2AM in darkness…not quite the hot dark of embers, but a soft, hopeful dark. The feeling is replenishing to the soul. She is asleep beside me. It is black night; I can barely see but she is beautiful. She lies gravely, silent apart from the soft moans of breath escaping her nose. She turns a little immediately. Like she felt that my eyes were prying on her in the dark. She realizes that I am no longer in her arms and moves next to me pulling me in a close embrace. That is one of her characteristics; personalization. Not the obsessive kind but the good kind that feels like she has got you every step of the way. I close my eyes in pretence, wondering why I was bothering, because she wouldn’t even know if they were open. She stretches her other free hand just on top of my old radio in my cozy bedroom. She pours herself another shot of whiskey then drinks water. She knows water is the only antidote that will enable her get to Nakuru in early morning. I wish she wasn’t leaving.
The day wasn’t just mine but her sleeping next to me was a quick remedy for all my woes. You know those days that you feel like Lucifer is on your trail, ensuring that everything you do goes wrong, well it was one of those. The aftermath after a wild party the night before wasn’t as easy as hot knife on butter. My head was pounding, felt like a million band drummers were in there. My eyes were bleach white, my mouth dry like the famous fish sold at the lakeside ‘mbuta’, inside a little stale, the taste of cocktails that I gulped the night before lingering till dawn. It was fun! why does it hurt now? I guess the world has a funny way of maintaining balance. I mean all the screaming and dancing last night while posting selfies on my social media obviously was not going to breed good sleep and good appetite.
I finally get to the bus stage. The beehive of activities and noise does not make things easy for me. I get into the front seat of the matatu. I have to go to the university, I mean how else am I supposed to meet her and get her home. It is the first time she is coming to the lakeside. She is from Kamba land. Where the sun is always up and water hard to come by. The fruits on that other side flourish because of the sun. I love to tease her about the climate on that other side but oh the mangoes…delicious.
I sweetly inform the driver that I am not feeling well and I might request him to make a few stops on the way for me to vomit. This is a hell of a hangover. I can’t believe I am in this state.’ Nimeacha pombe’, I tell myself like a million times but we all know a drunkard with these two words. It is never going to happen. Three stops later just for me to vomit, we get to my destination and wait for her for an hour.
She is finally here. Looking as handsome as never. She is wearing a white checked shirt and some black jeans with a pair of sneakers. Her look defines her. Most people would take her to be gay but isn’t she? As much as I am dying with the hangover, I watch her and record every detail in my head. I love this woman. She is witty, intelligent and goodness she got sarcasm. She has those eyes that could look into you and see your soul. I have looked into her eyes a couple of times and I have seen myself in the ocean. She approaches the place am sitting and I give her my hand but she pushes away my arm and instead requests for a hug. The hug is tight. The hug is warm. The hug is long. I ask if she wants to sit for a while but she is hungry…is she asking me out on a lunch date? I chuckle at this thought. I already feel better. I already feel alive.
After the lunch, and a lot of chit chat and those side glances from people in the restaurant, we head out. She pays for the lunch. Again, another of her character. I am her woman and finally that was starting to sink in. We head to the nearest pub. She needs a drink because she is tired. She loves alcohol. Maybe this is why we make a perfect combo, but I don’t think. There is more to why we are perfect for each other. She is bubbly like a coca cola that has been shaken thoroughly just waiting to burst out of its can and I am as calm as the sea. She is talkative and friendly. I am a woman of few words and very unapproachable. Opposites attract, I learnt that in my Science class in primary school. It seems to make more sense now. She orders for vodka; ‘Baby just drink kiasi,’ she tries to cajole me to drink. I don’t drink much because of my near death experience that morning. She finishes the vodka then carries away a bottle of whiskey. Men stare. I don’t know if it’s me they are staring at because of my body hugging jumpsuit or its this weird couple of same sex human beings who seem to be in their own small world. Frequently giggling at each other and holding hands. It is a taboo. We know that but to us love is love, it does not know sex or gender.
The sun has already started sinking, the sky turning to clear, purple grey, it is almost nightfall. We board the next matatu back to the lakeside. I have waited for this girl like the second coming of Jesus. Four hours later, we get home. First kiss, a million kisses later and a few shots of whiskey later and being carried away by sleep, we get to where this story started, at 2AM in the dark…
Her hug is warm and fluffy in a way. I get the same feeling of pleasure, the same that I got whenever I tasted my late mother’s cooking. The way her love flowed from her heart, through her arms, her food and finally into us. She kisses my forehead. The kiss as sweet as the jack fruit- mfenesi my Kenyan people!! I get up and hug her too. Tighter. For a moment I feel some peace. She kisses me on the mouth and whispers ‘I love you.’ She says that for the hundredth time. Literally. I whisper back before we indulge in another round of mouth tasting, breast fondling, I want her and yearn for her. Like the desert yearns for the rain; even just a little raindrop. I get on top of her. She touches my waist then my ass. These are her favorite parts of me. I kiss her more. She is a work of art, so beautiful. I need her. I would allow her to make love to me, but I just stay on top and hug her again…tightly. I hope she feels what I am feeling. I hope the hug compensates for the strong desire burning within. We are taking things slow. This is our first night.
She pours another shot of whiskey and we drink in the darkness. We talk about everything. Our dreams, our passion, our goals, our ambitions, our love. She tells me how she feels. She must have been a poet in her other life. It is her first time being with a girl. It is her first time being with anyone. I understand her maybe because losing her will wreck me. We cuddle more, talking, pausing a little to kiss again.
5AM in the morning…the outside is already alive. Birds are already preparing to chirp. She has to prepare to leave. Her vehicle leaves in an hour. I switch on the bathroom lights for her and she requests for a hug again. I stay there in her embrace on the bed for the next thirty minutes. Half asleep, half aware that she has to leave. I have my world in my hands and I now have to let it go. I wake her up. She had slept too and ask her to shower.
6:30AM, I hug her bye at the matatu stage. She will be home in 3 hours I assure her. She looks a bit hesitant to leave but I have to return home and I have to let her go.
6:45AM, I can’t get her out of my head. I still can’t find sleep owing that I have spent half my night talking, kissing and drinking. My lips are sore but I like it that way. I close my eyes for another image of her. The last image of us sleeping for 30 minutes; me in her arms, her arms wrapped around me and my, that peace…