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Story Thread
This babe, my ex now, used to prepare the most delicious homemade meals that I have ever taken. She was a hotelier. After dating her for a few months, I started noting offbeat characters that were toxic. I ignored them because I did not want to go back to eating
my poorly prepared meals. She used to do my laundry as well. Her house chore skills were impeccable. I tolerated the toxic trails because she cooked good meals, did laundry, and kept the house in order. While at it, I almost plunged myself into depression. She was a Dholuo.
She used to receive late night calls from some Luo guy with whom they would chitchat in Dholuo. She always insisted that the guy was her colleague, a harmless colleague. During those long and daunting calls, I used to hover around social media to kill time or play chess online.
I did not understand what they used to talk about because I don't have a grasp of the Dholuo language. One day, while she was on the call with the guy, I received a call of my own. She tried to mouth me to end the call immediately.
When I did not read into her gestures and mouthings, (asking me to end the call), she ended hers instead.
Pissed off, she asked 'I asked you to end the call?' I asked why, why should end my call when we could all share the space. She claimed that the guy was her boss
at one of the fancier Rusinga Island hotels. They were talking about their job. She explained that there were some clients in Nairobi whom she was supposed to organize their travel logistics to Rusinga Island. And her boss was instructing her how she was to do that.
I asked why I couldn't talk? ‘This space is enough for two phonecalls.’ I argued.
'It is disrespectful talking to my boss with background noise. Let me finish my call then you can whomever you were talking to.’ I texted my friend that I would call him the following day.
Right away, she called her boss and apologized for disrupting their phone call; at 10 PM.
I felt disrespected to my spine. I wanted to count my losses but then, the following day, Jaber came back home in the evening with a bucket of kitchen ingredients, fresh fish,
and the Kitchen nitty-gritty that we watch on cooking Youtube channels. She prepared a meal fit to be served in those high-end hotels. After the meal, she said, 'by the way, that guy, the one who calls me from time to time, is the reason why I got this job.
I just have to receive his calls because I don’t want to disrespect or hurt his ego. Sometimes he steers our conversations away from our job into personal things. But I have to tolerate his personal chats out of the fear of being sacked from my job. He is married with two kids.
He showed interest in me but I declined his advances straight away. I don't date married men, and I can only drop my pants for the person that I love. That is you.'
Even before I reacted to her words, which I presumed she said out of guilt, she asked me, 'by the way,
how was the food today?' I don't know if it was the Luhya in me or the poor cook in me, but whatever it was, my weakness for her started and ended with her luscious meals.
Bombasting my stomach friends, kina Ascaris lumbricoides, with steamy meals, were her ways of apologizing.
Subconsciously, I ended up complimenting her 5-star-hotel-esque-dish and allowed the phone call conversation to slip without a discussion.
Days slipped by, meals became testier. One day, around a month later, we went out with friends till late into the night.
We ubered back home when all of our phones were off. We plugged our phones into power and went ahead to shag before sleeping. The following day, mid-morning, I woke up to the voices of her whimpers. She had a sullen and lugubrious face.I asked her what was up? Why was she crying?
She said that Alan, the man, had called her a whore after unsuccessfully trying to find her through the phone the previous night. ‘He called me a whore and insinuated that the reason why my phone was off was that I was prostituting with my Nairobi men!’
Alan worked at their Rusinga hotel while she worked from their office in Nairobi.
Men, I wondered why a man who was supposed to be a harmless colleague would be so entitled to her availability and time to the extends of getting pissed off when he couldn’t reach her phone,
late into the night. I wanted to ask her that, but shootie was crying uncontrollably I had to calm her down first. Together, she and I ended up brandishing all manner of sissy names towards Alan in his absentia. I mean, which kind of a man insults a lady through a text message?
‘Ignore him, such an effeminate nincompoop,’ I insulted Alan while calming down my babe.
‘Imagine someone who is not even your boyfriend, not even your husband, someone whom you don’t owe anything, calling you a whore. Inauma, babe!’
‘Ignore him, babe. I, as your boyfriend,
knows you. I know you can’t cheat on me. You are not a whore and it is the opinion of your boyfriend that matters, and not someone else’s.’ I simped with much emotional conviction that eventually calmed her down.