Soothing Cardiac Emotions.

Two hours had passed while I was standing, facing this door. I used to think it was a beautiful door. Made from Camphor and had dark varnish painted on. But now, the four stars curved in plus the varnish color was beginning to make me nauseous. I had knocked and apologized and explained myself but still, Salwa refused to open the door for me. My phone showed fifteen minutes to nine. “Salwa, what if I promise not to say a word, open the door so that I can watch the nine o'clock news. Please.?” I pleaded. “What about after the news, will you then go and leave me alone?” she asked. I answered Yes but she could see the lie right through the word. “Go watch the news at your place.” she stubbornly suggested.

Salwa and I have been seeing each other for nine weeks. She is the kind of a girl that when you had, you would grab every chance you get to show her off to your friends and workmates, and rivals. She had a sweet fair face with slightly protruding cheekbones. Her eyes were big, not so big though. And staring at her face quenched whatever stress I was going through at the time. Earlier that afternoon, she walked in on me on a salon taking pictures with a fan. The girl was sitting on my lap while her left hand was around my shoulder. And I had taken her waist tenderly as one who was really enjoying it. My girlfriend, Salwa, was gorgeous but I was a star. Many on social media knew the poetry prowess I had in me, and from time to time I got invitations to drinks and parties. This bothered Salwa much and at last I did not inform her whenever I went to meet fans. I must say, I never slept or kissed any of these girls while I was going out with Salwa. So faithful and committed of me.

“When are you planning to open the door, don't you think three hours is enough?” I asked in a tired tone. “This is not a punishment Ahmedinho, I just don't want to see you. I'm done.” this last sentence was disheartening. I still collected my courage because I didn't want to believe this could be the end of us. I had carried Salwa on the bosom of my heart. I envisioned a life of forever with her. Her beauty, and knowing she is mine makes me happy. I knew I had to keep fighting and going on. “Salwa, you know I love you. But look at how busy you are. We hardly see each other during the day.” I thought maybe finding a way to bring the blame to her might do a successful trick. “What of your work acquaintances and workmates? You are with them the whole day and I have never asked or shown doubt. Because I trust. You see me on a photo-shoot and you act like you have seen me in bed with the girl.”

“Now that we are not together, you can have all the photo-shoots you want, without guilt. The fact that you keep these things from me, means there's something going on. Maybe not fornication, but I cant stand the idea that my man is ogling and entertaining admiration for other girls. I want to feel I'm the only one. Even if its selfish and unreasonable. I fell for you, and hoped that you are the man of my dreams. But clearly you are not.” stubbornly she replied. And a clever one. The blame game did not seem to be working here. I strained my mind to think what next?

Neighbors of Salwa had begun returning from their night outs. It was ten thirty, and I was sitting outside the door to Salwa's apartment, on the floor. My legs had given in. Some said hello while others just opened their doors and got in. The thought of calling it quits passed my mind for a second, but considering what I was going to loose, I promised myself to fight to the last breath.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” I asked. “Yes I do. Did I say thank you for the Kachiri?” she asked too. I could sense that she was situated not so far from the door, and the anger had dialed down. It was on a Sunday, the day we met at Mama Ngina drive. I was with my cousin Ali 'Bush” form Mtongwe. The place is filled with snack vendors on Sundays. There are Mishkaki, Kachiri, Mabuyu, Ice cream, Madafu, cold drinks, fried cassava and many more. I saw Salwa and her friend heading to the Kachiri sellers and I grabbed Ali's hand to have him follow my lead. When I reached, I gave Salwa a mild bump then apologized. She smiled, knowing I had done it intentionally and I smiled back. “Hi, i'm Ahmedinho.” I introduced myself. “That's a funny name.” she replied. “I bet your name is as beautiful as you are.” I continued. “Yes it is, and I like it.” she replied. “So how do we know who won or lost this bet?” I asked. She said “I don't care winning or losing. If you want a win, take it.” she was clever. I offered to pay for their Kachiri. They took them and started away. “You break my heart sweetheart.” I said while following them. “Now I'm your sweetheart?” They started laughing at me. We kept following them until they reached a white Vitz car parked facing the Likoni creek Sea. “You want a lift?” she asked me while entering their car. I said No thanks. It felt weird taking a ride from someone I was trying to seduce. She saw my sad face and pitifully said “Salwa, My name is Salwa. I think I won the bet.” My face sparkled. I had to act fast or else I would never see her again. If I pour out my heart, she would think I'm crazy because I had just seen her. So I placed my business-card on her dashboard and told her this is the gift for winning the bet.

I had to roll that dice. I had nothing left. Chances are that she would throw out the card after a few minutes drive because there was nothing in me worth a call back. I knew I was not handsome. She knew we came there by Matatu while she had her own car. And the words game, she came out the victor. But after two weeks, odds were defied and I got the call. And I was calm in my heart but excited in my mind.

“Do you remember the first time we made love?” I thought this reminiscence play was doing good and wanted to do it more. “Yes I do. You were a hungry bear.” she said and we both laughed. At this time, she was sitting down on the other side of the door. Her voice was clear and near. I could see myself slowly winning her heart back. It was half past midnight and my determination was still strong despite the cast out feeling the hallway was giving me.

Salwa, I know the importance of life. Friends and jobs. Morals and so many other things. But as I mention all these to you, I would choose to leave all these to be with you on a deserted island where life if difficult. If, that's what you want. I wont have a full life if my life will not revolve around you. Despite my funny and naughty ways, my heart knows you are the one stimulating its smiling muscles. I'm sorry for making you angry, and I want you to know that I truly love you. Heart and soul. I said this after composing myself from the blow of being three o'clock in the morning and still the door was not opened for me.

I know you love me Ahmed. But I doubt whether this would work. The things you are used to and the things I want in a relationship, seem to collide. I think its better to call this off while we still have our strength. Somewhere out there, our soul-mates roam the earth. And we wont find them, if we keep holding on to each other. She laid down those hurting words gently. “But I think you are my soul-mate.” I said. “How come I don't?” she asked. “I am willing to stop parties. I promise I will never take a picture with a fan again. Just let me love you, and in return I'm only asking for your love.”

At this time, she opened the door and took me in her embrace. “You are such a sweet guy Ahmedinho. Any girl would be lucky to have such a man who can sacrifice for love.” she said. “I love you, I really do. But its now clear to me I cant spend rest of my life with you. I believe in love we don't have to make sacrifices and big compromises. It should come easy, with little effort. I would feel much better if the things you promise, are done because you believe them to be right and you want them that way. Not doing them for me. If I accept that, later in life you will turn to resent me. I would have been the person who stopped you from being you and having fun your own way.”

I could understand what she meant deep, but I still felt I should be with him. She clearly seems to have thought so much about this while I only listened to my heart. She held my face and gave me a deep long kiss until I got lost in a fantasy world. She stopped and told me, that was a good-bye kiss. I nodded sadly. I knew I couldn't keep arguing with her if she really did not want this. I was heartbroken. First time heartbroken on friendly terms. No hate or rage. I asked about good-bye sex but she strongly objected to that. I hugged her again, told her I will always love her and got out heading to my home. She said I could sleep on the couch but I did not want that. It was already dawn and I could reach my place safely.

The long wait

The General post office, Mombasa. The mostly used meeting point. At most, then when we were young adults. Now we know better, mature people meet at home or at a cozy restaurant. I guess then our age did not offer many options, we did not want our parents to see who we were courting and a restaurant is where you take a sure thing.

Early February it was a couple of years after secondary school that I was a subject of a date in hope. I had agreed with Nana that we would meet here at 11:30am then find a good place to have lunch. Another reason why youngsters met here was that we liked the curious eyes following us. We smiled inside when we tried to put ourselves in the eyes of the public waiting for Matatus, or on appointments just like us five minutes ago. “How did he get such a hot girl?” we would think they think. “he is proud, showing off he has a smokin! gorgeous girl.” Another fantastic assumption. And my response to them in telepathy was always “i am Handsome, and I am lucky.”

G.P.O was accessible with little effort from any suburb of Mombasa. Every bus and Matatu passed through here, there was no need spending more on taxi fare. And ten minutes before the time agreed, I was already here wearing a big smile. I leaned on one of the corners bearing post office private boxes looking at each luminous decorated Matatu stopping by and passengers alighting. Some boarded the Matatus heading to Likoni Ferry and some to Docks. Others entered the Post office building while others headed to different buildings behind it. I looked at them trying to play psychic to discover their thoughts. I dropped them as soon as they were out of my sight. The highway in front was busy. Across it was “No Maneno.” a shopping center famous for its clothes and shoes. To the left was Bima towers, once the tallest building in Mombasa.

Nana was my new quest. We met in a Matatu two weeks ago and I tried my wavy lines on her. Her smile was a clear green light to me. Clad in a white head scarf and a black long dress known as Buibui, I couldn't figure out exactly her body contours since they are a priority to me while checking girls out. She was seated, as did I. I came out at G.P.O. Even though it was not my destination. I was heading to Cannon towers. But I had to at least see how majestic her walk was. She was friendly and didn't seem too proud as most strange girls. That's why she gave me her number.

Half an hour had passed. I didn't mind that lateness. I understood girls need to prepare their looks. They would touch on microscopic details which men would not catch an eye on. They did it anyway. And I would seem uncaring getting angered by little lost time that was used for my benefit. For my eyes. For me to be impressed by the princess' like looks. My uncle came out from a Matatu from Bamburi, we said greetings and he headed to the Municipal council office in Treasury square. Then my friend Morris(Kamwana) from Mikindani saw me as he was passing by. We talked for less that five minutes and he was on his way too.

I looked at my 3310 Nokia cellphone but could not see any missed calls. It was 12:15pm and I was beginning to get worried. We have all heard of once bitten twice shy. But I did not want to entertain that figurative shyness here. It would be giving up, and the idea that some girl has gotten the most of me just like the first time. It was just a year ago when a girl who promised to buy me dinner stood me up at Island Dishes Restaurant. I waited patiently for her while drinking Fanta that I had ordered to cloud the slow moving time. I ended up paying for the soda an hour later and left since she could not be reached on her switched off phone.

Men rarely make fake date plans. Our body language is so transparent. And if it's to lie, we would make up excuses and create busy plans the time you want to meet us. This is a girl thing. I don't know why girls cannot be honest enough to say I don't like you so I wont go out on a date with you. And to a fair number of them, its neither softening the blow or being shy. They just want to have a sick sense of pleasure knowing that they have stood up someone. While humanity considers sensitivity to lean on the feminine side, this is outright insensitive. Some boy has lost his time, he could be doing something else. He has lost his energy putting on attractive wear he had washed and the standing while waiting for you. And he has lost 30 bob Matatu fare coming from Magongo, Mombasa west. And 30 bob returning fare.

I doubt if any girl is able to wait half an hour for a guy while standing. Be late for ten minutes and you will be met with a somber face, no matter how justified your reason would be. For a respectable caring person, he or she would not make fake plans in the first place. And if he was not joker, at least he would call to say he would be late or she wouldn't be able to make it. That call would be made in time so as not not to inconvenience you.

Fifteen minutes to one, and I had started feeling hungry. At this time, we were supposed to be on a table somewhere taking “chips mayai” and soda. I know she would have ordered chicken with her chips, but I would settle for the omelette and soda. But she wasn't here. I had been on a date before where a girl was late for two hours. I waited for more than two hours at the Butterfly pavilion and finally she showed up. I don't know if it was her long preparations, maybe she had second thoughts about the meeting or maybe it was my calls after every twenty minutes asking how much time till she arrived? The good thing is, she showed up in the end. But today, this one is beginning to nurture my doubts. I finally decided to call, she picked up, and she apologized for running late but assured me she is on her way.

Fifteen minutes past one, the sun was over in front shining directly on our side. The shadow was encroaching my standing point. After noon temperatures usually go high in our coastal town. I was sweating, but not so much. I had a hanky in my pocket which I used to wipe out sweat on my face. I thought of going round the G.P.O. Building but was afraid Nana might arrive and miss me. So I walked to the right just twenty meters and looked at the road leading to Central police station. Then I turned and walked left to the pavement of Bima Towers. Far left at the round-about where Digo road intersects with Nkrumah road and Moi Avenue, there is a big clock. I checked to confirm if my Phone watch was far ahead, but it was one thirty, just as mine. I called her again and she said she is in a Matatu coming. I returned back to my standing post and saw another guy there. It was not my post by right, so I stood in another place beside and continued waiting.

How much time does a Matatu take from Tudor to G.P.O? I asked myself. I was getting impatient. It was 2.Pm and she had not arrived yet. Even in rush hour it takes less than twenty minutes from Tudor to GPO. However I convinced myself to exercise more patience until 2:30 when I called her again. The phone kept ringing but she was not picking up. Reality downed on me, I had been stood up again. The happy face I worn when I came down from a Matatu had faded. I was sour, felt betrayed in my heart and hated myself for falling into cheap girlish tricks again. I knew I had a naive heart, but that's what I believed sweet romance is about. Its time I stopped listening to my heart, I thought. There were tremors inside my body. I was lucky people could not see through my shirt, otherwise whey would have noticed the shivering. I have to get home fast and wash away this body sweat. Then I would buy a queen cake and soda, take it to my room, and sulk while listening to heartbreaking music.

Airquotes

Today was my lucky day. I am meeting Veronica for the second time in this week. Not in a pleasant way for her, but for me it was luck. Her small Vitz car has got a flat Tyre and since no good Samaritan had offered to give her a helping hand, there's a good chance she will start seeing me as an angel. I got out from the Matatu just a distance from the Makande police road block. She had parked the car a little off the road for convenience of other motorists. She smiled when she saw my face. Not a romantic smile where a girl had seen her crush. And not completely because of seeing the helping hand. There was another, she knows it and I do too. But I didn't want to remind her of that, so after greetings i got on to the spare Tyre and in ten minutes she was good to go.
She gave me a lift. She was staying in The national housing Estate to the right of Mainland stage in Magongo, Changamwe. While I was from the left side, where we were dwellers in Swahili architectural housing. “So am I getting fake numbered today too?” I asked. She smiled and asked for my number to beep. We met at pirates beach the first time, I saw her talking to my friends Isaac and Mary who resided in the same Estate with her. My friends lived together though not married yet. So after a brief introduction Isaac said, You are single and you are single, so let me and my darling Mary leave you two to see what you'll do about that. I was instantly smitten. I had a thing for curved nubile with pretty cheeks.
Time was not to be wasted. I called her to check if she was free the coming weekend but she was not. I asked about next weekend, and she knew I would see into it if she faked to be busy then too. She didn't seem fond of me, she did give me a fake number the first time. But I was not quitting after one failure. The norm is, girls do not agree the first time. We expect that, that's why we don't give up when we really like them. We try again, we follow up, we find a way to show our interest. And that is what is called Effort.
She did show show up at Noor Restaurant. It was not an expensive place, but it was nice and within my means. I expected her to call and cancel the date but I guess she felt she owed me after the punctured Tyre incident. Or maybe she wanted to put me behind her. After a date, she will tell me she tried but it will not work out and I would stop bothering her. But I was glad she was here, with me. We ordered drinks first and I started asking her questions to float a conversation. I wanted to know her better since I liked her. She only asked about my job, where I hangout on weekends and holidays and my education. I asked about her family, her profession too. And whether she liked politics and football. That was just for fun because I know most girls don't. But I sneaked in questions to see whether we would be compatible as lovers.
Just before the waiter took our order for food, a girl came to the restaurant and tapped Veronica on her shoulder. “Thank God I found you Vero,” she started. “Mark has fallen from the roof of the house, neighbors have rushed him to Port-reitz hospital. Please hurry.” I asked who Mark was and Veronica replied it was her gardener. I offered to go with them but she refused. She said we'll do this another time. I wasn't comfortable with how the event turned out. Not that I'm insensitive but it felt fishy. I hurriedly took a taxi after her car left and I told the driver to follow them.
Instead of heading to Port-reitz, the car took to direction of town. We followed them until they stopped at Uchumi Railways supermarket. I paid the driver and entered the supermarket to see them shopping and laughing. I had been ditched, and was disappointed. I staged an accident of my own and we met at the snacks alley. “Oh, you are here?” I acted surprised. “We came to buy gifts for the patient.” Veronica's friend answered. I said I just came here to do my monthly stock. Veronica's face seemed dehydrated. She asked if I had followed them and I said No. I just needed to buy my food ration. So I took a chocolate bar, told her I would see her on Wednesday night, and headed for the counter.
Wednesday Was Mary's birthday, and Isaac had decided to throw a party for her. I knew Veronica would come. I knew her effort was to make sure I don't get a chance with her. Somehow I knew it, but had not completely accepted it. It seems unfair that a person you like would not like you back. Should I quit, or have a go at it for another time? I asked myself. Surely an effort is good, but its disgusting being followed by a person whom you have no interest in. You don't want to appear conceited or disrespectful by smiling and appearing friendly to the smitten kittens and they keep invading your space until you are bored to death. Somehow they think if you see their face many times, or hear from them now and then, a chemical reaction will happen to make them love you. You feel this for those who you call stalkers, but now you are on the other end. You are the one who is making another uncomfortable with your constant contact and tries.
While others were dancing and talking, I saw her sitting by the drinks table. Clearly a sign that she is single. So if she has no one and I am single, I wondered why we could not hook up? I stayed away from her, I could still feel the betrayal from our date. I talked to others and watched lovers dancing and at last I had to go take another drink. I greeted her, showing her I was not all angry. After three sips, I asked her for a dance. She said she doesn't feel like dancing tonight. So I volunteered to sit with her. I tried a few funny stories, which she displayed insincere smiles. At last I thought I had to be a little more aggressive in my quest. I told her I really liked her despite the last week incident. I placed my hand on top of hers and she immediately decided to fold her arms. I told myself this might be “hard to get.” I asked her again about a dance. I reminded her that she is single and other single men in the party had already acquired partners to go back home with. She didn't seem happy about that revelation. So I got out my camera from my pocket and asked one of the guests to take a picture of us.
That was was the last straw for her. “Why would I want to be in a picture with you? Do you want to tell people that I'm your girlfriend when you show the picture?” She started angrily. “Can't you take a hint Ahmedinho?” her voice rose up. “I have shown you and I have even said it that I'm not interested in you. What more do you want from me? Is your happiness making people who rejected you miserable? Tell me, say it. Or do you think I like your childish romantic stunts? Hear me and hear me good: If there were no other men left on this earth, I would still not want to be with you. You are nosy, but whats important is that I don't find you attractive. You do not make my heart skip a beat. So please, just stay away from me.”
All eyes were on me. The dancers, drinkers and those who were having talks in the kitchen and balcony. I felt embarrassed and exposed. I felt hurt to have this exchanged for my love. At that point fondness turned to hate for her. For a second, the idea of pushing her for the guys to laugh at when she falls down crossed my head. That would teach her a lesson to feel what she had just done to me. But I controlled myself. I turned round and went to the toilet. I remained there until I heard music again. That's when I got out, paced silently heading for the exit.

Wrong number

Friday evenings are supposed to be happy nights here in the middle east. Its the beginning of a weekend. But this was not. I received an unsettling call just after taking a bath. It was by “imo,” the widely used calls application due to its clarity and cheapness. I did not recognize the caller, he had just added my number, but I answered anyway.

“Are you Mchox?” the male voice asked. “Yes I am.” I answered. Who am I speaking to? I asked. He replied “Rajab, Mwanasiti's husband.” I knew few Mwanasitis in my circle. And I definitely knew who he was talking about. I immediately understood it was not a friendly weekend call. My heart started beating faster.

Mwanasiti was a friend. She used to work here in the Gulf too. We met in a web-page group of Kenyans working abroad. After private chatting for sometime We realized we were both from Mombasa though we haven't met. She was from Likoni side while I from Ratna-square. Chances were slim that we had met before. We did not cross lines in our conversations. Just usual chats about being far from home and development plans so that we don't find ourselves trapped in foreign land for decades.

She finished her contract and returned back home. After some few weeks of silence, she returned back online a sad person. She explained to me how she used to send her salary back home to her husband to finish the house they had decided to build. She found the house two stone layers above the foundation. The husband used the money to chew Ghat/miraa everyday and weekend parties. He wasn't taking good care of their two young girls too. She was so disappointed and heartbroken considering what she went through working for Arabs.

I consoled her. Reminded her chances do not necessary knock on our door once in lifetime. There's still hope that she would get another means to uplift their life to better. So, we would chat and sometimes talk using imo. I felt pity and sometimes sent her some money through Mpesa. His husband was jobless and sometimes the girls go to sleep without having dinner.

So, today her husband decided to give me a call. He asked me what is the relationship between me and his wife? I said we are just friends. I told him we haven't even met in real life. We see each other through Facebook and other internet apps. The he asked “ how can I believe that?” I remained silent. I didn't know how to explain it to him. It was his wife, he knows her better. So if it is to trust her or not, its up to him. At my silence, he started to be more volatile. He asked me if I had a wife and if it was my habit to seduce other people's wives? I defended myself telling him that I had never seduced his wife. He should check his wife's messages and another proof is that she is still with him, not me.

A husband threatened usually does not reason optimally. He continued accusing me of setting up fire on their marriage. He said he had my picture, and if he ever sees me roaming the streets of Likoni, he will punish me severely before driving a knife to my stomach. I tried to explain to him the state of things, hoping he would realize he was wrong but he kept spewing venom profusely.

We meet different kinds of people on social media. Some are below age, and some are married. Some lie about their relationship status and some are truthful and straightforward. We befriend them, sometimes give a helping hand to con-men and con-women. Those who are in committed relationships know their status before flirting with the singles. But its okay since most mean no harm and its kept secret from their partners. Problems arise when their partners peruses your tracks and you give him or her something to doubt you on. You wonder whose responsible for the fracas? The singles roaming the net looking for fun or the committed who consciously take the step to engage another person in a questionable manner? We, the defensive singles always say we have done nothing wrong. And explain it with reason. But in the eyes of society and moral ears, we find ourselves rebuked. Another person's love is a no go zone. There are a billion other singles on Earth, ogle those.

“Mchox, you claim innocence and sound decent on the phone. Why is it that a week does not pass until you talk to my wife? Why have you sent my wife 10k? That's not little amount. What did she promise you in return, nude video chatting? You see, I have proof enough to suspect your ill intentions? He continued. I insisted there was nothing evil in the conversations I've had with Mwanasiti. As for the 10k, I thought better to help her start a small business instead of sending her money now and then when she comes crying for help.

All that time, I had replied to him with utmost respect and consideration. I didn't want to say anything to give him a reason to blame it on me on what happens to their marriage. But as the call grew longer, he grew more harsh and disrespectful. At one time he called me a cockroach which he could easily kill by stepping on me. I had changed the phone from my left ear to right, then left again. Streams of sweat trickled down as if im not the one who recently came out from the bathroom. And he continued insulting me. And at last he told me he is going to beat Mwanasiti tonight and she wont be able to sleep at all.

I wondered why he told me that because Mwanasiti does not belong to me. But I had had enough from him. I knew he was jobless and lazy but I did not say anything to him. I knew he squandered his wife's money and he is the reason why they are living miserably, but I remained silent. So, I cut short his abuses and told him, Listen: If you are tired with Mwanasiti, don't find an excuse from me. I know you mistreat her because she will find it hard to leave the marriage because of the children. But I tell you, if you leave her, Mwanasiti will not suffer. I promise you, if you divorce her tonight, tomorrow night I will send my people to her home and I will marry her in absentia. If you think I'm calling a bluff, divorce her and watch the drama tomorrow!

I hung up and blocked his number permanently on my phone. After three days Mwanasiti called. She told me that all his husband's anger was because he did not get his hand on the money. He saw the 10k Mpesa I sent but she had already withdrawn the money and bought materials for her cooking business. He wanted it to buy Ghat/miraa and cigarettes and spend it having fun. She also told me that he did beat her that night, but he did not leave her. They are still together.

Rainbow Alley

Treasury square was as cool as always. I loved this place. I remember coming with a girlfriend here once. She said she liked it too but it did not show in her eyes. There are a few places like this in Mombasa island where noise is minimal, Uhuru gardens for one. Cover from tree shades, cement benches to sit and cheap snacks sold by cart vendors. I think its romantic. But I think girls don't like this setting, and I don't know why?

Today, I was just passing by. It was past five in the afternoon, I had just got off from work in King'orani where I clerk in a small scale transport company. I walked from G.P.O. Where I alighted from a Matatu, and was heading to The Mombasa hospital. I had never checked in sick at this hospital, Nor Aga Khan hospital, and neither Pandya hospital too. To me, these were hospitals where I would go in to visit rich friends when they are sick, or those that were given medical insurance policies by their employers. I couldn't afford them. But I'm also thankful to The Almighty that I have never had real sickness in my life. Fever, malaria, typhoid, dislocated arm joint, these were fixed at the local health center or at The Coast General hospital(Makadara).

The hospital was clean, as always. I could sense the rich air flavor sandwiched between the sour medicine scent in hospitals that I so hate. It was already visiting hours and I headed straight to Semi Private wing wards. It had been two weeks since Maria's mum was admitted here. I thought she would be out in no time, that's why I had not bothered coming before. Another reason, I did not like her mum. Buts that's only because she did not like me either. She was a racist, but only if you remove the word race in racist to insert religion. She did not want a non-christian for her only daughter.

Maria ran two small businesses. A boutique selling latest designer handbags, shoes, and clothes imported from Dubai. And a cybercafe offering internet, photocopying and typing services. I met her when I was looking for a place to print my KRA-pin certificate. The stall was just opposite customs main office. I flirted with her for some minutes before asking for her number. She refused. She said she had given out her number to many guys who seem interested. But if I was real, then I would meet her for drinks when she closes shop.

I made good my word and we met at Stavrose cafe at six before darkness announced itself. She was a girl with a beautiful face. You could see the confidence of a young entrepreneur in her, plus the smile she wore, a man wouldn't resist ogling. Maybe that's why her place was full of customers. She told me she was from Kaloleni. Her extended relatives still lives there on a family farm. Her father died while she was still young and its her mum who saw her through school and hard times until she started her own business in Mombasa town when she took in her mum from Kaloleni.

Maria was at the door when I reached the ward. She hugged me then ushered me in to see her mum. There was a nurse beside her. I greeted her and she replied with difficulty. She was trying her best to conceal her groaning, but I could feel it. I knew pain when I see it from a person's face. She was breathing fast and sweat was coming flowing down from her face despite the air conditioning in the room. Despite our differences, I really felt sorry for her today. This was the woman who told Maria, her daughter that I was no good for her. That I was wasting her time and in the end she would just be hurt because of difference in our religions. She warned Maria repeatedly against converting for love. I didn't know what was the big deal with her and the interference. Surely, I liked Maria but I wasn't looking at our relationship to be the “Together forever” one.

We went out to sit at the reception lounge after thirty minutes. Maria was lost in thoughts. I asked her what was the problem in mother? “She has cancer.” she started. “She was diagnosed and found with cancer about a year ago. We have been able to manage it through good expensive medicine that I have been buying for her. She is also diabetic. Its a usual story, old people have multiple diseases. The doctors have been giving her strong painkilling injections but it seems she doesn't respond to them anymore. It has affected her right leg so much. Doctor said had it been cut off about six months ago, the sickness wouldn't have spread so much. Its so serious now and they said its just a matter of few weeks until she dies.” Maria was crying as she narrated this. “She is the only one I got. Other family members don't care much. But they are not close family, I cant blame them much.” she continued. “I cant afford to see her that way. She is suffering. She is in so much pain since the medicines stop responding. I have exhausted all my savings and what I get from my business is not enough to take care of these medical expenses. I don't know what to do now? She suggested to the doctors that she be put to sleep, the final sleep. But I'm not decided yet. I'm not sure if the right thing to do,”

The “i don't know what else to do.” raised my eyebrows. Sure, I was the boyfriend but we only started going out three months ago. She wouldn't think that I would help with the hospital bill. I was just a clerk earning less than ten thousand shillings. I had so much to do with my meager salary. I held her shoulder and started consoling and comforting her with words of hope. “Maria, you have been a good daughter. You have taken care of your grandma for long and I'm sure she appreciates it. You said it yourself, you cant bare to see her in that pain. Her medical condition is incurable and she continues to suffer from pain. Doctors say she only has little time anyway. I think your mother is right. You should honor her wish and accept the doctors recommendations. Don't see it as her leaving you, see it as ending the immense pain that she now feels.”

She understood my words and I accompanied her to the doctors office to sign some paperwork for the procedure. It would be simple. Just an overdose of morphine and she would sleep peacefully to beyond. We returned back to the ward and Maria held her mother's left hand while crying. She opened her eyes briefly and nodded three times. She then pressed Maria's hand gently. She couldn't talk now. She coughed a bit then continued with her silent groaning. She was drunk with pain and had given up hope completely.

I hadn't noticed it was past midnight and I was still here at the hospital. The view of the see was beautiful, not to the admitted patients though. The doctor and a nurse came to give Maria copies of the paperwork and made settings on the drip and injections. They told us to pray and say goodbye to our grandma and when she feels its the right time, she should just press the injection connected to the patient's hand. They said they would be back after some few hours to do it if she couldn't.

Death is scary. We usually still have things to accomplish before we go. We think of our loved ones whom we'll never see again. But there is hope. We are told that those who depart here, go into another world where they only eat fruits. There are beautiful houses and gardens where the sky is decorated with rainbows and singing birds. That was the place Maria's mum would go to.

We sat there looking at mum's face. We had mixed feelings. Loss, pain, kindness, heartbreak and all sorts that makes you feel your heart is shrinking. We could see that she was still struggling. Silently, she was asking us to pull the trigger and end her misery. Maria went for the injection then she retreated her hand. “Do it for me Ahmedinho” she asked me. And I thought this woman had suffered enough. I gently pressed the injection until all the dose had disappeared in her veins. After around ten minutes while Maria was still holding her hand, we could no longer see hard wrinkles formed from the pain she was experiencing. She seemed peaceful. And after a few seconds, she stopped breathing, and she was gone. I had done a good thing. Helping a poor woman escape unending pain.

Potpourri

Looking at my watch for the millionth time was embarrassing. For me, couples in nearby tables and the waiters. It was nine thirty in the evening, an hour late from the agreed time of the date. And I kept adding more patience because I really liked the girl I was waiting for.

Seated at the middle table of Lebanon hotel, streams of sweat were forming on my face. They could not be visible enough since I wiped them off every five or ten minutes. But behind the cool face that I tried to display, there were tremors, anxiety and mixed feelings of uneasiness.

I met Becky two weeks ago at a friend's birthday party done at Reef beach hotel. Clad in a tank top and shorts while having her drink as she walked round the swimming pool, I thought she deserves an A+ if I had to grade her. She was hot. A few minutes after greetings, the rapport was commendable. She was nice, and we exchanged numbers after she agreed to go out with me.

Eight thirty was the time I arrived at this agreed on place. I wanted to show her that I was a punctual person, and serious about her from the beginning. But there were signs that this was not going to end well. I tried her on her cellphone forty minutes ago and she said she was running late, but coming. Twenty minutes later she was out of reach. I did not want to jump into conclusion. Giving her a benefit of doubt, I alluded to myself that maybe her phone was out of battery.

We are supposed to show up when we agree on a date. If one does not like the other, no need to waste each others time. Just tell them no, that you are not interested. Here I was, beginning to think that I was a fool for believing that she would show up. Probably, behind the laughter to my jokes at the party, she must have thought I was not good looking. And was too much with my stories that she decided to give me hypocritical pity laughs. I had begun hating, her and somehow myself while seated at the table.

I could see pity on the faces of couples on nearby tables. Far on the counter as I peeked, I could see the waiters laughing as they occasionally looked my way. I had only ordered Coca cola, to drink while waiting for my date. One hour and twenty minutes had passed, and I officially knew I had been stood up.

The waiters gave me complimentary snacks after paying for my soda. I didn't feel like ordering food with all the discomfort I was feeling. They were feeling sorry for me, and thought maybe some chocolate and a Kebab would help me feel good.

Its safer to pick your date from her apartment. That way you will know a few things about her, if she has a male roommate or living with parents. But most importantly, your time will not be wasted sitting at a table. Either she goes out with you, or you know it wont happen. The problem is, out of safety, it is not advisable for people to know where you live if you haven't known them better. So first dates will continue to lack assurance.

I would sleep alone today. Not that I had high hopes of getting laid, first dates rarely achieve such success. But at least if the date goes on well, the hope will give you sweet dreams in a sound sleep. Unlucky me.