suicide.


What! in the name of heavens is happening to me now? I felt bitter in my chest. My heart was aching and I felt my my hairs erect brought about the straining in my mind. Why is the world turning against me? Am i to blame for this? Of course not. I was just making a decision for the good of my future. but she has taken away her life because of me. Its not fair. I could have stopped this. It was a selfish decision. Had i decided otherwise, Oh! Lord. This is guiltiness. Am i going to live with it forever? Forgive me my Lord. Please forgive me Aisha. Should i kill myself? Should i not return to job in the middle east? Please tell me what i should do to redress the consequences of my ruthless decision. Oh! Aisha please, come back so that we can talk it over.

Lick it again.

Making an entrance is one of my favorite things while on a date. And I think this time I did. The place: ROCKWALL restaurant, at the intersection of Mkomani Road and Nyali Road. It was me and Rubina entering the restaurant at 8:20pm. I saw an empty table near the railings close to the edge where vehicles pass beneath, and I motioned her to it. All eyes were on us, and that excited me. Temperatures were fairly friendly and this barbecue place was a perfect romantic place to have a dinner. Soft jazz could be heard from far and there were colored neon lights above.

I started preparing for tonight at 4 in the afternoon when the barber cut off a chunk of my hair to remain with a smart amount. I went to take my lucky clothes from the dry cleaners' and by five thirty I was on a bath prepared with scented effervescent soap. I wanted everything to be perfect, and good preparations leads to perfection. Nike sneakers and an expensive French cologne were my closer for the preparations. I was ready.

Rubina was a girl I worked with. She headed the marketing department and her residence was Oleander drive in Nyali. We saw each other every working day in the office and she would turn down every dinner offer I extended to her. I did not give up easily. I Kept sending romantic poems to her inbox and whenever a chance occurred to chat like tea break time, I would tell her one joke or another so that she thinks I'm a cool guy. She was a half caste, some would say Kenindia. She wore her curly hair short, just above her shoulders. Dimples accessorized her pretty face. Slim like a runway model. And a social kinda girl because she was easy to talk to, although she maintained that its her principle to refrain from dating anyone in the office. She was always dressed nice. This night she had put on a light pink blouse and a black jeans that accents her downward curvature. My friends Dominic and Hassan used to make fun of me for chasing a will-o-the wisp, but I guess this is my time to ask whose laughing now? Rubina agreed after a year and a half, but she said it would be a friendly date.

Getting a date from a classy woman is fulfilling, even if it wont go further than that. It adds up to our Bonga points. Its a plus just being seen with them in public. Although this was supposed to be a friendly out, I convinced myself if I do everything right, say the right words, perhaps I would hit a home run tonight. Hence the finer build up for the date of the century. I have been on night outs before, I knew the etiquette. But this one was more special to me, and it made me a little bit uneasy.

I drew back the chair for her like a gentleman then went to sit opposite. I looked at her face and showed her that I was happy by my smile. The waiter arrived and we ordered roast chicken and boiled rice with a variety of Indian spicy stews. We asked for orange and tamarind drinks as we wait for our main course. I tried my usual funny chit chat and between the laughs, I extended my hand and placed it on top of her's at the table. It was an innocent touch, just to see if a heartfelt message could be relayed from me to her. “We are not gonna happen Dinho, lets not throw away what we have.” she told me. I withdrew and decided to reserve my cards for later. Food was brought. Although I'm used to eating with my hands, I used the forks and knives today. It wasn't easy for me and I had a feeling she was laughing at me internally, though I couldn't see it on her face. This cutlery thing was taking away my Bonga points.

I really liked this girl. So much that I was patient to her for over a year. What stood between us was her principle. And maybe she did not like me romantically, but at some points I hated myself for being fond of somebody who does not show signs of giving in to me. Was it so much to expect love from a beautiful lady? I looked across the road beneath, there was a red car parked on the other side on the pavement. The driver's glass went down then someone waved at me. I looked and found out it was Dominic and Hassan that were in. We had company, or stalkers, or interested parties.

This added more pressure. I had bragged to them on several occasions in the office for my seduction prowess. I guess they were here to witness me going all the way. Rubina was proving hard, so I guess if I will reach third base later in the night, it would be enough for a story to my peeps. Halfway through the course, my hands started trembling from the pressure I felt. I knocked down the glass of tamarind juice and the liquid was all over my abdomen part of the trouser. I excused myself and went to the gents. By now anger was building up. Why was this happening to me? This was supposed to be a perfect night that would lead to somebody getting laid easily out of classy courtesy if not for love. I advised myself to pull myself together or else kiss even the second base goodbye. I cant afford being called a loser.

I returned back to the table and most of other eaters were looking at me with pity. Well, don't. Whose got the fairest of all here tonight? I asked them within myself. Most of them were jealous and wondered how could I get such a dame? We finished our food and ice cream dessert followed shortly after. I wondered if her kiss would be as sweet as this Pistachio flavor. After all the things that went wrong on this date, I made the mistake of resorting to pity seduction style. “Well, you don't want this. But what about me? What about my heart that will forever be loving you?” my game was crippled. I had to fall back to this. She stood her ground and proceeded to explain how office romance is not a good idea. She mentioned so many things that will be put into jeopardy if we did it. After this, I kept reaching for my hanky every minute to wipe off the never ending sweat. The spicy Indian stew had also gotten the better of me and my tongue felt like taking a dive in the Indian ocean. My composure was shattered, I tried to hold myself firmly.

After we were done, we both went to the cashier but she was fast in making the payment. I tried to stop her but she wouldn't budge. I felt embarrassed, as Africans we men are supposed to foot the bill. We got into the company car that I was using for this date and drove her back home. I escorted her to the doorstep and a glimpse back revealed the Red car parked across beside a short branched tree. They were following us. They wouldn't stop. They had to make sure of the finality of my date. As I stood at the doorstep, I knew there was no chance of future romance between me and Rubina. I stood silent for a while expecting she would at least invite me in for coffee, out of pity. But she was careful not to send mixed signals. Last but not least, I asked if I could use her bathroom to empty my bowels. The act of getting in would save my face from my Hawk friends who would be very eager and judgmental when they tell me “We told you so.” on Monday at work.

Rubina did not fall for it. Instead, she gave a childish peck on the cheek and told me Good night pal. Thanks for the outing, we should do this again sometime. My last desperate attempt was to ask her to please let me in for about fifteen minutes until my friends are gone and I would pay her five thousand shillings. This upset her. She banged the door behind me without saying a word. I had lost a friend. But most importantly, I had been debased.