Monday, she could have sat anywhere, the bus was sort of empty, but she chose the seat next to me. I was going to Westlands because they needed a receptionist for one of the hotels and I figured why not, it’d be in the weekends, and they pay well, at least more than the barber shop at the stage where I work sometimes.
Tuesday, the job people said they would have me on probation. I dreamt of her face. what happens to bodies when they meet twice?
Thursday, I saw her in the library and she was reading One day I will write about this place. I didn’t say hi
Sunday, The gods must be planning something. Really, they must. We must talk… Is that not her, on the bench; but what is she doing in this part of town?
Monday, Binyavanga Wainaina is a favourite? Oh yes, umemsoma[1]? When she speaks, it’s like water rinsing off your body, it’s like slicing a ripe avocado and sprinkling salt on it, it’s like…
Tuesday, Café, I cannot afford. I told my cousin I’ll pay her back, cocktails, I swear to God there are parts of this city that are not this city, all the time I was thinking, huku ni wapi[2]?
Wednesday, We started texting, she takes forever (ten minutes minimum) and I have to take at least five minutes to respond.
So who else do you read?
Yvonne Adhiambo
Ohhhh yesss, I love her
Thursday, I slept at five am, because she told me she was going for a drive with her cousin. Going for a drive, I am not used to such things. How do you drive with nowhere to go. I have never understood these going-for-a- thingy people: going for a run? going for a walk? going for a drive? If you want to run, run to the shop and get some milk or to the neighbours to borrow salt; if you want to walk, walk to school every morning with your friend and throw stones at birds and walk back every evening, walk to church every Sunday and arrive with shoes red from dust; if you want to drive, well, in my circles, you can’t really drive. You get driven, you see, because owning a car is not really a thing, and even if you get driven, you can’t really be getting-driven-around. Anyway, she told me she was going for a drive and she texted back at five am, saying they were back; after four hours. It takes me four hours to be driven to my grandmother’s place. That, to me, is a trip. But what do I know?
Friday, she invited me to go paintballing. Her treat, she said. I feel shy, not because she is a girl paying, I don’t mind that. I feel uncomfortable because it is A LOT OF MONEY. It’s the amount of money I earned writing online in the past three weeks, I won’t say how much. And I wrote three papers for these students in some college in the US on “Africa’s future”
Monday, this weekend she didn’t text me, she was in Mombasa. The one time I was there was to visit my aunt, and we swam by the public beach with all the kids who were dancing to the floating music from the paid beach resort adjacent
Wednesday, she is back. Mombasa was fun, she says, you’ve been, right? Anyway, she wants us to go to Karura this Friday. It’s one of those walking-around places
Friday, I was stuck in traffic. By the time I reached there, even my bought-in-Eastleigh perfume had dissipated on account of the three passengers who sat beside me, one after the other: one had a live chicken that pooped on my polished shoe, one had three children and two of them sat on me, sort of, because she was not going to pay for more than one seat, and the rest of us would have to deal with it, and the third one was a mjengo[3] guy whose day’s exertions had rewarded him with a permeating odour. Her uber was stuck in traffic as well, and my, I swear, she smelled of roses
Sunday, she wants me to visit them. Her family is having a dinner party, to celebrate the promotion of her mum, who now will be the East Africa Region head of the bank my mum took a loan from recently, her liver and temper have been flaring up lately. dinner waaaaaaah, I am saying! Say meat, say cow, say beef and mutton and pork! Say fruit salads! Yaani[4] they even had a chef cooking all sorts of concoctions. These guys had even one of those tu-things that hang from the ceilings made of glass
Monday, I think I am in love. She fixed up my Instagram, saying my pictures were too cringe and cliché and who wants that? So she asked me to stand by the bougainvillea and started engaging me in conversation and I forgot her and her phone; all the while, talking to me and asking me questions and nodding her head to my responses, she was taking pictures!! And they looked good. I even liked them! When I posted, I got 78 likes, and even some girls commented that emoticon with red hearts for eyes. You have many fans, she said, winking. And suddenly the likes and hearty comments meant nothing: if they didn’t come from her
Tuesday, she said she wanted to come with me to my mom’s tailor shop. She ripped her scarf and it’s her favourite. She got it once on a trip to Botswana and it means so much to her. No piece of clothing means anything to me, need I one? We are bumping in the matatu on account of potholed road to Kayole and my stomach sinks in anticipation of the nduthi[5] we still have to take even after arriving at the stage, I normally walk to the shop, and she insists that we walk there, but she clearly stands out – there is just something about her that says she is not from there, even though she has nondescript clothing on, and everyone keeps giving us glances, especially Mama Kariuki, who I know will let everyone know that I had been walking girls around when I should have been on campus, focusing on my IT degree. My mum asks her interrogative questions, surprised that she is in my circles, and sorry that she is in my circles, though she shows neither, I just know.
Thursday, we went for a drive in their estate. It was after my class – our professor didn’t even come. He just texted the class rep to inform us to read the two next chapters in this syllabus book from the medieval times, and we all know he took a side job as a cyber café assistant. We know that because Johnte went to buy a CD the other day and prof. was busy burning it for him. As we drove, I kept thinking, so people do live like this…and I love her?
[1] have you read him?
[2] where is this place?
[3] construction-worker
[4] you mean to tell me that
[5] motorcycle