CHAPTER FIVE - A Cocktail of Double Life

When I needyou

I just close my eyes and I am with you

And all that I so what to give you

It's only a heart beat away

                 Julio Iglesias

Wednesday. Jamba was at the pub, as he often was. Everyone but Kamaria knew his frequency had gone up since Kamaria's arrival. It had been exactly three months, and Kamaria knew this because she had been counting from the evening the woman guest had appeared; one who, to Kamaria's secret relief, had never returned. For the umpteenth time, she came this close to asking him if he still saw her out there, but for the umpteenth time, she reminded herself it was none of her business.

They were discussing her weight.

“So how many kilos have you lost since you started working here?”

“Seven.” She answered gleefully, spreading her arms and spinning once to show off.

“Wow. That is a lot in such a short time. Do you go to the gym?”

She shook her head. “I can’t afford the gym. I just walk a lot and skip about in the house…” Her newly acquired ability to produce an instant lie on demand still shocked her whenever she pulled it off. During her formative days in Ruaka, she had considered joining a gym. The discouraging factor had however been the likelihood of bumping into one of her customers.

“Perhaps the job is too tough for you and that is why you are losing weight?”

She laughed. “No. I love my job. Losing weight was deliberate – a decision I made before I started working. I decided I did not want to get lifestyle diseases – fat gives you many of them.”

“That is true - the bad news is, we will all die, fat or skinny. You are looking very good though…”

She blushed. She knew she did look good. Her skin was rich and glowing. Her neck's new lean look made it appear longer. Her shoulders were square, on the way to becoming a square of muscle. The jeans and tops she had bought in anticipation of a smaller her now fit better. Her food pot was no longer a factor. She longed to shop for fun clothes, something she had not done for long because spending a lot of time inside waiter uniform gave her no ambition to shop for clothes she was unlikely to wear.

She could not have known, but Jamba was thinking along the same lines. He wondered what she would look like in a crop top and jeans, or shorts. His guilty pleasure was stealing glances at her beautiful, long legs whenever she was facing away from him. As he was about to think what she would look like naked, his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and smiled. Kamaria saw the smile and tensed – it had to be a woman.

“Hello. Hey baby…”

Of course it was a woman! Or was it?

“…Daddy misses you too. Have you done your homework?...what about your sister?...you are awesome….you want me to bring sausages?...but shops are closed. Can I promise to do that tomorrow…okay. Good night, I love you. Let me talk to your sister…”

And it was more or less the same conversation. Kamaria stopped polishing glasses and studied him shamelessly, feeling new respect. Almost eight months she had known him. She did not know he had children. She looked at his wedding ring finger. Nothing. Not a satisfactory explanation because she knew enough married men who did not like rings. Or perhaps he was a baby daddy? Or, was that woman the mother of his children? That last thought made her squeeze her eyelids shut and swallow hard.

“Serah…” Jamba jolted her back to reality.

She blinked furiously then focused on him. “Sorry. What was that?”

“Can I have another drink?”

“Sure…so, you have children?” This, she decided, she was getting to the bottom of.

“Yes. Two. Boy and girl…”

“Lovely. How old are they?” She asked as she popped open a Tusker then leaned on the counter from her side, an indication she was not about to go anywhere. It was a slow evening, perfect for this conversation.

“Boy is six, girl is eight. Christian and Christine.”

She burst out.

“What’s funny?” But he was also giggling. He was used to that reaction.

“Don’t you confuse them?”

“I do, all the time.”

“Whose idea was it to name them like that?”

She saw his face drop.

“The mother…”

“Is she the one who came here once?” She put the elephant in the room was under scrutiny.

He shook his head. In her head, she quickly accused him of cheating on his wife. In her head too, she decided it was none of her business. Then there was the sudden dark, near painful look on his face that stopped her from making any comment.

“Where is she?” It was a whispered question, one she already knew the answer to but asked anyway.

“Dead…”

“My God. I am so sorry …” Her mouth was suddenly dry with the realisation she had never condoled anyone. She was always the one on the receiving end of condolences. Since she lost both her parents two days apart, she knew all the lines people used on grieved parties. She even had labels for them. Most of those lines were awkward to both parties. Most were over used; some were just said because the other party felt they had to say something. All those lines now made her roll her eyes inwardly. That she made people awkward and  feel sorry for her was the sole reason she no longer advertised her parents’ deaths. ‘They live in the village’, she often lied. She had once told Jamba the same thing.

“Everyone is sorry for me, which sometimes drives me mad.”He moaned, swallowing the moan with a gulp of his drink.

“I know…” And she did.

“Not you too..." He said, looking exasperated. "How would you know? How the heck does anyone claim to know yet they have not walked in my shoes?” She remained calm, through him seeing her own response to people when they told her they understood.  “You have no idea how it is for me…” He massaged his temples gently, taking a deep breath.

She leaned on the counter, looked directly into his eyes and said, “I know. I know because I lost both parents…”

He suddenly knew what it felt for blood to go cold. “Oh shit! Serah…”

Then she laughed to near hysteria, for a whole minute. Jamba stared at her in shock, then in concern, wondering when he would have to intervene with a slap.

As suddenly as she had started laughing, she stopped, lifting her face up, fighting tears. She felt a silly kind of guilt for stealing his moment as the guy who lost someone to death. But she felt justified for she wanted them to be on the same page; wanted him to talk to her, knowing she would understand. 
Whenever her grief came close to overwhelming her, something that was fortunately happening less of late, her greatest wish was to talk to someone who understood her completely. The people available still had the most important people in their lives, alive. She often chose to talk to the shrink, who was good therapy, but she still wished there was someone available, someone she was not paying to listen.
 "Don’t worry, I have made peace with it…”

“But you told me they were in the village…”

“Well, they are not. I get fed up of telling people my parents are dead because people feel sorry for me…” They both laughed. “I don’t even know why I told you…”

“I am glad you did. “  And he meant it. “Would you like to go for a picnic with me?”

She lifted one eyebrow at him. “Where did that come from? Do not tell me you are feeling that sorry for me?”

He shrugged. “It’s not something I have thought about before now…” It was a lie, but only he would know how blatant it was. Of late, his free time was preoccupied with thinking of ways to ask her out. “I  would like to talk…about anything, and I think a picnic is perfect setting.”

“You are my customer…” She whispered even though nobody else was within earshot.

“Are  you telling me something I do not know? Come on Serah. I have told you before that I do not bite. I am a perfect gentleman too, I think. If you get bored, I promise to take you home…” He cocked his head.

She was glad at the distraction of a customer. From the moment she went to attend to the customer, to her serving and opening the drink all the way to taking the payment, she felt Jamba's eyes follow her every move.

“So, what do you say?” He asked when she was done with the customer.

“What will people say?” She was thinking about the gossips. But then again, they were already gossiping over very little, perhaps it would be fun to give them something to gossip about.

“People? How will they know?”

She shrugged. "People always  know."

“If you are worried about me telling your boss, relax. I will not.”

What was there to lose? She probably needed a picnic. She had faded memories of picnics with her parents.  They were so fade, they might have as well been a figment of her imagination, or something she had dreamed.

“Okay. Saturday is my day off…”

“Saturday it is. I will pick you up at ten AM…”

She raised an eyebrow. “Ten? Are you we going to have breakfast at the picnic site?”

“…And lunch, and dinner … if you can stand my blubbering.”

-------

Saturday morning and Kamaria stood, a hand on her one hip, the other one rubbing what could have been an imaginary beard, folded, frustrated face, staring at her clothes in the open wardrobe. When she had accepted to go out on a date with Jamba, and she had admitted to herself it was a date, she had not thought about what she would wear, something that would collaborate her bartender persona. 
Because she hardly ever met any of her workmates when she was off work, a couple of months into the job she had decided not to wear second hand clothes at home. That was one problem, that her clothes were expensive and they looked it. Another less scary problem was, most of them were now too big.  

She accepted she may have been over reacting, that there was no real difference between new and second hand clothes. She had seen amazingly new looking outfits hang on roadside plastic paper boutiques. 'But the shoes...' She muttered to herself, picking a pair of blue jeans, a yellow top and a black trench coat,  throwing them on the bed. She was a shoe person. All her shoes were expensive, and obviously so. The only cheap pairs she owned were the doll shoes she wore to work.  In the end, she decided, if probed, she would say she had been gifted by her aunt. The imaginary aunt was beginning to sound real to her.

Jamba called just when she finished zipping up her jeans. From the hat and handbag hanger she picked a straw hat, from the shoe rack she selected a pair of Sketchers sneakers. From the jewellry holder she picked a pair of multi coloured Zanta Adeyde earrings. Finally, she settled on a Zanta Adeyde rucksack. 
Like Dee's Salon, Anyango of Zanta Adeyde had been introduced to her by Shani. Since that first choker by Zanta Adeyde was given as a birthday present by Shani, Kamaria had never turned back on her choice of jewelry and bag supplier. She grabbed a pair of sunglasses, her phone and slipped lip gloss into her front jeans pocket.

“You can keep time…” She remarked in greeting, placing her trench coat and bag between them then securing her seat belt.

“I told you I am a gentleman…” He said, staring at her, mouth agape. In her, he saw the word Beautiful embedded in beautiful colours. He found himself unable to tear his eyes off what he decided was utter beauty. There was however, something, several things, confusing things, he was trying to work out.

Her rucksack caught his eyes first because his laptop bag was a Zanta Adeyde. He knew how much the pure leather, intricately handmade products cost. Then, her sneakers. Her perfume. Her simple but tasteful outfit. Her designer sunglasses – he loved sunglasses and could spot an expensive pair from a mile. Then there was her phone. How in the world, did a simple waitress own an iPhone? He tried to remember if he had ever seen her with it. The waiters were not allowed to use their phones while at work, she probably kept it in her handbag, but that did not explain how she could afford one.

“What?...”

He shook himself back to reality, deciding not to ask any questions. Perhaps he would have the answers by the end of the day.

“Sorry. You just look so different out of your waitress uniform, I was getting acquainted with the new you…”

She laughed. “Well, do not stare too much because you are making me nervous…”

“I promise to try not to…”

“That’s not really a promise…”

“I am aware. It is an attempt to promise…take it or leave it, that’s all you are getting at the moment.” He turned on the engine with a deep breath. “Ready for Karura Forest?”

“Ready for adventure.” And she was. She was possibly an outdoorsy kind of girl, possibly because she had a dormant desire to explore. Having diva friends who thought trees and branches could bite however meant her desire to explore remained dormant. Shani was not the type to go to a place that frowned on heels, short dresses and make up.

“So what do you want to do, exactly?” He interrupted her chain of thoughts. She shrugged.

“I cannot answer that because I have no idea what is in Karura. Is there anything else except the forest?”

He laughed as he took a turn into Village Market. He missed her sudden tension. “A lot. We can walk, we can picnic, we can hope to see some wildlife, and we can remove our clothes and stand at the bottom of the water fall…”

She laughed, unsure if it was a joke.

“Have you ever skinny dipped?”

She laughed again. “Certainly not!” This time she took a sneak peek at him. He looked serious. Oh dear. “I thought stuff like that only happened in the movies…”

“I have…”

“You have? Like, butt naked? Where?”

He found a parking spot. “Come on, let’s get a few items at the supermarket. We don’t want to starve and die in the forest.”

She hesitated. She didn’t want to go into the mall. This was a place she visited often in her other life and because she was aware life had a sense of humour, going in meant risking running into someone she knew. For starters, Anyango of Zanta Adeyde often displayed her products there, they knew each other well. “Are you not coming?”

She shook her head. “Nope. I will wait for you in the car…”

He raised his brow. She looked scared. Why would anyone be afraid of the Village Market? “Okay…do you want something in particular? Something to eat, I mean?”

She shook her head. “I will go with whatever you choose… I have never been to a forest so I don’t know what people eat there…”

They both laughed. He left.

She sighed in slight frustration. She was not so sure anymore about her being here. They had been together for only twenty minutes and she was already beginning to lose confidence in her disguise. She fumbled for her phone to call Shani . As soon as she started dialling, she literally felt her body turn into water.

“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” She muttered repeatedly as she hit her forehead with the phone. “How could I be so, so stupid?” It had just dawned on her that she had not changed her phone SIM card into the cheaper phone. How was she going to explain an iPhone? Also, had he seen it? Of course he had seen it. He would have to be blind not to have seen it. It was the latest iPhone, she had been holding it in her hand all through. “Grrr….I am so stupid! What am I gonna do?”

She looked around. She opened the door and banged it shut, making herself jump. She started walking quickly towards the gate, changed her mind halfway and walked back to the car, went to open the door, changed her mind and started walking away again, took a few steps and returned to lean against the car.

She dialed Shani’s number. It went unanswered. She walked away quickly towards the gate, nearly bumping into Jamba who was carrying shopping bags on each hand.

“Rushing somewhere?”

“Jamba!” She couldn’t face him. “I…I…I was just…”

“…bailing out on a date?” He demanded, looking genuinely hurt.

“I am sorry…” She felt her whole body crunch. She was looking at her expensive sneakers. They were both quiet for too long, she looked at him and found him staring at her sneakers.

“Nice sneakers…”

“Thanks…” She frowned at him, wondering if he was done admonishing her.

“Come on. Get back into the car. I just used money worth twenty of my favorite drinks at R&R. We are going to the forest…”

“Jamba…I can’t…”

“Nonsense. Get into the car.” Something in his voice told her she was not allowed to negotiate. Besides, they were attracting unwanted attention. She stomped one foot in frustration, grunted then followed him back to the car.

“How dare you?” He demanded when they were safely inside the car.

She shrugged.

“We were friends when I left. What happened?”

She shrugged again.

“Stop shrugging and answer me.”

Kamaria sighed. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea anymore…”

“Why not? It’s not like we are eloping? Was it the skinny dipping?”

She wanted to giggle. “No. But what if somebody saw us?”

“Who is somebody?” He was switching on the engine as he asked.

“Could be anyone. My boss…my workmates…your friends…”

“And…how old are you again?” He was reversing. “An adult I presume. Why would you care if anyone saw us together? I am widowed. You are single…I hope?”

“Of course I am single…”

“So? What’s the problem?”

He joined the main road, driving towards town.

“Okay. We will not skinny deep, I promise. Come on, fasten your seat belt…”

She did, and her phone started ringing. Shani was calling back. Her heart started beating so loudly, she wondered if he could hear it over the traffic noises. She placed her right hand on it, just for a second, as if to turn off a switch.

She muted the ring and clasped the phone.

“Are you not going to answer that?”

“No. I don’t want to….” Shani was calling again. She muted again.

“Nice phone…is that the latest iPhone?” They had stopped at the traffic lights. He was looking at her, literally lighting fire on her face. She did not look back at him. 

“I don’t know. It was a gift from my aunt.”

“The one you live with?”

“Uh..huh.”

“What does she do?”

“She works for the UN in New York. She only comes three times a year.”

“Right…”  He didn’t sound convinced. “Your phone is ringing again. I think you better answer because whoever is calling is not gonna give up.”

She sighed and answered. “Hi…”

“Woman!” It was Shani. Kamaria winced at the volume, certain Jamba could follow the conversation. “What’s up? I just saw your missed call…”

“Yes…”

Shani hesitated. “Are you okay? You sound strange. Have you been kidnapped? Should I call the police?”

“No…”

“O….kay. What’s happening?”

“I can’t talk now. I will call you later, okay?”

“No it is  not okay. Who are you? Where is Kamaria…”

She laughed nervously. “I promise I am fine. I am in a meeting and I promise to call you back…”

“You better, or I am coming to that god-forsaken pub you work in to look for you…”

She disconnected the line.

“Your friend doesn’t sound happy with you…”

“You could hear her?”

“Every word...”

“That’s my friend Shani. She is very loud…”

“And currently unhappy. Why didn’t you want to talk to her?”

“Because she never stops talking…forget her.”

He shrugged. “Okay. Here we are. Perhaps we should say a little prayer before getting out of the car so this tense cloud can be lifted. I really need to have a good time and so far, things do not look promising…”

_____

Kamaria’s instinctive response earlier to Jamba’s suggestion to pray had been to laugh. She had chuckled, but stifled the laughter as soon as she realized he was serious.  For the first time in her life outside school, she had prayed. For the first time in her life, she closed her eyes to pray. The prayer could not have been more than twenty words long, but it had been a prayer. For a reason she could not elucidate, that act had given her a new respect for him.

She did not know people who prayed. Her atheist parents of course never prayed.  When she was little, as her friends and their parents went to church on Sundays, her family slept in and only woke up to go out for lunch. Shani was one of those who used to accompany their parents to church, and Shani could quote a Bible verse on a good day but now, as church remained a 'never have been' for Kamaria, it was 'a long time ago' for Shani. “It is either church or nursing a hangover. Hangovers keep winning, and I long ago stopped entertaining guilt on this matter.” She had told Kamaria.

Praying came naturally to Jamba. That many of his friends called him weird because of that, never deterred him. Prayer calmed him. Often, he was the butt of many religious jokes. He laughed along. That he drank alcohol, smoked cigarettes and had too much pre-marital sex with more women than he knew was right had often earned him the title hypocrite, he had been told he was a demonstration of everything that was wrong with Christianity. He still prayed.

Jamba had grown up with a pastor father. In high school, he had been saved. Vice chair of the school’s Christian Union he had been. He knew his Bible almost as well as his father and could give a good instant sermon. There was no doubt in his mind about the existence of a higher being, God. He was saved when he joined university, but the girls had been too beautiful, his roommates had an endless supply of alcohol and in the end, he quoted verses for himself, that Jesus in deed did make wine so it could not have been that bad. That the greatest prophets, including the great King David himself, got into trouble because of women. Surely he was not mentally stronger than David?

When he was in second year at the university, he accepted that indeed, he had fallen short of His glory but even with his less than righteous life, he still went to church and prayed for forgiveness, a habit he kept to date. Unlike Shani, a hangover was never a reason for him to miss church, but by the time he graduated, he was a hooked smoker, a regular drinker, and he had lost count of his sex body count.

He had moved out of his father's house immediately after graduation. He was not ready to expose to his father the level of evil he had advanced to. “My Father in heaven knows I am weak. My father on earth may just whip me if he knew half the un-Christian things I do.”

He was not ashamed of his faith and often flaunted it. He prayed religiously three times a day and often walked out of pubs to go to the car and pray. He was passing on the habit to his children. Church on Sundays was a ritual no one was allowed to miss, unless they were invalid. He wondered if Kamaria went to church.

He had been more upset than he wanted to let out when he realized Kamaria was trying to run away, but he decided that was not a jail-able offense. After all, the girl was a waitress in his local pub, her concerns were probably genuine. But as much as he tried, he could not shake off the nagging feeling that there was more to everything about her. He wanted to know why, wanted to question her, pin her down until she confessed all, whatever all was. But that would have to wait for another day. Today, he just wanted to talk. He would ignore her expensive sneakers. He would ignore her iPhone. He would ignore her expensive perfume. Her Zanta Adeyde rucksack. He just wanted to talk.

“You are a lucky charm girl. Look at the weather – sunny…” It had been a dull and cloudy week and he had even considered changing the venue of their date. The week had not been conducive for an outdoor activity. But this…this was perfection.

“I am lucky like that…” She laughed. He seemed to have forgiven her for her attempt to escape. She giggled to herself as she helped him remove the picnic stuff from the car. He handed her a bag. “What’s in the bag?”

“That, my dear, has picnic blankets…”

“Oh yeah…I am so bad at this, I just brought myself and my near empty rucksack. I didn’t even bring anything to eat, except a small bottle of water…”

He laughed. “Thank your lucky stars for me. I got it all covered. I even have wine glasses…”

“We are going to drink?”

“But of course. Who stays sober while picnicking?” He looked mortified, then laughed at her shocked look. “Relax. Just a glass of wine after food.”

“Phew. Because I am working tomorrow…”

“…Lest we forget. And we don’t want you to have another hangover…” He looked at her cheekily.

“Another?” She gasped, pausing to look at him.

He laughed loudly, perhaps for longer than was necessary. “Serah, please. I am not stupid. The day I took you home, the day you were supposed to have malaria… I knew you had a hangover…”

“Damn!” She had her free hand on her mouth, genuinely shocked and more embarrassed. “I can’t believe this. And you let me stay home for days?”

He was still laughing. “Oh yeah, you should specially thank me for that. I helped you get some days off work.”

“Gosh, you are terrible…”

“I know. You have no idea how much amusement you provided for me. Where had you been drinking? With whom?”

“Somewhere in town, with my friend Shani. I can tell you, I stopped drinking since then…” Now she was relaxed enough to laugh about it, but she still her guard on. No way was she going to admit she had been drinking in Kileleshwa.

“That was the time I realized you were human…”

“You are really having fun with this, aren’t you?”

“Trust me, I am.”  He wanted to go on making fun of her. He loved the way she looked while both embarrassed and amused. It was a lovely cocktail of visible emotions. For a moment, he thought it may not have been such a great idea to bring her to such a secluded area – he said a small prayer for his hands and mouth to behave.

“Right, anyway. Here we are. This place is vast; it would take us a whole day to cover every corner. We could walk – the track is beautiful and provides opportunity to see some friendly wild animals. Leopards are rumoured to live here as well, but as regular as I am, I have never seen one, and I do not know anyone who has seen one. I suggest, if that is alright with you milady, we have our picnic and if we get too bored, we can walk to the falls. It’s not far from the picnic site. The rest we can do on another day.”

Another day? He seemed pretty sure they would be doing this again.

He had the choice pick of the site. They were the first to arrive. “We may have company later, or we may be lucky to be left all alone. Would you please hold that side of the blanket so we can set up?”

Twenty minutes later, they were lying down on the blankets, looking up at the blue skies that had scattered white cotton clouds here and there. Already, they had been treated to enough chirping of excited birds. “I think they are telling you that you are beautiful…” He suggested.

“Thank you birds!” She shouted at them as they both laughed.

“You really are beautiful, you know.” This he said softly to her.

“Well thank you!” She shouted to him as well. They laughed, but her heart was racing again. The way he was looking at her like a hungry man looking at food he could not have was not helping her maintain the colour of her skin.

For close to ten minutes, they soaked at the sight of the calm heavens, silently, listening to the sounds of the wild. Looking at the birds and occasional squirrels. She could not remember when she last felt such peace and she was close to thanking him with a hug. Jamba was having troubles of his own. They were lying very close to each other. A slight movement of either made them touch. He wanted to hold her hand, but she had attempted a flight once, he didn’t want her trying to run here in the wild.

“So, what happened to your wife?” She suddenly asked.

He sighed. “Cancer…”

“Cancer? How old was she?”

“Thirty. Can you believe that? Thirty. Breast cancer. Dead…” He laughed a short, bitter laughter.

“I am sorry…”

“Me too.” He sighed. “She was a great girl you know. Beautiful soul and body as well…”

“How did you meet?”

“In church. The church I go to, she was in the praise and worship team. Whenever she sang, I would feel like getting saved again ..." he giggled, she indulged him with a sad smile. "I knew I wanted her to be my wife - I was relentless in pursuit. It took me one year to get her to go out with me. It took me another year to get her to admit to being my girl friend. Another year to get her to say yes. I almost felt like Jacob of the Bible …”

“Who?”

“Jacob. The one who had to work for fourteen years to get the woman he really loved….”

“Never heard of him…”

He sat up to look at her. She had her sunglasses on. He removed them so he could look into her eyes. “You are kidding of course..." He declared, searching her eyes for a joke. She shook her head. "Are you seriously telling me you do not know the story of Jacob? Everybody knows that story...”

“I have never heard of him. And why would he work for fourteen years? Were there no other women or something?”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. In the end, he laughed very hard. “My goodness…do you know the Bible?”

“Of course I know the Bible.” She took her glasses from him and returned them to cover her eyes. She felt slightly guilty and embarrassed by her ignorance.

“I mean, do you read the Bible?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Never held a Bible in my hands.”

“Didn’t you do religious education in school?”

She shook her head, taking the time to construct a lie. “I went to a school that allowed us to choose whether to or not. My dad was not very keen on religion…”

“What school was that? I thought it was mandatory in public schools to do religious studies…”

It was? She didn’t know that. “I know. I am private schooled…” If her heart went on beating the way it was, she was afraid it would beat itself out of her body.

He turned his head to look at her quizzically. “How?”

“I was sponsored by some people my dad worked for…” What a great lie!

“Ah, that makes sense.” And it did. He braced himself, hoping this was the moment of truth about her life.  

“Was it an expensive school?”

“Extremely.”

“Which one?”

She told him. He gasped. “Good Lord. I am rich, but even I would be strangling my budget if I took my kids there…how rich does any sponsor have to be to take you there?”

She laughed. He did not need to tell her about her former school. It was the school of choice for almost every rich man living in Kenya, both local and foreign. She needed to stop lying, if only he would stop asking too many questions.

He looked at her a little longer, then lay back to her side again. That would have to be subject for another day. “Anyway, Julie and I eventually got married. We had Christine. Life was bliss..." He paused and when she looked at him, she saw a trace of smile. "Christine was the cutest thing ever. She still is." He laughed. She did not indulge him this time. "Christine was almost two when Julie got pregnant with Christian. Half way baby, that's what we called the pregnancy. We wanted to have four children..." He took in a deep breath, then sniggered. "We even had the house to fit in all the children..." He trailed off. When she stole a glance at him, she saw him fighting back tears. She was fighting her own. Ever so lightly, she touched his hand, snapping him back. "You know, we were so happy. I can confidently say I was a model husband, I even stopped drinking, quit smoking, something she never knew I did in the first place, otherwise she would never have given me a chance. Things we do for women…”

She chuckled.

“But trouble started when she was four months pregnant with Christian. One of her breasts was painful, and there was a huge lump. At first we thought it was pregnancy related, but it got worse every day. Hospital visits and tests revealed breast cancer. Death sentence…”

He sighed. She held his hand and squeezed it with assurance. He continued.

“Of course, they wanted to start treatment immediately. She wouldn’t hear any of it because it - she did not want them to mess with the unborn child. I begged and cried and threatened…I have never seen a woman so stubborn. Needless to say, by the time she gave birth, the cancer was at stage four. Very little could be done about it. She was dead within three months of giving birth…”

“I am so, so sorry…”

“Me too, me too. I was so angry. Angry at God. Angry at her. Even for a while I was angry at Christian.  A widower in my early thirties, father of two children who will grow up without having known their mother, and drinking more than I should…” She squeezed his hand again. She could not find the right thing to say.

“That felt better actually." He finally said after five minutes of silence. "And now, it’s your turn… this is a group therapy session…” he was attempting to joke, but he realized she was sobbing uncontrollably. He sat up, helped her sit up and hugged her. He felt every drop of her tears wet his shirt to near dripping.

“Thank you…” She whispered as she gently pushed him away to look for a handkerchief. She blew her nose noisily. “Thank you. I think this is the first time I am properly crying for my parents…”

“Wow. You never mourned?” He thought it was good time to have a drink. He opened the wine, put some for her and himself.”Come on, cheers to those of us who are still living….”

They clicked their glasses. “So, what happened?”

“Car accident. They had an accident. He died on the spot. She died two days later in hospital. It was surreal…it still is.”

“That must have been a shock…”

“Numbing, more like. I remember feeling…almost nothing. I mean, how? One minute they were there, the next, one was dead, the other one fighting for life in ICU. How does God let that happen? I know I don’t know Him much but really? I was not even eighteen. Come on…” She was feeling angry. Angry at a God she didn’t know much. Jamba made note to talk to her about how God worked, or did not.

“I know what you feel…”

“They were buried the same day, next to each other, in Langata Cemetery. You know, I have never been able to decide whether or not that was good or bad…burying them on the same day, next to each other. Should they have done it on separate days, different locations? Would that have made the shock less?”

“I really don’t know…”

“I don’t either. My friend Shani once took me back to the graves, about a year after they died. I hoped if I saw the graves I would break down, really cry, because everybody kept on telling me that I needed to cry, that crying does make one feel better, but instead I ended up collapsing and ending up in hospital. I haven’t been back since and it makes me feel really bad…” She sighed. "In that graveyard, the reality of our mortality is too real"

He rubbed his hand on her back. He could understand her hesitation to visit the graves. He visited his wife’s, also in Langata, quite often, but only because he needed to make his children understand that their mother was dead. Whenever he took them during her death anniversary, he admired their innocence. He was certain his children understood that mommy would never return. They knew she could not talk to them on the phone, that she would never hug them, but they still coped better than he did. They would all stand around the grave, say a prayer for mommy, then the children would go ahead and update her on their progress; first day in school. A new toy. A new friend. A friend who was no longer a friend. Jamba’s job during the sessions was to stand there, listen to them, hold back his tears, until Christian’s declaration of hunger.

“Your siblings?”

“None. I am an only child…”

“Relatives? I suppose the aunt you live with is a sister to your mom or dad?”

She shivered. The lies were making her shiver with guilt. Yet, she wasn’t ready to come out to him. Not yet. She understood her own vulnerability, bound to say things she would regret later – no, the lie had to stay, for now.

“You know, enough about sad stuff. Can we talk about something else?”

He couldn’t agree more. “I have a better idea. Can we eat already? I brought enough sandwiches and we are not leaving this place until we finish…”

“Are you trying to get me fat again?”

He laughed as he gave her a sneaky once over. “Nah. You are perfect the way you are. Besides, I doubt one day of cheating on your diet would get you fat…”

“It may not, but it may re-ignite my love for fattening foods. It has been known to happen many times before…I am technically a human yo-yo; fat, thin, fat, thin…” She was demonstrating with her hands.

“Poor body…” But they were both laughing about it as he unwrapped the sandwiches and as she poured more wine in their glasses.

They never got to use the nature trail. Never went to the waterfall. In fact, the only thing they managed to do was lie on their back, face the skies, sit up once in a while, talk, drink, eat and laugh.

 

Story by Ciku Kimani-Mwaniki
My guinea pigs - Nyambura Michuki, Ceh Gichimu, Rachel Gathoni, Carole Shiku
Nip and tuck dude - Anthony Luvinzu