At what point do you decide to change your life? When does the adventure get too much and you decide that the days of misspent youth should now end?
What happens when you lose interest in the supposedly important things in life? Sometimes I wonder who decides what is important. Sometimes I don’t want to get out of bed to face the day, but it has to be done anyway. Sometimes I break all the rules just to find there’s no punishment, only guilt. You play with fire, maybe you get burned and maybe you don’t. Maybe you escape with no burn but the memory of that pain sears your mind, etching images that cannot be wiped away with time.
What is morality? What is it that people do during the day and they can still sleep at night in peace, who are you to judge them? I feel like I just need a break from my life for a while. It’s moving too fast and I just can’t seem to catch up, slow down dear life! It’s a slippery path we ride, with nothing like a pool of water at the other end to contain your splash into nothingness.
When thoughts plague you at night, when you can’t sleep until the 5 o’clock alarm goes off and your mind can no longer sustain the body’s demand for rest, when this happens any night, sober or drunk, then you know that perhaps it’s time to change your life.
She’s the lady in the middle. She marks the beginning of the second half of the year. She has been a confusing month for me, I feel like I’m just there on the precipice. Waiting. Waiting for what, I do not know, all I know is I’m waiting. Perhaps for something life changing to happen, some good news, lots of money, love, life.
June, hmm… sorry too many thoughts running through my head. Enough adventures. My mum graduated on 29th, congratulations to her!
My grandfather died on the same exact date one year ago.
Anyway, here’s to July.
It came and it went, and days flew by so fast I have no idea where to begin writing my (non) adventure story.
I’ve realized that some days pass by without having looked at his facebook profile, and I’m surprised I forgot to check it out! Maybe all one needs is a distraction, you know? He he.. don’t ask for elaboration. I’m writing this at 3 am because I woke up late: 1pm to be exact. I just couldn’t get out of bed in the morning!
So what did I do on Madaraka Day?
I must have woken up late, as always. I think I had a meeting in the office on that Friday afternoon. Oh I did wake up early! I thought I had malaria because I woke up rushing to puke, yet it wasn’t morning sickness (ha! thank God). I couldn’t even keep a sip of water down and bitter bile kept interrupting my 10-12noon meeting in the office.
I decided to see a doctor. I haven’t seen a doctor in a long while. On the door was written Dr. Magda so I expected a middle-aged lady and was pleasantry surprised to meet a cute doctor with extraordinarily brown eyes.
The Cute Doctor
He diagnosed ulcers and I had to take a H. Pylori test, which turned out positive. He was a cute young doctor though of course at the point when he’s telling you that you need a stool test, you cannot look at him in the face. Only stare at his t-shirt that advertised Jose Cuervo (the tequila!)
I’m still taking the meds!
Uchumi Ngong Road
So the clinic I went to is above Uchumi Hyper on Ngong road. By the afternoon, I was too ravenous and had to eat something: a ham and cheese sandwich from the supermarket. It’s a huge filling thing. I was still determined to make it to my activities: a book launch and a movie with my friends.
I arrived at the Railways museum (after using Google maps to find it) around 7pm. The scene was set: there were tents set up, strange lighting, the stage where the musicians were warming up, bales of hay for people to sit on, people streaming in and Binyavanga with a beer in hand. I got my book signed immediately:
“To Harriet, with my love, Binyavanga”. I’ll put up the picture as proof later :)
Men In Black 3D with my crew
I couldn’t stay long because my friends from campus were waiting for me for the 8:15 movie at IMAX 20th Century. I must say it wasn’t all that.. but the company was awesome. Sleepover at friend’s place then ensued, and we talked almost all night but eventually slept on a mattress on the floor, feeling young and free!
Saturday: A disappointing Harambee Stars story!
That’s my small bro and I declaring war on Malawi Flames!
Read it here.
Let’s see how June works out. Finished some exams last week (Module 5; one more module to go!), so much to do this week!
I learn, I live.
Some days I get through the day like a zombie, some days I achieve something.
I can’t wait to finish classwork and embark on my research. Research should be interesting. Especially if I can get a research grant!
I hope by December I can say goodbye to schoolwork. I want my mind to be free, to devour novels and books like I used to.
I have exams in about a week, assignments, and a proposal to be done by then. I have my usual job, which I could say is currently ‘freelancing’.
I never lack ‘plot’; that’s a plan to have fun, every weekend. My friends are always there, for that cup of coffee, random shopping stint, one drink for the road, movie at the IMAX 3D theater on Mama Ngina Street. Truth be told, I’m looking forward to hanging out with my friends more than watching Men in Black in 3D.
Meanwhile, I have to get through Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday…
Friday is a holiday: Madaraka Day. They day we got our independence, though we were still under the Queen, in 1963. It wasn’t until 1964, December 12th, that we became a republic.
Binyavanga Wainaina will launch his book: One Day I Will Write About This Place. Just A Band Will perform. He will be there, so he better sign my book. The venue is the Railways Museum, which I have always wanted to visit. I will wear my black dress and heels and long coat (it’s cold in Nairobi, I mean about 20 deg celcius!) and I will enjoy myself.
Monday is almost over. I still have evening class to attend, but in my head once daylight is gone, then Monday is gone with her blues.
Damn, a healing tattoo itches like a motherfucker.
I’ll come back to finish this post later.
I have mulled over this post several times. I have walked in the night these past few months, every weekday. I leave class at 8:30 and the bus drops me home around 10pm. Then I have to walk for 10 or so minutes, past silhouettes of houses in the moonlight, past the few shops masquerading as a shopping center, past the sleepy butchery and beer selling point, past the remains of buildings that are yet to be completed, past the tall estate lamps (named mulika mwizi) that light up the area, past the creepy corner where neither moonshine nor mulika mwizi can penetrate, past the flats with their water tank, before I can reach home. It takes me 10 or so minutes, because I’m never in a hurry.
Usually, I get off the bus alone, and walk alone. *Cue for Greenday’s Boulevard of Broken Dreams*
I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Don’t know where it goes
But it’s home to me and I walk alone
I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
When the city sleeps
And I’m the only one and I walk alone
I loved the walks in the night, except when it rained. Sometimes I listened to music, but most times I let the silence of the night cloak me. The only sound was my footsteps and beating heart, my thoughts above all. The only sight was my shadows, 2 or three depending on the moon and the mulika mwizis.
Once in a while, I got off the bus with some people and we’d walk in the same direction in silence, and part ways as each branched away from the main road. We spoke sometimes, and it was always with the men.
One is a lecturer, he teaches evening classes at a college in town. He’s a nice man, tells me about his family. He always ends the conversations with “God Bless You and Goodnight.” We discussed politics, the state of security, water supply, roads, Kibaki and his succession, accounting, universities etc. We always met on Wednesday nights, and almost always took the same bus. I haven’t been seeing him recently, maybe his classes are on holiday. Now that I have moved out of home, I’m not sure I’ll ever see him again.
Another one is a man I met only once. He was struggling with heavy Tuskys paper bags. He was a big man, perhaps 6ft tall and not-so-slim. I wondered if I should offer to help then thought that since he looked energetic he might get offended. After a few paces of walking, he asked me “kwani mtu huwezi saidia” (Can’t you help me out?) so I took over one of his bags. He told me about himself, but I don’t think I was listening. He told me to take him to his house, then he would escort me to mine but I refused. He told me we can go to my house first, but I declined the escort offer. As I have him back his bag, he asked if I could kiss him. Surprised as I was by the request, again I had to turn him down!
I met an old guy one time, except it was during the day. I walked with him, he was stooped low because of old age. At one point, I wondered if he knew where he was going but when he mentioned the primary school in the area, I realized he did. He told me of his wife who had passed on but they never had any children. He called his nieces and nephews his kids but he wish he had his own. He said it is never too late to have some and would I marry him? I smiled and wished him bye, I had reached my turning point. I watched his figure fade into the road in the distance and wondered if I will be lonely in old age.
There was the army guy, you could tell by the authority he carried in his shoulders. I must mention here that we live within a few kilometers of GSU, AP and army (training) camps. A lot of men in uniform around the neighbourhood. Our immediate neighbour is a cop. It was quite late in the night when I met the army-guy and he told me not to worry, the neighbourhood was safe. If I wanted he’d walk me home but I told him I’d be fine. We talked a little and he asked for my number. He’s never called me.
One night, I walked with someone who also goes to Strathmore, yet we’d never met in the relatively small and quiet neighbourhood. I also met a teenager who is a friend of a cousin in the area and was quite aghast when he asked for my number.
In the end though, it is always just me walking the last 3 or so minutes alone. When everyone is asleep, I walk in the night.
Lemon tea. (Cuts half the lemon, squeezes it into the cup of team, puts the un-used half of the lemon into the fridge. Closes fridge. Sighs)
Vodka with lime and a hint of water. (Stares at bottle of vodka. Pours a little amount into the glass. Stares at tattoo that’s still ‘crying’)
The former is the last drink I had at home. The latter is what I’m having now. See, I have left home. Packed my bags and moved out. At 24, I feel it is late. Given a choice, I would have moved out at 18, but then I had to go to campus first. After four years at Juja, I went to Rwanda for about 3 months, a story I have documented on what I’d call my mainstream blog. I even met Paul Kagame, true story!
I rinsed out the cup, stared at my packed suitcase, two backpacks and a handbag and thought to myself, this is it. I am starting life. This is independence.
Breaking away is not easy. It takes a toll on you, on your parents. My parents were reluctant to let go of their first born and only daughter. I think my mum had plans for me: to get one of those high-flying jobs, stay at home until I’m 28, and move out only into my husband’s home. She doesn’t understand why I had to move, and we are living in the same city! I know she will come round since my parents are now home alone: my younger brothers are in campus and away except for holidays.
I had a limited budget so decided to move into some hostel near Strathmore University, where I am doing my evening classes. Masters of course, I dispensed with undergraduate two years ago with a first class degree *bragging rights never end*. The only problem is that everyone in that place is not older than 20. I feel like a grandmother there! Of course I don’t look it.. 18 till I die! I don’t intend to stay there more than 3 months. I just didn’t want to move to a house and only have a mattress on the floor as the only possession! So this is my stepping stone as I save up for my own place.
It’s exciting taking this journey to independence. I’m taking care of my expenses now, and will only go home for weekends sometimes, and holidays etc. As I stare at the near-empty glass, I think about the roller coaster 3 weeks I have had, starting from April 23rd:
Monday 23rd April
It’s my 24th birthday and I don’t have a phone! My S II has its screen crashed in coast. It’s possibly the worst birthday ever, ends with a lecture from my dad asking me where I’ve been, even though he knows I went to Mombasa to watch my team play Tusker. We had lost 2-0. I sent some guy 5,000 MPESA instead of 500. So many things had gone wrong! Then before I sleep I get my bro’s phone to check messages. I get a friend has sent me 4K MPESA for ‘wine’, I use it to get a Nokia C1-01. It’s the best of days, it is the worst of days.
Saturday 28th April
We are young
So let’s set the world on fire
We can burn brighter than the sun
So if by the time the bar closes
And you feel like falling down
I’ll carry you home tonight
I spend the day with someone I like, though it’s one of those days you know you will never have again. I attend a wedding with him even though I know no one else at the wedding. I wear a blue dress. I lose my blue dove earrings. I fall in love again. I make promises I will never keep. I think of the song, “We Are Young”
Monday 30th April
My contract at work runs out. That’s it, I’m jobless. I spend the week waiting for my pay so I can move out of home.. I have decided this is it! I finally get paid on Friday evening and I skip class to do some shopping with my BFF. I get a blue dress, she gets a black dress. We both get black coats. We gotta rock it during the bloggers’ event on Saturday.
Tuesday 1st May: Labour Day
I realize he’s decided to stay and there is no future here.. I still have hope.
Saturday 5th May
My team, AFC Leopards, encounters its second loss this season. To a lowly ranked City Stars. It’s not just any loss, it’s a thrashing. A whooping 3-0 loss. I am hoping my other team, Liverpool, can beat Chelsea for the FA Cup. It doesn’t. Chelsea takes the FA Cup after a 2-1 win. I’m a the bloggers’ awards having fun. It doesn’t matter if I don’t win anything, but a win would be a consolation. I don’t win. This was not my day. I find my brothers. We go home. All I have had this night is four glasses of juice: two of apple, one cocktail, one mango.
Monday 7th May
I inform my parents that I am moving out. It’s a mixed reaction. Emotions run high but I am determined.
Tuesday 8th May
I move out. I’m independent. 24 years later. I finally end it with him. No further communication. It’s time to move on. It’s sad. I can get through this.
Thursday 10th May
I get inked for the second time. On my mind is my topic for my masters thesis. I gotta ace this. I’m an academician. I love studying, it doesn’t require much effort from me. Oh, I get a job offer, starting Monday.
From this coming Monday to Thursday, I have an invite to Tsavo East and West national parks, a trip for bloggers by KWS. To help promote visitation of the parks online. However, the job requires that I start Monday, no compromise. I do need a job… but I looove traveling and I have never been to Tsavo(although I have seen elephants before). Dilemma dilemma. Let me take a sip of my V&L. Maybe I will find a solution.
The African Adam and Eve Story!
Long long ago, Kintu was the only person on the earth. He lived alone with his cow, which he tended lovingly. Ggulu the creator of all things lived up in heaven with his many children and other property. From time to time, Ggulu’s children would come down to earth to play. On one such occasion, Ggulu’s daughter Nambi and some of her brothers encountered Kintu who was with his cow in Buganda. Nambi was very fascinated with Kintu and she felt pity for him because he was living alone. She resolved to marry him and stay with him despite the opposition from her brothers. But because of her brothers’ pleading, she decided to return to heaven with Kintu and ask for her father’s permission for the union.
Ggulu was not pleased that his daughter wanted to get married to a human being and live with him on the earth. But Nambi pleaded with her father until she persuaded him to bless the union. After Ggulu decided to allow the marriage to proceed, he advised Kintu and Nambi to leave heaven secretly. He advised them to pack lightly and that on no condition were they to return to heaven even if they forgot anything. This admonition was so that Walumbe, one of Nambi’s brothers should not find out about the marriage until they had left, otherwise he would insist on going with them and bring them misery ( walumbe means that which causes sickness and death). Kintu was very pleased to have been given a wife and together they followed Ggulu’s instructions. Among the few things that Nambi packed, was her chicken. They set out for earth early the next morning.
Am I one of those people destined to be alone? I like to think so. Relationships have just never been my forte. It’s not uncommon for my supposed relationships to last two weeks… Have you ever felt like you’ve found the one? Me neither.. except of course, for some brief moments of what I’d like to call insanity!
I thought I had met the one. He fit my character description of what I’d want in a guy. The chemistry was great. The conversations could be on any topic, it wouldn’t matter because it would be interesting and time would fly when we were out together. He had the same passion for traveling, we were supposed to see the world together, dammit!
I fear I let myself think this could be a forever thing. I did picture our life together, for once I actually thought beyond dating to the wedding to the marriage and traveling together seeing the world dream. To settling down with two kids, a boy and a girl, but it wouldn’t matter their genders if it came down to it. We’d get married in 5 years; I’d be 29, he’d be 32. I opened my heart to what could have been love. Honestly, I’ve never done this before.
And now it hurts. A coldness descends upon my heart. Memories bring tears to my eyes, what was.. what would’ve been. The sadness is heavy. It will not show in my face, in my laughter, in my regular writing, in my work.. but I know it will always follow me. In every wedding picture I see, in every couple holding hands across the street, at night alone in my bed as I wait to fall asleep… and I will try to forget and move on. I will listen to sad rocks songs and write sad posts, and with time this will all pass and you will be a shadow in my past and maybe the future holds better prospects, who knows?
To let hope die must be the worst thing for the human spirit. But there is hope for the future, isn’t there always?
On Labour Day, I relaxed. I woke up late. I took my time getting out of bed, lazing around with my phone. I checked my facebook for updates, I checked twitter for mentions, I checked my emails for anything important…like an exciting job offer.
My mind then drifted off to that perfect Saturday. I sighed with the pleasure of my memories. I thought about picking up the phone and making the call, but I thought I should wait.
I left home with two items on my agenda that day: visit my friend who’d been a little ill the previous day, and perhaps attend a meeting of some AFC fans, after which I had a dinner invitation and then back home. After the usual housework, I was off. I arrived at my friend’s place at lunch time (perfect timing, huh?). I raided her fridge for some githeri which we warmed for lunch. We were supposed to discuss some assignment (yes, I’m still in school and it sucks) but since we didn’t have psyche we decided to watch some movie. The Four Musketeers. Needless to say, to this day, we are yet to finish it.
Redds. Crisp, pure, apple taste. Now top that up with Famous Grouse, or is it the other way round? The stronger liquid gets to be at the bottom? Anyway, this is the perfect labour day cocktail. We continued watching the movie. I was expecting my ex-employer to have put some money in my account, so we decided to get chevdas (a mixture of chilli, crips, groundnuts) from Capital Center as we checked the bank. There is that short moment of anticipation as the ATM tells you ‘Processing Transaction’, before the machine prints out: KES 46 bob. I was yet to be paid. Not to worry though, I’m used to being broke.
So now it was back to the house, R & FG, chevdas and the Four Musketeers. We passed by a neighbour who’s a friend and invited him over for chevdas and the movie but he was watching cricket (yaaawwwwn, that game can take over 4 hours or go on for days!). Later, we joined him for cricket, by this time it didn’t matter what was on TV because it reaches a time when everything is beautiful. It was raining, like it does in Nairobi these days, and it was nearing dusk. I finally made the call.
“Hey.. are you busy?”
“Yeah, kinda, lemme call you back.”
Me: “Okay, cool.”
Later, he calls me back. And we have the conversation. The long pauses, the loud silence, the sad sighs. I knew Saturday was too good to be true, possibly the last time you see someone so you give it your all. Time to drown sorrows. Bottoms up.
Cards are brought. Loser takes a shot. Fags light up. Cards are played, amidst much hilarity. Music is played. A friend joins in. During the card playing, fines are dished out for any inane reason. You ask, which card is on top? And get a fine for that. You laugh too much, it’s a fine! You sing along to music, you get 3 extra cards as a fine! It was hilarious! When you are the one giving others too many fines, you also get a fine! The game of cards was obvious falling apart. We needed an extra bottle of F. G to get the party going!
So we each removed a little cash and sent two of us to get the extra bottle. The game of cards continued, the stakes were upped to ..er.. clothes! Good thing is, noone misbehaved. When the last bottle was emptied and no answers were found at the bottom, when the phones rang no more and texts went unanswered, when the weather turned too cold for a game of strip poker, when the host was yawning and dishing out sweaters, we knew out time was up. Time to hit the sack. Labour Day was over.
Reblogged from Aria’s Coolade
One from the Archives….
I shed a tear for you today.
The first lone tear drop ran down my warm cheek as my heart remembered how it felt to be loved by you. The second because the memory of your smile and that laugh that used to light up my world echoed in the recesses of my mind. And then the torrents came, flowed down in rivulets that drew a path across my cheeks and onto the vanilla scented pillow. Tears that longed for the passion you ignited in me. The passion with which I loved you, even in the silences and the distance that draw us further apart as the sun comes forth each morning. As its magnificent rays shine upon my being each day, the memories of you get just a little blurrier. They recede into the darkness where they hide and wait in anticipation for when my heart gets weak again. For when my body longs for your embrace. For when my lips crave yours. For when I’m afraid that I’m beginning to forget how to love. For when I’m afraid I will never love that way again. I ache for that flame that ignites my heart, the flame that basks the essence of my being in the fullness of its glow. The almost palpable crushing sensation I feel inside my heart, that sensation that feels so real you could swear if you just reached in you could clasp it in your hand.
I shed a tear for the moments that evoked pure joy within me, so much so that I thought I would literally burst wide open. I shed more than a tear today because I can’t keep on loving you anymore.
I shed a tear for you today and that, my darling, is my goodbye.
I want to write, really write. But the words just aren’t coming out.
You are so full of love, it’s a Friday after all! Saying goodbye to your friends, even if it’s only for a weekend, is breaking your heart! Damn that stuff in a green bottle, you thought the alcohol percentage is low? So far, someone has confessed a secret; and guy X wants you tonight, you can tell. But you are not interested.
The matatu zooms along and takes you to the city center. Your other friends are sitting in this place with boom boom music. You dance a little. You order one for the road. You take shots when they are offered… is that apple juice shots? Whatever it is, it’s yummy!
Check the time.. it’s Go-Home-O’Clock. You get into another matatu. Snuggle safely into your seat. Put your fare in your hands, pay the conductor. Doze a bits.
The next time you wake up, the matatu is empty! Well, save for the driver and conductor. Where am I, you ask? Well, waay past your stage. It’s already past midnight, another day has begun. The matatu crew drops off a girl at her gate, you wish you were lucky enough to be delivered to your gate too!
The driver tells you he can drive you back, but first you have to wait for the matatu to be cleaned at the Car Wash. At this time of the night there’s really no other means of transportation. So you sit outside the Carwash club, watch people walk in with their clandes.. you can tell they are not the wives/husbands by the differences in age and girth.
The driver is a charming guy… he shares his peanuts and miraa. You chew for lack of nothing else to do. He starts to tell you his story, passes you the bottle that you keep swallowing from thinking it’s water but you later realize water makes things clearer not blurry.
Everything starts to look beautiful!
The driver starts to open his heart, share confidences. He says the chick you dropped at her gate is the boss’ girl. Says she was not feeling well and was leaning on his shoulder on the journey home. You wonder how he managed to drive with a whole head on his shoulder! While telling the story he’s smoking and passes you the cigarette.
You nod as you encourage him to continue with the story. Then you look down at the stick in your hand and you realize it’s not tobacco! You decide life is too short and take another drag.
The driver tells you his name, which is tucked away somewhere you can’t retrieve! He says there was another girl who was not too happy because of the boss’ chick leaning on his shuolder. You ask him if the other girl is his girlfriend or if they’ve… you know…
He completes your sentence.
“I’ve f*cked her.”
“I’ve f*cked her.”
“yeah I love f*cking… nothing like it in this world.”
He lights another non-cigarette. The conductor comes to tell you the matatu is clean. He’s the one driving now, the conductor. Somehow he navigates while smoking… you just hope you don’t meet cops on the road! The conductor drops both of you and takes the matatu to sleep, it needs its rest too.
You live in the same hood with the driver, his house is before yours so he implores you to come and he’ll cook dinner for you. Never mind it’s past 1am. You decline because you know that though you’re hungry, you’ll have to ‘pay him’ somehow. There is no question of what he wants for payment, as he kisses you when he walks you to your house.
This Friday adventure never happened.
September has always been my favorite month. Good luck happens to me then… The month always passes by pleasantly. I play Daughtry’s song, September, quite often.
Of all the things I still remember
Summer’s never looked the same
The years go by and time just seems to fly
But the memories remain
In the middle of September we’d still play out in the rain
Nothing to lose but everything to gain
Reflecting now on how things could’ve been
It was worth it in the end
October also passed by pleasantry enough. Except for the visit I made to KNH to see someone, images haunt me still.
So this month I have set up a campaign: Operation Get Maoga a Smile.
I hope I do succeed.
I have learned the art of patience over the past one year.
I have a project to present tomorrow. Then a documentation to work on. And a job to look for. I finish full-time classes tomorrow. I start evening classes in two weeks.
Let me hope November will not disappoint.
Matatus are my daily form of transport. Oh how I hate them. It’s not just the fact that you have to sit snuggly next to strangers (sometimes very weird people), it’s the loud annoying music they play, the rude conductors, the mad (and bad) driving, the horrible seats, the bad roads.. Thika Road is under construction but in the meantime it’s a mess.
Anyway you meet many different people on a daily basis. You rarely talk to them, you just pay your fare and stare out of the window. Or you put your earphones on and close your eyes and pray you reach safely.
One time I sat next to this oldish man. I’d say he was about 50, tired and drunk. Probably lonely, looked like his wife left him or he never married. When it came time to pay the fare he removed some coins from his pocket, peered at them and gave me to verify that it was indeed 60bob, the exact amount for fare. He then requested me to pass it to the conductor, after which he hung his head and proceeded to snooze.
The journey between city center and Kahawa where I live can be 20min to 1hr depending on the traffic. On the way, Old Man woke up and chatted me up. Asked me for my number. I thought about saying no then I asked myself, Savvy where is your spirit of adventure? So I took his kabambe phone and saved my number in it.
He then went back to sleep and I had to wake him up to make way for me to alight when we got to my destination. As I crossed the road, I turned back only to see him peeing by the roadside as the driver impatiently tapped the steering wheel.
A few days later I got a call from a strange number. He said his name is *Luka(I may have forgotten it) and asked me where I was. I said I was in Nairobi. He told me to meet him Mang Hotel near Bus Station.
Now I have never been to Mang Hotel because it sounds like a dingy place. It’s one of those places where beer is sold at RRP-Recommended Retail Price. Be wary of such places.
I told him I wasn’t in the city center but in school. He said fine, I could meet him at Magomano Hotel at 5:30pm after school. I said fine.
Magomano is one place you might not find on Google Maps. I think it might be on River Road. Beer there is also sold at RRP.
I told my friends who laughed at my potential date. They said at Magomano rooms are cheap; 400bob a night. He’d probably already ordered some roast meat with Keg beer on the side and the room already booked. Once he arrived he’d tell me to eat and drink as much as I wanted, problem is only nyama choma and Tusker would be on the menu. Then of course he’d be like, “the room is ready”.
They dared my spirit of adventure: go and find out what he wants.
Well clearly he wasn’t after friendship and I didn’t feel like wasting my time (and his) at a place where beer is RRP, and the company not my type.
I never turned up.
A few days later he called me and asked me if we can meet again. I told him I didn’t think so because well, it just can’t work.
He said, “sorry I disturbed you. I will not call you again.”
He has never called again.
Being a wordpress long time user and lover, I find Tumblr hard to use. For instance how the hell do you leave comments?!
I am a big fan of Fringe. I’d like to imagine there is a parallel universe, another me who made the right choices and is happier over there.
I am not saying I made the wrong choices, but there are paths I did not explore, opportunities I did not pursue. I don’t sweat over a couple (okay maybe 10) mistakes I made a year ago, or over time. However I try not to repeat my mistakes.
It’s hard to maintain a blog, let alone two. My life is already public enough as it is without another personal blog to reveal my all. The good thing is this blog is pretty anonymous, but how soon before it starts appearing in search engines?
I’m in a lousy mood today. I spent most of the day with some really nice guy, yes he is TDH. My mind though was miles away, wondering if I made the right decision and how long should I stick around.