LETTER: CONFESSIONS TO MY EX (part 2)

Our first date was whack. I didn’t like it, neither did you (maybe), either blame it on our high expectations, or I was just boring.

We had agreed to meet at Archives (where else in Nairobi did you even know, no, let’s be real, where?) by 6PM so that we could have an evening of deep talks, loud laughs and smooth smiles as we clinked glasses and dropped spoons on the plates gently – we instead ended up having shallow talks, forced laughs and forged smiles. I know Kanye west’s forged smile, yours was worse.

I blame the planning committee in my head though. I had figured to take you to Moody’s, then maybe pass by planet yoghurt before taking uber to Barack Jaccuzi’s show at Alchemist in Westlands. My pocket went violently against that plan. I had no other choice but to take you to that restaurant that claims to sell chips and fish. The restaurant has mirrors on the walls, you eat while looking at how the person sitted next to you chews.

The way you had dressed showed how eager you were for that day; black dress that hugged your voluptuous physique tight, make up well applied – eye brows well drawn as if you had a relation with picasso, a tang perfume and a small red purse that matched the red heels which exaggerated your height (I will always talk about your height, pardon me). On my side, I only had my blue jeans and tshirt – I looked like your driver.

I had never been on a date with anyone’s daughter before. I didn’t know the right questions to ask nor the right words to say. It was all messed up. At times, silence could rent the air and leave us staring at each other on the mirror infront of us.

You were silent, chilled and kept on fidgeting. For a minute, I almost doubted if you are the same girl that made me stand on one leg during those long night calls.

You had a book of disappointment written all over your visage. I read it well. From how you threw one word answers at me, how you never even smiled, leave alone laughing, at my dry jokes.

Well, you left half your plate untouched. I whispered to the waiter to pack it as takeaway but you retorted, “no I’m full, am okay.” I didn’t even expect you’d hear that – nilikua najitetea mahn. That right there, was a bruised economy.

Long story short, I walked home.

I anticipated a fracture in our bond after that date. I knew very well that I had lowered my standards to a negative. We didn’t even have our culture observed: night calls. Instead, You texted a long text, a text taller than you (ooh, I did it again, never mind).

“I know I made it all awkward today, but I’m sorry. I am on my menses. It affects my moods big time…All in all I enjoyed the evening, it was amazing. You are really a funny guy and very caring. Your simplicity turned me on. I know, this is weird but…”


… To be continued