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.