About two hours to midnight, and we had stationed ourselves on this cozy alley. Just me and Alice from Nairobi waiting for the millennium new year. The Alley was two houses back from where I stayed, which is also not far from Alice’s host aunt where she came to spend this December holiday. To the left, there is a footpath artery that begins from the Kenya Petroleum Oil Refinery (KPRL) wire mesh fence boundary that is parallel to Mombasa - Nairobi highway. To the south, it goes all the way to Chaani beach where it also happens to be the ends of the Kenya Ports authority Ship berths.
The alley was narrow and dark. Not so many people frequent it. Just a bunch of drunkards who use it because there is a Mama-pewa who sells illicit wine three houses away. Where we were sitting was an unfinished house, still under construction. And the half-built wall served as a good sitting position for us. We could see the busy pathway from our position. Beyond it, there is the road that heads to Kwa-hola and Mwijabu primary school. Cross the road and you are in Santana, a small area famously known for selling cooked 'Mutura' and 'marondo' and other rejected parts from slaughtered cattle like goat's heads and cow's intestines.
“You know, as cheap as these hangouts are, I’m still enjoying myself,” Alice said as she was smiling. It’s not that I did not want proper romantic getaways, but I found them unnecessary at that point in my life. Why would I want to make my lady happy by giving the money to another? To hotels and chefs and wherever we would buy expensive unnecessary things.
“Dates are supposed to be classic.” So I’ve been told. That I am supposed to look for at least a three-star hotel and restaurant and make reservations. A hotel where I would have to give keys to the valet as I’m holding my lady’s hand while making an entrance. It should be well lit though not so bright, and where they served three-course meals. Huh! Where am I going to get that money? I just finished high school two years ago. Let’s say I was old enough to explore romance but young enough not to immerse myself in offensive spending.
I liked this girl and she welcomed my moves the second day after her arrival. I told her my name and that I’m the local nice guy: born and brought up here in Magongo, Changamwe division of Mombasa district. She said she was “Alice, from Nairobi.” And that stuck to my head. The combination of her first name and where she comes from sounded exotic. We met another time, and another too. This was our fourth date. We tried different alleys before and this seemed perfect today.
I wasn’t short of sweet words. I made sure she laughed each time we met before pouring warm viscous words in the language of love. She seemed happy to have me. I kept the narrative of promises and lies as unending as I could. We kissed on our previous date, that’s why I wasn’t so nervous today. It was between a conversation she was telling me, about a hang out in Kangemi(Nairobi), where they usually have their chips + chicken meals. I looked into those radiant eyes, happy as she was telling her story. And without notice, I planted my lips on hers. She did not resist, and in less than sixty seconds, she made this beautiful hungry sound that made me plunge my tongue into her mouth. It was magical, sweet, and romantic.
She deserves more. A girl this beautiful and so into me surely deserves more than this. She had the same height as mine. Slim with cute curves. And the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen. Tonight, she wore a light black short sleeveless dress that complimented her perky bosom. And dark flat shoes that I did not pay so much attention to. Here she was, a girl to die for. Yet she and I were chewing groundnuts that I bought earlier, here in the dark alley of a suburb in Mombasa West.
This should have been about the time they brought drinks had we had this date in a fancy restaurant. Maybe Chadney, maybe cognac. I felt some guilt, not so much though. It would be nice to hold her hand and escort her to the dance floor, holding each other while slowly swaying to the jazz rhythm.
To hell with high-end dates, love is love even if we have nothing else. Who set up these rules anyway? That for love to blossom, one should do one, two, and three. And they are expected to do this and that on the first, second, or third date? I say, there is fun in breaking the rules. And that’s why I think my style of having dates in the alleys was special and unique. Sometimes you hear hissing sounds from the nearby grass and your adrenaline shoots up. Some people might pass by just about the time you want to grope something elastic and you have to pretend to be oblivious to them. Anything can happen anytime in an alley like this, but what’s life without taking a few risks?
The alley did not effuse rose flower scents or lavender or any of those you would have in a rich underground restaurant. There must be a spot used as a pit by neighboring houses nearby. But if you set your nose to attention, you will also get a good smell from the banana plants and bushy trees that are nearby. With the natural smell and the ambiance made by tunes played by some bar in the area, plus the full star sky blanket above, I would bet no five-star hotel in Mombasa could match this.
Fireworks started flying and bursting in the air. We knew it was already 2000. And just before I went for a kiss, she told me “Make it count crazy Ahmedinho.” This was supposed to be her last night in Mombasa. My girl, my Alice from Nairobi. We had talked about this earlier. I had already begun to miss her while she was still here with me. I was understanding, I knew she had to go back to her waitressing job in a big hotel in Nairobi and save some money to help in paying her maiden semester fees at the University of Nairobi. So this time, the kiss was slow and long. What I loved most about her was how she responded to my touch and kisses. She was on fire and my eyes were red. These are the moments to envy those who have money and probably were in a love-shaped bed in an expensive hotel at this hour. What did we have? Just the wall on the house opposite where it would serve as a stopper and rest for her back while vitality takes over my body. The legendary standing missionary.
But after all dreams and sweet expectations and blood running hot, that remained a night that we almost. Because some seconds after all pants were down, there came loud noises and cries from MAMa-Pewa’s direction. The illicit brew corner had been ambushed by policemen and no one wanted to spend the New Year in jail. We had to zip up and button up and run for our lives when we heard them cry “Polisi” as they closed in on our location. We didn’t want jail either. And for sure, it seems no one would come to bail us out until the morning of the following day.
Such are back alley romantic encounters and sexcapades. They are cheap but exciting. Risky but true. and not so classic, but adventurous.
