Elves’ chariot

The ride was bumpy. I could feel how everyone was uncomfortable. We were all seated in the tipper of the truck. I did not know where they are taking us, because we could not see outside from our sitting positions. Two policemen holding G3 rifles stood up at the back, on the entrance of the tipper. Obviously were being taken to a police station, but which?

Disappointment, humiliation, and a lot other feelings related to pain oscillated in my heart at the moment. I looked at Purity, searching her gaze but she was facing down. The feeling of helplessness was what I was angered about most. That there was nothing I could do to save my lady for the day. Not that we were lovers, but more like friends with benefits. The police picked us up just about the time we were leaving Talento’s Beach.

Purity Kibet, my short hot Kalenjin friend had requested that I give her company on Christmas day. We both classify ourselves as “people of simple pleasures.” We never meet in expensive restaurants or buy each other expensive gifts. It’s not that i am stingy with money or made myself a career of being a miser, but I believed love is the romantic care that springs from the heart which is free from shackles of expenses. So we met at the beach some few minutes after four in the afternoon, and walked on the crowded sands of the beach. There were hawkers selling boiled eggs and popcorn, which I bought for both us. Then we found a shade near a wall and we sat to make silly talk and flirt.

Seven thirty, and it was already dark. People remain late at the beach in case they want to fool around. Many like me are shy and would not even make out in front of people. So we stood up and were making our way to the road to board Tuk-tuk to take us back home. That was when two policemen told us to stop and asked for our identity cards. We showed them, but regardless, they took us to a Lorry that they hid just behind the fence of the beach hotel. I offered them two hundred shillings but they refused. When I tried to protest, one cop slapped me so hard that I felt dizzy. 

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t mind so much. But this humiliation was handed to me in front of my girl.

Men like to feel like heroes in the eyes of their ladies. You disrespect a man or his girl in front of him, and you have invited a world war. Yet we are mostly likely to ignore you if the girl isn’t here. No man wants the brand “coward” on his face. This incident reminded me two years ago when I was hiking with a girl in Magwangwani quarry area. Still on sweet talking lane as I hadn’t even scored yet. Suddenly there appeared ahead a group from the street gang “Wakali-Kwanza,” carrying pangas. I couldn’t waste a second and I turned and ran fast leaving the girl behind. She had taken another route running to save her life. I saw her the next day at the market, but there was nothing more to say to her. Our story was over the moment I abandoned her while in danger.

Today, I didn’t want to feel frightened and unmanly as that day. But as I began to be stubborn complaining about my rights and asking why we were being arrested, I received another slap and the policeman kicked me on my chest until I fell down. There was no way I would win this, I knew. They were many, and they had guns. I felt ashamed as I carried myself up and boarded the tipper of the truck. We waited for half an hour more as the police were finding and bringing more citizens before the truck left. And so we found ourselves on this unexpected ride. Yet it was not a one which dwarfs, or elves are pulling this carriage led by Father Christmas.

A quick glance at my surrounding and the face of the police block before we were booked and I realized in which police station we were taken to. We were escorted to male remand room while women were taken to their holding area. Our phones remained at the O.B. area but I had already texted my sister. She knew I had been picked up by policemen but didn’t know which police station I was taken to. I also cautioned her not to tell many people, I didn’t want shameful news about me to spread in the family.

The police cell was dark. There was a small ventilation window about twenty feet high, but I guess it was not full moon. I found it hard to remain in my sitting position because the room was congested. I heard others starting small talk. It seems we had to be brought here because we produce the OCS’ cut. The policemen had had their share; the big guys also wanted something to spend on this festive season. Otherwise, I think they would have taken the two hundred shilling bribe.

Time stood still, or it seemed so. Five minutes felt like three hours. We were very uncomfortable. The room smelt like urine, because there was a bucket of urine at the corner. We were not allowed to go to the toilet. Secondly, because it was hot and everyone was sweating. After midnight, one person was called out and he did not return. It happened again after fifteen minutes then after half an hour. I heard that those who were called out had been cleared. Their family members or friends had come and paid their tithe to the Police. I was hungry and bitter. What consoled me were the funny stories others told, and sounds of music from nearby night clubs.

I wondered if Purity had been released or still being held. I felt sorry for her because somehow I was the reason why we were here. I could not sleep. I continued listening to stories by my inmates. It was not first time for some of the guys and they didn’t seem so much troubled by this. Many said that they would be patient until evening of the next day and they would be released free of charge. But I felt like this was not a place to willingly stay even for five minutes.

Finally, my name was called out. I saw my sister at the OB, she came with her husband. Looking at the clock, it was ten minutes to six in the morning. I asked about Purity and was told she is still in. My sister said she had no more to bail her out; she gave them three thousand shilling just to get me out. I decided to call Purity’s sister who had no idea where she was until now. She understood that Purity was still with me and she is safe.

I could not wait there any longer. I returned back home, had my breakfast and took a long resting sleep. I knew purity’s case will be solved by her sister and I didn’t want to face her after she saw the beating and humiliation I got from the policemen. I vowed next time to give out even if it’s a thousand shillings to cops to avoid being locked up in such a place. I would also be more careful with night outs when it’s very late.

Spell-Craft

Sunset behind the palm trees horizon. The countryside looks beautiful. This was Rabai, Bengo. The Land of coconut wine. Land of the first Church in Kenya built by Dr. Krapf. Land of cool evening breeze and vicious silence. This was my second time in Bengo. I came with my dad years ago to attend a wedding ceremony.

This time, I’m here to give morale support to my friend Steven Ngala. Unlike other Mijikenda tribes, Rabais have mostly abandoned their traditional names to take English names. Their Christianity percentage is high, since the early Christian missions set up a strong base here. My friend Steven was here for love. His girlfriend whom big promises were made between them could not be traced since yesterday afternoon. In this day and age of technology, we know how our loved ones are doing even if they are ten thousand miles away.

I had known Grace, Steven’s girlfriend for a year and a half. They live together in rented rooms on Likoni. They are so good together. The love between them was visible to neighbors and friends. She was a short, not so fat black beautiful Rabai girl. Same tribe as my friend’s. She left town on Friday, promising to be back by Monday Morning for work. Steven said she arrived safely and they even Whatsapped on Saturday. He called her elder sister yesterday evening and that was when he received upsetting news. Her sister and other family members believe it was a work of jealous neighbors who resorted to witchcraft to damage her.

Dark forces, witchcraft and spirits forms part of a phenomena that is as old as our great grandparents yet we don’t get to see their manifestations in broad daylight. And it’s not just here in Africa, we see stories of Dracula and werewolves in European shows. Funny, scary creatures from Asian traditions. Flying saucers and Halloween stories are a testimony that voodoo is international.

The first step Steven and Grace’s relatives took were to visit the local ‘artist’ on these matters. A sorcerer. Since I had only seen conjuring and cheap magic tricks all my life, I was interested in seeing what these celebrated witches could do. He placed a pot of water at the center of the circular formation of our sitting arrangement and started saying words of enchantment. Invoking spirits to help in knowing the where about of Grace, while he was twirling the waters anticlockwise using his hand. After five minutes, he asked us to look. Grace’s mum said she saw the face of Mwadena. The Voodooist feared by many in that village, to a point of taking another route when they see him coming their way. I told the sorcerer I don’t see any face, just water. And he looked at me with stern eyes. I decided to keep quiet, didn’t want to show disrespect although I thought he was a hack.

Sleep seemed to have eluded me that night. One reason could be spending night in a house that had no electricity.  Also I could hear sounds of animals and insects even from far because the house had no ceiling. Some things kept biting my skin occasionally but I ignored them. My mind kept wondering in an ocean of thoughts. Many friends and accomplices in town have been forcing me to believe in the presence of witchcraft even though they cannot give me concrete evidence of its existence. I thought there were explainable factors when somebody doesn’t get a job for a long time, hit by a car accidentally, or falls ill. But many would find someone to blame for their misfortune. Once, a Pokomo friend of mine said there are people in their rural home who can command crocodiles to attack their enemies even in their homes. I have a diversity of friends, almost from every corner of our country. Another friend told me in Western, they command lightning and thunderstorm to strike those whom they don’t like. Among the Mijikendas, There is something called Kago. If you eat it, you won’t die until you consent. You could be ill in bed for years. Caterpillars and worms coming out of your body, but still alive. Among the Chonyis, they could give you out to their spirits so that it can rain in the village. Also, a Kamba friend told me of how their artist sent bees to a group holding an unaccepted political meeting in their turf. There are artists who are business minded. We see plenty of posters in our town adverting how these “Doctors” can give you love, cure your business or make you win elections In Politics. They are just looking to earn a living. But I hate those who create misunderstanding between people by lying to them that it’s your neighbor, or even your sister that has bewitched you.

Mwadena was followed the next day. Some family members had gathered up, took pangas and other weapons, ready to lynch him. But we found him prepared. His sons and friends were also holding Pangas when we arrived. A heated argument started and they denied doing anything to our Grace. After half an hour, the chief arrived with two Administration policemen carrying their rifles. And the Crowd was dispersed.

A wise old man came to Grace’s family and told them, he who calls another a witch is a witch himself. He cautioned us on our dealings with the Sorcerer who pointed Mwadena to us. The little things that disturbed me last night seemed to be angrier tonight. I found out that they were bed bugs. But these were not ordinary bed bugs. They pinch so hard that you feel the pain even after half an hour. All night I was rubbing them off wherever I felt they were biting. i couldn’t get some sleep until the break of dawn.

Steven had lost hope since it was the third day and Grace had not been found, not even her corpse. I took him out for a walk and told him we should make concealed rounds at the wizard’s house. Something weird about the sorcerer is that he does not go out to till his land during the day. They cook well even when there is drought of customers. And his thatched house was taller than others. We didn’t find out anything during the day that connects to Grace. And during the night, the Bed bugs army stroke again. I wondered why the others didn’t seem to be troubled much by them. So I woke Steven up and told him we should play James Bond tonight because I won’t enjoy the bed. We told his mum and sister that we were going out and we went to set station near the sorcerer’s house.

Exactly after midnight, He came out followed by his two sons, Naked. They ran in circles around the house examining the area then they let out eight other men and five girls. We followed them as they led them to his Shamba and we saw them tilling the land. There were only two of us so we returned back home to inform the others. Before dawn, we had informed other neighbors and by morning the whole village was surrounding the sorcerer’s house. There was a bit of pushing and violence but they gave in and people entered the house. The storage area for maize that made his house seem taller was where he kept those slave land tillers. They were brought down and family members recognized their loved ones. They looked like zombies. We also found Grace and Steven hugged her for long. He was thankful he was reunited with his love.

The sorcerer was arrested by the chief. I asked about this weird spectacle and I was told many evil people do that. You bury your dead but they are not dead. It’s the witch that made you think that. If you dug up the grave after a day you will find a banana stem.  Your relatives get lost and they are just around. They take these poor people under their spell to help them till their land and harvest. Grace told us that they are only fed on cold porridge mixed with some medicine to make them strong but stupid. They see everything but can do nothing. She wasn’t taken to till land as the sorcerer liked her and kind of like took her as his wife.

These revelations scared me. I wondered how cruel one can be to do things like this. Steven and Grace said they will sleep one more day there so that they can celebrate with family but I told them I had to leave. I was worried about the bed bugs. Since I suspected there was the sorcerers hand in them; I feared the magnitude of their attack tonight when their master had been arrested.

The velvet scrunchy

The Valentine of the year 2004 was disappointing for me. First this holiday was unofficial, so I was in the office. Secondly I was wearing something unacceptable. Though it was concealed, fear of somebody finding out stuck to my chest making me feel uncomfortable all day. It was a Saturday, and the secret wear was a female pink lace. I did not put it on willingly. No, I would not in a thousand years. But I had to, because I lost in a stupid game my girlfriend and I were playing the previous night: Truth or dare.

Whenever a colleague came to my desk for help or to discuss something, I started sweating. My heart beat faster. Some asked if I had fever or something wrong? I gave them a fake smile and said it was the temperature. But we were in an air conditioned office. They all made weird faces before they went away. The deal, I had to this the whole day. I chose my times to visit the gents and made a point of not using the lino even when it was just to pass down water. I had to go in an enclosed place. No one was supposed to find out in the office or I would fast become the object of conversation for the next six months. Either the gay label or cross-dresser would have stuck on my forehead. In addition to the underwear, there was something else on my thigh that made me uneasy even while sitting. I couldn't help touch it from time to time. I could not cheat, because Sarah made sure I did not carry any extra garment in the morning when I left for work. I knew, it was gonna be a long day!

Sarah and I had gone out two times prior to Yesterday. It was our third date and I was excited because it was “the night.” although I had a job, I was still living with my parents in that year. And once in a while sleeping out made me feel wild with temporary wings. After dinner at the Mombasa sports club, she drove to her apartment in Ganjoni and invited me in for coffee. I made myself comfortable on the sofa watching a late night movie featured on the local TV station. She came to join me after freshening up and at that time in the movie, the starring and the beautiful actress lover were playing Truth or dare game. I was amused, Sarah too. When it was over, Sarah said she is waiting for me in the bedroom. So I jumped in the shower to get rid of the summer night sweat that climbed and lingered on my skin during the dinner.

The bed was big and had ten pillows on top of the white sheets. Extravagant, I think two pillows are enough on a bed but hey! I am a man. I thought it would be a good idea to play the Truth or dare game, just like in the movie. There was something itchy, and out of curiosity I thought this would be the perfect chance to find out. She agreed after we changed the rules a bit. If one does not want to tell the truth, then the dare becomes obligatory on them. You can all guess, my first question was how many men have you been with in your life? I had asked for trouble. After a minute, the ballpark figure she gave out was unbelievable. It bothered me so much that she had slept with men seventeen times more than me. I was not a sleeping around kind of a guy. And when she asked me the same question, I felt shy giving out the tiny number. The penalty, I was dared to hold my feelings and expectations in cage for tonight. No one would be getting laid here tonight.

Sarah worked at Barclay's bank, that's where I met her on the help desk. The bank uniforms enhance their looks to make them more attractive. They are tight and colors picked carefully by the designer. Sarah didn't need enhancement, she had pouty lips, an hourglass figure like Congolese dancers and beautiful eyes. She was also nice, above the customer care nice. I made sure I visited her desk each time I went to deposit some money even if I didn't need help. After four times she agreed to go out with me if I promised let her do her job in peace. She had a colleague at the desk who always smiled when I was there. Her name was May and she was also her roommate. I was friendly to her too and always made some jokes for her benefit. She was amused by my style of pursuit on romance. And she sent me a friend request on Facebook the same night I met them for the first time.

The next question on truth or dare was somehow brutal. Would you tell me if its real or you faked it tomorrow night? I know I'm not getting any tonight. Her pouty lips and frown sent a clear message. This was supposed to be fun, not a fact finding mission. She chose dare, though I knew she could easily answer this. I had to tone down the dare, I dared her to withdraw big money from her account and foot all bills tomorrow after work for our Valentine getaway to Wasini island Marine park. Well, it felt good to get something out of her that the other guys couldn't think of. She would also have fun. Lucky her for I didn't suggest going to a nudist colony. Its something I have thought about, but they are not common in Africa. It was her turn now, I tried to be strong because I knew she was about to seek a bomb size truth. She said: The truth, tell me about your insecurities. About the fears in your heart, if its fear of love, intimacy or whatever. Tell me your secrets, about your preferences on love and love making. That's too much, I objected. And it will take a lot of time to talk about those issues. She replied that she had all night. The truth is, I didn't want to touch on those matters. Especially to someone I have gone out with for less than two months. So I finally retreated to a dare.

She led me to her walk in closet. On the top left, there were her under-wears hanging on hooks. The line up revealed she was on to style and fashion deeply. There were some that were made from small material and some enough. I could see G-strings, see through laces and a variety of lingerie. The dare was to wear her underwear tomorrow for the whole day. She was kind enough to choose the pink lace for me. At least it had enough material to hold me. She smiled while touching her pink bra but my face clearly conveyed to her I would never go for that. She picked out a pink scrunchy and said “this will be enough, it goes up from your foot to thigh. I will put it up myself on you tomorrow morning.”

The fabric was not bad at all. I think it was a hundred percent cotton. It was cool inside and the fabric was soft against my skin. Most male under-wears have rough texture but its nothing to complain of because we are used to it. But this felt good. So good that it scared me. I wanted to feel secure about my masculinity, that this one day thing would not change me inside. Now and then the why am I doing this question kept popping up on my head. Apart from the shame I was risking, I didn't like this business at all. But then I thought, it was me who started this game. I didn't want to upset Sarah more or break off the relationship. And the more important reason that made me go along with this was: its frowned upon in Men circles to break up from a relationship before getting in the sack.

After a very slow day and a late employees meeting I was finally on my way to Ganjoni. No one at work found out. I have completed the dare, and promised myself never to play that game again. I was so exhausted that after the kiss hello I went straight to the bathroom. After the long shower I realized I hadn't taken my costume from Sarah's closet for change. I called out her name but no response after three times. I put on the pink lace and walked freely not remembering that Sarah had a roommate. After four steps I realized May was standing between the kitchen and the bathroom. Sarah followed her back. Then in a flash, she pressed her cell phone to take a photo. I showed her that I didn't like that but they kept laughing at me. I shared my concern with Sarah as we were preparing for our Wasini trip but she said they were very good friends and that was just for fun. She wouldn't do anything to jeopardize their friendship.

I was a little relieved but on our way I asked myself, What about after we break-up? My fear was reliving the ordeal if the picture found its way to Facebook time-lines. I am doomed. Wasini was supposed to be a happy trip but here I was buried in ugly possibility thoughts. I would die if my Facebook friends see the picture. Word would go round to my family and relatives by the click of the “share button.” what a valentine!

Kobokobox

Second consecutive weekend, the noisy neighbors were back at it again. These were not common noises of couples arguing or from a loud music system. It was a voice from a lady as a product of their lovemaking. I thought it would just be last week but it seems the weekend visitor of Mwanajuma is planning on giving us sound shows every weekend. The groan, the breath, the complaining Mwanajuma lets out while they are at it is distinct and could be heard from every room in the house. I'm sure the tenant on the room opposite in the adjacent house could hear her too. Words like “more”, “come on baby”, “yeah” and “right there” were frequently used in their private activities. At one time she was complaining so much with a tone of voice that made me think he was killing her. I found the other tenants complaining next day and we decided to call the landlord, hold a meeting and ask Mwanajuma to remedy their behavior or move out.
A bright Sunday afternoon it was. Though sunny, the weather was moderate. Not so hot as is usual in this Coastal city. Wooden chairs were arranged in a round style facing the center. Concerned parties were present, ready for the meeting. The landlord called before noon to inform us that he is stuck in personal matters and would not be able to attend. There was Johnson Kahindi and his wife who rented the first rooms. On the right for him and his wife, the left one for his two daughters aged thirteen and seven. He is a teacher in a local primary school. Mwanajuma stays in the second room to the right, he was here with the man he is seeing, Wafula. She sells cooked garden peas in the morning and fried potatoes in the late afternoon. Second room to the left belonged to Kache, my sweetheart. Third room to the right belonged to a bachelor, Mwadime who was a freelance mason. Third room to the left was taken by a married couple who had no child yet, The Williams.
The area was Bamburi, in Mombasa. It is densely populated because it is a slum, according to world standards. To our standards, it was not. We call areas like Kisumo ndogo, Dunga unuse or Kibera in Nairobi slums. There is a Swahili architectural design that is so common in houses here. It usually is about six to ten single rooms, a shared kitchen, shared bathrooms and a shared open space between rooms. The house was five minutes walking distance from the road. Rent of a room per month is usually not more than two thousand shillings in these areas.
The meeting started when everyone present was seated. Mr. Kahindi asked Mwanajuma if she could keep it low. His concern was much for his kids, that he didn't want them to know about these things at their early age. Although I wasn't a tenant here, I added that it was courtesy to not let our voices disturb others. Mr. Kimani William just said it wasn't good. His wife was not pleased with her husband's contribution and he added that the noises really bothered her. She asked Mwanajuma to find a husband because now she wont feel safe leaving her husband behind when she goes on office trips or seminars. Mwadime startled us. He said the noises don't bother him and he did not wish to poke his nose into other people's affairs. We thought that was weird, and he always seemed a weird kind of a guy.
Mwanajuma started by asking us if we had no better things to do than listen to what comes out from other rooms? We told her we don't even have to be attentive, we will hear her even if we put on ear plugs. She said that was her pleasure and her business. No one is paying a rent that is more or less, she continued. I have a right to do whatever i want in my room. Wafula was silent all this time, he did not contribute. At last she said, the ones who are uncomfortable should move out, not her. She stood up, called his man, and they disappeared into their room.
That afternoon, we had to turn the volume high on our television set to escape the sounds of devil coming from the opposite room. This time it was done intentionally. No matter how my eyes were glued to the telly, I could not concentrate on what it was showing. Dirty talk broke in through the wall and the sex whimpers made more distinct.
That was not my main problem. My concern, though I didn't say it, was my Kache hearing those noises. My fear was that she would feel I am inadequate in lovemaking, and that Wafula knows how and what to do with women and he was a better lover than me. I remember asking Kache before in one of our conversations if size matters and she replied that it doesn't. She said whats important is the love at heart. But the weekend events at this house made me question if she really believed that. I asked myself why cant I make Kache cry in Passion just like Wafula does to Mwanajuma? Should I find books to read about how to Excite and satisfy a woman to heavenly levels? Should I go to Pharmacies and search for Viagra? My mind was troubled. I had many questions that I didn't know how to get their right answers.
Time passed and another weekend was here. I was not looking forward to go to Bamburi but I had to. When you have a steady girlfriend, it is implied that weekends will be spent together. On entering the house, I saw many were out of their rooms standing outside Mwadimes's door. Mrs. Williams was talking at the top of her voice and other tenants were booing. They had found out Mwadime touches himself using Mwanajuma's sex voices. A picture of Mwanajuma was also found on his night stand. That confirmed my suspicion on his seeming weird. So, he was not opposed on any action against Mwanajuma because it would take away his tools for giving himself a treat. So, disgusting, and embarrassing to him.
Half an hour later a truck pulled up and The Kahindis started packing. They had been looking for a place to move since it wasn't healthy remaining here, for their children' Psychological and social well being. I floated the idea of moving out too but Kache denied. It was her room, not mine. And she said I shouldn't be much bothered if I'm only around during weekends. She could see that this was a big problem for me and she kept complaining about it. At one time she asked if I wanted a free pass with Mwanajuma while her eyes looked sternly at me. We fought a lot. Mrs Williams asked Mwanajuma if she was happy with the turn of events in the house but she gave a quick reply that silenced her. “Ask your husband that question, is he happy coming early on weekdays spanking my behind while I go to the bathroom? Winking at me and inviting me to your room knowing well my man is not around till weekends?”
Men sometimes wish for everything manly. Unfortunately we cant have it all. The passion squeaks are not a big deal but we love it if we are the cause. Are my wants too much? Because the orgasm sounds weren't enough. The common oohs and aah don't do it for me anymore. I wanted to make Kache moan in a unique way. A way that would make eavesdroppers think “he must be an animal.” A cry that makes her release heavy breath when on heights of ecstasy. I wanted her to think I'm the man. A man like no other in this world. But Kache didn't understand this.
This house was surely a hell. I heard rumors that even Wafula was married and has kids living in Likoni. A complex love triangle it was. And instead of being an entertainment, I only saw it as a mockery show to my skills in bed. I could not see myself as the Hero on Kache's eyes, as how they used to. She must have developed a liking to Wafula though she didn't admit it. Why else didn't she want to move? Maybe she dreams about him when I'm not around. What reason do I have for coming here? My woman thinks less of me. I don't have little boys and girls to protect. I'm not drawn to Mwanajuma, and i'm definitely not getting myself off using her sexy cries. I decided not to come here next weekend, and that was the beginning of my slow break up with Kache.

Statutory romance

The living room was a different room today. As I pushed the door behind me, I felt like I mistakenly entered a neighbor's apartment. I recognized the sofa, wall unit and the TV and knew I had to be in the right place. I smiled, how foolish of me to think I was elsewhere while it was my key that opened the door? The curtains were different though. Creamy white with three pictures of tulips on each. The air was filled with an exotic middle-eastern scent. It was oud. She must have inquired about these from her Swahili friends because if its a matter of sweet scents, I expected her to use western perfume or strawberry flavored spray. I could hear the soothing sounds of Celine Dion from the Stereo system. In a low voice. Romantic, that compliments the light blue dim lights.

Earlier in the late afternoon I had text-ed Joan to inform her of my good news. I had been promoted to a supervisor and was stuck in a meeting of supervisors and the operations manager. I had to inform Joan that I would be late because I had promised to pick her up at her place for a movie out. I didn't expect the room to change, I thought a few drinks were enough for a celebration. It wasn't so much a big deal, just a supervisor. Clearly, Joan was not with me on this thinking.

After Fifteen minutes of being sucked into the mood set, she emerged from the bathroom. Wrapped around her was only a towel. She said hi with a big smile then entered her bedroom. She wasn't surprised seeing me standing there because she knows I have a copy of her keys. It was nearly ten thirty. She came back wearing a long black skin tight with a white vest. Congratulations, she said then gave me her sugar lips for some seconds. She then went to the kitchen and brought Ugali, beef stew and spinach. Half an hour later we had finished eating and were slowly drinking Fanta Orange soda.

I was happy without words. I understood tonight's romantic setting to be a prelude to a good love making later. I was so fond of this girl. She was kind, has a good sense of humor, independent and a smokin' body. We met through Facebook and had been friends for about a year. Two months ago, We became friends with benefits without even realizing it ourselves. The liking between us was evident and we so much enjoyed each others company. At first it was weekends, but later the frequency increased to every other day. If she did not call, I would. To plan where we would hang out after work. We became very good friends to a point of exchanging keys. Maybe some few months later and we'll move in together. But for now, I was comfortable with where the relationship stood.

At around eleven thirty, I told her I'm retiring to bed. I expected her to follow but she continued watching a Mexican soap opera on the Television. I took a quick shower and went back to make myself comfortable on her bed. Half an hour later when she came, she asked why I wasn't asleep yet? “I'm waiting for you.” I said to her In a faint voice to be romantic. Winked an eye on her and motioned my left hand for her to come. She came to me, threw her weight on my chest, then kissed my forehead. She then told me to excuse her for today because she doesn't feel like it.

The mood in the house and the heavy meal had sexually charged me. I couldn't believe my ears. At first I thought she was joking but when I looked at the expression on her face, she was serious. I had high hopes and was surely ready for tonight. I was promoted today, I deserved a celebration. I had to ask her what was the point of all this? She said it was to celebrate. And it shows that she cares for me. And that there were many ways of showing care and love without putting out. I didn't want to argue, but I felt emotionally betrayed. It felt kind of an entrapment. As cruel as taking a mule to the river and refusing him to drink the water.

She laid beside me in bed and asked “are you angry with me?” I told her No. but she didn't know the amount of disappointment I carried in my heart. “Come on, spoon me.” she said. She must be joking, I thought. At this time, I was supposed to think of the dirt in Kibarani, commotion at Kongowea Soko and any other ugly thing to tone down the heightened feelings. How would that be possible by spooning her?

Women are strange creatures. They can do things just for the sake of it. They can plant a tree of flowers and never pluck them when ready. They will dive their noses to the flowers that hang on the treeto smell. Men have to pluck those flowers and do something with them. I spooned her for five minutes then withdrew. I told her I'm persevering so much and it will be torture if I continue to spoon her. She was disappointed too and turned on her right ribs facing the window. I watched that hourglass curvature body from near. Without a doubt, she was the most sexiest friend I had ever slept with. Her skin was of black lustre. Though I was mad a little, I couldn't afford breaking it off with her. I knew I would be throwing away so much.

Looking at her back was throwing me into fantastic roller-coasters. I turned to face up. I tried to have a conversation with the ceiling but I soon got bored. I looked at other things in the room at least to help me move time until sleep catches up with me. There was the big cupboard, Fan on the ceiling, Dressing table, and some art pictures on the walls. After half an hour, she called out my name. We were both finding it hard to get some sleep. I decided to ask her, whats up with Cuddles, snuggling and girls? I find it so much feminine. Men only like it because it leads to a higher ground. But you girls could cuddle for hours without getting tired. She said they like it. It helps to get in touch with our feelings, she continued. There is chemistry when skins touch and we girls read a lot from that touch. Men who cuddle us understand us. They care for our feelings and cuddling brings the feeling of togetherness. Like its just the two of us in the whole world. I smiled at her explanation but in my brain I was retorting “what a load of crap!”

Men would never understand the feminine interpretation of snuggling. We would do it to please our partners but we don't really like it if done for more than half an hour. Here I was, moved closer again to Joan for spooning knowing very well that she wont put out tonight. But I still did it. The hairs on my skin were screaming. My body was warm, outside and inside. On the inside, it felt like a spring of hot water was traveling through my veins and organs. I was burning and yearning. I kissed Joan on her neck and she said in a low voice “i love you Dinho.” it was her first time telling me that. And because the usual answer of I love you is I love you too, I also said it to her. Though, that was not what I was feeling at the time.

Tonight was lost. I had to pretend I was okay with being touchy-feely, tender, feminine. Most girls want those sensitive qualities in men and we have to act like we are in order to win them. Soon I will drift into a dreamy sleep where the hot body of Joan that I'm spooning will feature in. and I hope the dream will help me lose the tension and stress that I currently feel to wake up with a sincere broad smile tomorrow morning. “Gu9t my sweet”, “Nyt nyt hun.” and darkness clouded our eyes.