WINGMAN: SECRET SERVICE

I would like to make it very clear from the start that the idea was Brosef’s. Somehow I knew that we were going to get into trouble, not because I’m psychic or anything, no,far from it. You see, Brosef has a knack for getting into trouble and a tendency to drag me along on his unlawful escapades. I know, I know, I should have smartened up by now and learnt to say no.

However, how do you say no to your best friend if he asks you to be an accomplice right after he buys you Mutura and Mahindi Choma? You do not. It is against the Bro Code, The Mutura Code and all other Codes that stupidly bind us to a set of more stupid rules. So when Brosef put the idea forward, I knew before answering that the decision had already been made for me.

It only feels right that at this point I introduce you to the cause of Brosef’s problems, and mine too, by extension. She was a second year student at Utalii College and Brosef swore that she could bake a cake with maize flour. Well, it can’t be that bad, I thought. I mean, if we are going to have a Kenyan agrarian Revolution, we have to start somewhere, right? She was vertically average and had the kind of hair that made you question its authenticity. Nothing much could be said about her looks, she was good looking but not the type that you turned back to stare at down the street. Her main attraction lay in the fact that she rented a place of her own and just as luck would have it, just next to Brosef’s place. That and the fact that she knew how to cook almost everything in this world, as Brosef liked to say. Well, if we are excluding Mutura and Mahindi Choma, that is.

She and Brosef were hardly friends in reality but that is not the sort of thing you tell your best friend. Brosef would sit me down, buy me mutura and run his amazing ideas of a first date by me. In one classic example, he would pick her up from school, in her chef attire and flag down a Nduthi which would cruise them down to Dj Afro’s arcade, where they would enjoy a good Jackie Chan Vs Jet Li film. She would be horrified by the Kung Fu ruthlessness and cling to him tightly and he would hold her Tai- Chi style, keeping her safe. That will have set the mood right for a nice catching up together over chips mwitu and he would amaze her with his story telling abilities. Her eyes would speak of love and she would kiss him passionately and they would go to his house where they would finish the night eating her maize-flour chapatis.

It was a good plan, except it involved a lot of eating. There was also the little issue of an Utalii College student riding on a Nduthi. Like I said however, these are not the sort of things you tell a best friend. I had been living in fear since the day she came into our lives for the day when Brosef would ask me to be his wingman. I knew the day was coming and I couldn’t run. It was like waiting for your circumcision date. Terrifying and yet you could not wish it away. So when Brosef finally found enough courage to ask me to help him ask out Seema, I said yes and then said a prayer. That night, I watched a lot of Indian movies. The idea was to catch the vibe, I mean their setting fit Brosef’s little plan. Lots of bikes and lots of posh women riding on them with broke romeos.

Towards morning, I created time for two nigerian flicks. It’s not that I like them, no. I have heard a few women comment on the romance levels of these mouthy folks though, so why not give it a shot?

I was set. The following night we started out on the plan. First of all, I was supposed to meet Seema and her friends at a movie joint, where I was supposed to act like I knew all of their favorite movies. This I would know because a certain stalker by the name of Brosef would have fed me the information. I would then mention that I kept a collection of all romantic movies from the 21st century. This would be followed by a very warm invitation to check it out. On arrival at ‘my’ humble abode, Seema and her friend would find Brosef watching one of the said romantic movies and thus forced to stay and watch. I would cleverly invite Seema’s friend to help me prepare spanish omelets in the kitchen, giving room for Brosef to lay his foundation. Later, we would escort them back, Seema and Brosef hand in hand. The plan was a script straight out of a Hollywood film and I loved it.

Everything went according to plan. Seema and her friend came to the house and Brosef was watching a musical about Love made in Italy. They were smitten immediately and it took a lot of convincing an hour later to get Seema’s friend to cook with me. As I was leaving , Seema chirped, ” Oh my God, you can cook? Awwww”. I was sure the Italian movie was having rapid side effects on her. The cooking was uneventful, but as we were eating, Seema mentioned how men cooking was romantic. ” I’ve been telling Brosef all about my admiration for men who cook” Now, that is not the sort of thing you tell your crush, Seema.

We left the house, Seema and her friend hand in hand, and saw them off at a taxi cab stand. As we were walking back, Brosef was lost in thought. Finally he told me, ” I should have stuck with the Nduthi idea.” I kept quiet. I was thinking of how perfect things would have been if Brosef had been in the kitchen, or if he had been the one to pick up Seema and her friend. Damn. I was starting to think it was my fault that Seema had not declared love for Brosef. I had failed as a wingman.

My failure was stamped the next morning when I received a text from Seema saying, ” Hi. I loved your cooking. Could you come to my place tonight and cook for me? It’ll be just us two, I promise.” I avoided Brosef all day and I flashed my phone memory to cleanse it. The reality dawned on me and I needed a roll of mutura to sink it in.

At the Mutura stand, I saw Brosef eating his sorrow away, but luckily, he didn’t see me. I was lucky enough to get away before he could. Now I’m in my room writing this story down and hoping to get a solution to my problems before I lose my mutura buddy over an Utalii chef.