CHAPTER FOUR - A Cocktail of Double Life

It’s raising my adrenaline

You are banging on a heart of tin

Please don’t make too much of it, baby

You say the word ‘forever more’

That’s not what I am looking for

All I can commit to is ‘maybe’

-          Jennifer Page

It was Kamaria’s day off, and she was spending it with Shani. They were in a nightclub in Hurlingham, dancing and drinking and not mingling. Kamaria had never been one to choose a club to go to because Shani always had one planned. 'I know where it is happening,' she liked to say. Sometimes, like tonight, Kamaria did not even know the name of the club.  

She was wearing a short sky blue dress that allowed her food pot to show, but she felt good because it was significantly shrunken. Shani’s outfit, as usual, was shorter than Kamaria’s and as usual, it kept riding so high up her thighs, if one peeped closely they would be able to see the colour of her underwear. Shani’s outfits were all deliberately designed to make her bust and bottoms look bigger and waistline smaller.

This particular night, Kamaria felt at home, even free. The paradox of it, she thought, was she had moved away to escape this very life and lifestyle to be free, yet at that very moment, she felt freer than she had in a long while. That these were familiar grounds where she could let her hair down with no pressure to role play felt good.                 
They were occupying a space at the VIP lounge, one reserved for the club's esteemed, usually the politicians and CEOs willing to pay extra money to be there. Shani and Kamaria never had to pay, anywhere; if anything, the free admissions came with free drinks.  Shani, being a social media influencer, getting such favours was always only a phone call away. 
 Kamaria loved the VIP spaces, not because she felt more important than everybody else, but because all the occupants had a sense of self importance and tended to ignore each other. The atmosphere suited her perpetual distaste for making conversations with strangers. 
“You have lost so much weight.” Shani shouted to her friend, trying to outdo the loud music in the club.
  “Five kilos to be exact.” Kamaria shouted back, holding up her five fingers.

“Wow. You make me feel fat!”

They laughed. It was a tired script but still funny.

“So, how is it going? Ready to come back to your senses?”

“It’s going great and no, I am not ready to come back.” She thought of Jamba and smiled.

“What? I know that smile…Miss Kamaria, are you by any chance in love?” Shani demanded, playfully probing her friend’s ribs with her fingers.

“No I am not in love, but I have met someone…”

“Awesome. Who is it?”

“Well, one of my customers…” She said coyly.

“Oh Lord…” Shani declared, rolling her eyes and hunching her back. “Are you kidding me? What does he do?’

“I don’t know.”

“Great…she doesn’t know what he does. What’s his name?”

“Jamba…”

“Yay!” She feigned excitement, lifting her hands. “She knows his name…”

“Stop it…”

“Does he know whom he is dating?”

“We are not dating. We just chat over the counter and he is very exciting…”

“Does he know you like him?”

Kamaria shrugged.

“Pugh! You are getting weirder by the day. So, tell me, if you two get it on, will you tell him all?”

Kamaria shook her head. “I can’t. I don’t think we will get together anyway. I am not ready for a relationship. I don’t even know if he would like a relationship, but he is exciting to talk to.”

Shani sighed. “So, suppose he wants a relationship, and he convinces you to have one…”

“…he won’t. I won’t…”

“…so,” Shani repeated, ignoring her friend. “Suppose he wants a relationship, and he convinces you to have one, he will think he is dating a bartender, right?”

“Gosh, you are so pushy. I have already told you, he will not…” She sipped her cocktail and looked away to the dance floor that only had three girls twerking against each other. The men stared, but remained on their seats.

Shani put her head on the table. “Do you know what chicanery means? Look it up if you do not because girl, that word describes you. Anyway, wake me up when your sanity returns, please…”

Instead of sleeping, Shani took her chutzpah to the dance floor and started dancing, away from the girls. It did not take long before three men made a beeline for her. Kamaria smiled at the familiarity of the situation. It never seemed to matter how important everybody thought they were when Shani was around, she stripped their importance and pulled them to her. Everybody seemed to want to be Shani's friend, often making Kamaria feel privileged for being one.

***

An extremely inebriated Kamaria had refused to spend the night at Shani’s and had taken a taxi to Ruaka, way past three AM. At eleven AM, the need to use the toilet and throw up had forced her to wake up. She had then spent most of the day in bed willing the hangover away. She had tried, with perfect failure, every remedy rumoured to work against hangovers. Failure to kick-start her energy forced her to accept that her body had become alcohol intolerant. Her immediate problem was however that needed to report for duty at six PM.  

She was drowsy and her vision blurred with dark stars when she reported to take over from Wanjala, who took one look at her and burst out laughing. “Do you have a hangover?” He was wagging his finger at her, dramatically placing his other hand on his hip.

She gasped. “Oh no, is it that obvious?”

“Yep. I may be a teetotaler, but remember I have worked with alcohol for ten years. Why did you not just sleep in? You look like one of our customers  on cheap drinks…”

“I had to come. Malik would be upset…”

“Malik also knows people get sick, and all you had to do was feign sickness. You would not be the first one.”

“I didn’t think of that!”

“Of course you didn’t, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. You need to go back home and sleep. Today is Wednesday and you cannot handle the mayhem with a hangover…”

“But you have been here since ten AM, it would be unfair to you.”

“And you think you can handle it better? Pugh. I am fine. I have been known to work for twenty four hours without the need to blink or sit. Besides, all I have to do is call one of the other bartenders to come relieve me at ten PM. Come on, go home before Malik finds out his golden girl drinks.”

“Don’t I have to tell him that I am leaving?”

“And let him work it out that you are drunk? Just go home. I am still your supervisor and I am allowed to change shifts. Go on, go home. Shoo…” He was pushing her gently out of the counter.

She wanted to hug him. One day, she would gift him for this act.

“Thank you very much.”

“Go. Go. Go…go before I change my mind.” He was laughing, but there was no malice in his laughter. Kamaria scampered away, only for her to bump into Jamba at the parking lot.

She heard the car hoot first. She peered lazily. It was a double cabin pick-up, an identical twin to one of her cars. Her heart skipped several beats, fearing her driver had uncovered her undercover activities. Then the window was rolled down, revealing a smiling Jamba.

Reluctantly, she walked towards him, trying hard to appear unwell.

“Hi. Are you okay?”

She shook her head. “No. I am going home to rest…”

“But I thought your shift starts now…” She looked at him. She did not have to vocalize her question. “What? I am a regular customer bound to know who reports when and what time.” He explained himself quickly.

She just stared at him in silence, willing herself to respond but lacking the energy. 

“You really do look unwell. How are you getting home?”

“Usual. Matatu or walk…it’s a little late so I cannot walk. I will get a matatu.”

“Come on, hop in I will drive you home. I assume you live around Ruaka…”

Her heart started palpitating. Several things were wrong with his proposal if she accepted it. One, he could find out she was just suffering from a bad case of hangover. Two, she did not feel ready to be in the confines of a car with him – the counter was safer. Three, he was going to ask questions about her residence, one that was way out of a waitress’ salary.

“I am okay, I don’t want to make you late.”

He laughed. “Late? For alcohol. You are kidding me. I should thank you for saving my liver. Come on, get in, I do not bite.”

She sighed and looked around to see if anyone else was around before entering, immediately fastening the seat belt and resting her head on the seat, willing her heartbeat to level up. She missed his mild shocked reaction at that act. Very few people got into the car and fastened seat belts. He never belted up when he drove short distances, but he found himself fastening his as well.

Kamaria was determined not to have a conversation, and the only way to do that was to get sicker in the car. It was only a five minute drive, likely to feel like an hour's considering all the tension she felt. So she started massaging her temple softly.

“Do you need a doctor?”

“Nope.” She said, a little too quickly. “I went to see one earlier. I just need to sleep the drugs off.”

“What did he say it was?”

She hadn’t thought about that. “Malaria.” It was the first disease name that came to her mind.

“That’s serious. I hope you have a mosquito net…”

“I do, thank you.”

“I hope he gave you a sick note. You will definitely need a few days off to recover…”

She hadn’t thought about that either. The problem with lying, she knew, was the chain of confusing lies it turned into. A lie could only be backed by another lie. And now she needed to remember all the lies.

“Take a left…” He did. “Another left…” He did, but not before he looked at her in confusion. She was directing him to, for lack of better word, a leafy part of Ruaka. Perhaps there were people with servants’ quarters?

“Third gate down the road.”

“You live here?” He had not intended to sound doubtful, but he did. He knew the flats. There were three bedrooms, two bedrooms and one bedroom available. None of them was within her financial reach. A close associate of his used to live there, he had been there several times.

“Yes I do. With a relative.”

That made sense. He pulled over and switched off the engine. It was dark outside. Through the darkness, she saw his silhouette move towards her. Afraid he was about to attempt a hug or a kiss, she quickly opened the car door.

“Thank you very much. I appreciate. See you when I get better…”

She didn’t know whether he answered her or not. She was hurrying away, for a moment forgetting she was supposed to be ill. With a heartbeat as loud and as fast as her hurried steps, she scampered away.

Her flat was on the second floor facing the road. Without switching on the lights, she peered down just in time to see Jamba driving away. What had taken him so long?

And now she had new problems. She needed to call Malik and tell him she had malaria. She needed to call Wanjala so he would collaborate her story. She needed to talk to Mariam so she would have hangover curing foods. She needed to sleep. And she needed to tell her best friend that she had quit alcohol.

***

She returned to work on Saturday. Four days off was what she had needed to be rejuvenated; how she had missed the counter. She was taking over from Wanjala at six PM. “You owe me.” He whispered to her, giggling. She did. Big time.

“Jamba’s drink is right under the counter.”

"He is here?"

“Of course he is. I think he spends more time here than he does at home, especially when you are here. He has missed you." His tone was full of conspiracy. She pretended she did not see the wink that came with his piece of news. "He wanted me to give him your number, I lied that I didn’t have it. I don’t know why he did not ask Malik, his friend.”

She swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

“If only all the thank yous I have been getting from you of late could translate into money, I would be a millionaire.” They laughed.

She had an idea. “Wanjala, do you have any college education?”

“Why?”

“Curiousity…”

He nodded. “As a matter of fact, I do. I have a diploma in fiance.”

 "Wow. Why are you a barman?”

Wanjala stood straight and looked thoughtful for a while. “I was tired of looking for white colour jobs. Then I knocked up a girl, and men in my family take responsibility for their actions. I took the job on offer, and this,” he swept his hand across the counter. “This was on offer.”

“Wow. Would you still like an office job?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know if it is an office job I want. What I would like to have is a better paying job. My family is growing, needs are growing, and what I make here and what my wife makes from the grocery store hardly leaves anything for tomorrow.”

She understood that. What they got paid, including the tips, was something she wondered about.

“You know,” he continued as he opened a bottle of beer and handed it to a customer. “If I was not married, I would probably be taking more risks – like walking out of this dead end job and looking for something else. But my people have to eat, and school fees needs to be settled. I keep a little money aside for a possible project but by the time the savings amount to anything, I will be an old, bitter man.”

“Do you regret it?” What she really wanted to ask was if the family was worth giving up his job dreams for.

He looked thoughtful for a second. “My family? Once in a while, I dream about where my life would be without them – I love my wife, and my two children. I have decided not to dwell on what I could have, or not. I would rather be having a white collar job but hey, I have happiness…”

“That’s important, yes…”

“Do you intend to ever get married? You are at a ripe age for marriage.” His face lit up when he asked that, earning a playful punch.

She paused and thought. “I don’t know. I guess if there was a man in my life, it would be something to think about…”

“There is Jamba…” He teased, poking her playfully with his elbow.

She laughed nervously. “I am not dating him, I will not date him. I am a pub waitress, hardly a candidate of marrying someone like him…”

“Rubbish. As long as there is love, anything is possible. I think the guy is in love with you – or do you think we have not noticed?”

She gasped. “We? Who is we?”

He swept his hand across. “Anyone here with eyes to see. Everyone talks about you two. There are bets all round on whether you will say yes or no. My bet is on yes, so please say yes. The girls are wondering what is wrong with you – who frowns on an opportunity like that?”

She was genuinely shocked. She had no idea that their friendship had attracted such attention. “Don’t mind us – when we are idle, we gossip. You are an interesting piece of gossip. You are a little different you know. You don’t really mix with people – some girls think you are proud, the boys think you are dignified…”

“What? I am not proud…”

“You did not hear the dignified part? Anyway, don’t mind us. Like I said, when we are idle, we gossip. You are the only one who doesn’t seem to join in the gossip…”

She did not even know there were gossip sessions. Where and when did they happen? Once in a while, when the pub was not busy and she would be catching up on her reading, she would  notice the absence of waiters. That  had to be it. Perhaps she would start to join them.

“And please stop losing more weight.” That was Wanjala’s parting shot. She growled and glared at him, throwing an imaginary object at him, wondering why men felt like they had a say in women’s body sizes. It was her body. She wanted to lose ten kilos, and ten kilos she was going to lose.

“Hey stranger!” She did not need to turn to know the owner of the voice. “How are you feeling?”

“I am well. Thank you very much for the other day…”

“You are welcome. I just wish you didn’t take off like someone was chasing you…”

She laughed. “I was sick. I just wanted my bed.”

He put up his hands in surrender.

“You moved pretty fast for a sick person. Well, glad to see you back. I missed my favorite bartender…”

Their attention, and that of everybody else in the pub, was suddenly drawn to a new entry. Kamaria’s mind flashed back to her first day when she learned women did not come to the pub alone. Especially her type. Someone should tell the new entry the same thing.

Even before she started walking towards them, Kamaria already knew she hated her, even more when she made a beeline towards the counter. The woman was smiling, at Jamba. Hers was a long walk to the counter, made awkward by her stilettos against the uneven floor. The long walk gave Kamaria enough time to study her. She was beautiful. In heels, she appeared to be about Kamaria’s height. Her clothes were definitely expensive, and too tight. Tighter than Shani's. She had a lot of makeup and a long human hair weave.

She looked familiar, then Kamaria shrugged because every third woman in the leafy parts of Nairobi looked like her. If her heels were not sinking into the gaps on the floor, she would have run to Jamba, who stood up with excitement and hugged her tightly. He even gave her a kiss on the lips. Kamaria found herself glued to them; she only broke the stare when her eyes met Jamba’s. He froze. She drew a sharp breath and quickly turned away.

She had never thought herself as a jealous person but right at that moment, she gave in to it. She hated that girl more than she had ever hated anyone in her life. She was angry with Jamba. She also realized how juvenile she sounded, even to herself.

From that moment, her night was spoilt. Jamba tried to introduce his girlfriend. The girlfriend, whose name Kamaria forgot as soon as she heard it, gave her a look that made Kamaria feel like an unwanted piece of furniture. Kamaria felt at no liberty to be nice. She nodded at the introduction and moved to the other side of the counter. That they were in her space only meant she could not miss their public display of affection. The girl, or so Kamaria thought, seemed to be doing most of the display, but he did not seem to mind it. They hugged, they kissed, they fed each other drinks. And Kamaria was disgusted. This was going to be a long night.

Or may be not. An hour after whatshername came, they left. She heard Jamba say goodbye to her, but she pretended to be busy with a customer. She was embarrassed by her behavior but felt no regret. That was the worst night of her time at the bar, so bad, she even considered quitting. How was she supposed to face him after the juvenile display?

__________

Two weeks passed with no sign of Jamba. As much as she missed him, something she only admitted to herself, she appreciated his absence. It gave her time to address her behaviour that night, it gave her time to accept that it would be both embarrassing and awkward next time she saw him.

When he walked in, an hour earlier than his usual six PM on a Wednesday, her body froze. Practically. A glass shattered somewhere. She jumped, then shrunk with embarrassment when she realized she had dropped it.

“Damn…” She muttered, bending to picking the broken pieces, taking that moment to compose herself.

“Hey Serah, how are you?” He sounded normal. She wasn’t sure how she had expected him to sound.

“Hi Jamba. Welcome back.” She convinced herself she sounded normal, but inside she was shaky. A minute later, she finished picking the pieces and stood up to face him, chunks of broken glass in her palm.

He pointed at the glasses. “You could have done a better job with a broom and a scoop. That glass could cut you real bad…”

She hadn’t thought about that,

“I don’t have a scoop…”

“Yes you do.” He said, using his mouth to point at it.

They both laughed, the relief of the icebreaker felt by both.

It was a blessing in disguise that counter was busy that night. She never got an idle moment to chat to him. Once in a while, she stole glances at him and thought he looked spaced out. He kept staring intensely at his glass. She contemplated asking him if he was okay, then decided she was not his therapist. 
A few hour later he got company, this time round, a man. The man, who kept his eyes on her even when he was talking to Jamba, had more guts than any of her customers who had previously chatted her up.

“You are a very beautiful woman. Can I have your number?” He asked, loudly enough for everybody within the bar to hear.

“No, you can’t.” She grumbled with a sneer.

“Why not?” He sounded genuinely hurt.

“Well, because I do not give my number to strangers who can’t keep their voices down…”

Jamba chuckled and sipped his drink.

“Damn, you are rude…”

“You have no idea. If you will excuse me, I am busy.” And she had moved to the other end of the counter to chat with one of her other regular customers.

The rest of the evening was spent with Jamba giving her amused looks. His friend kept glaring at her in disbelief. She was ignoring them both, unless they were making an order. When they bid her goodbye, she just waved them off and returned to chat to another customer.

But it was good to have Jamba back.

***

Her newly acquired life was anything but a smooth sail, but Kamaria was relishing it. Once in a while, she felt equal to her friends at work, until she remembered that they could never be equal; she had the option to just up and leave if the life proved too harsh. That devil-thought never stopped her from finding her Nirvana, especially in her little Ruaka house.

Whenever she went to Kileleshwa, she would spend enough moments getting irritated by her friends’ insensitivity towards people socially below them. Shani, as much as she loved her, was most annoying. She never realized it before moving to Ruaka, but Shani had a habit of looking down on anybody she considered below her. Now, it was so obvious, it made her cringe.

Shani would set her face in a near disgusted frown whenever Kamaria talked about her life in Ruaka. Often, she yawned in disinterest and quickly changed subjects. If Kamaria referred to her workmates as friends, Shani would say ‘they are not your friends. You are not in the same class.’

Kamaria disagreed, but she also knew it would be futile to argue with Shani. It made her wonder about her attitude towards people outside her economic circle before Ruaka. Her closest one, likely the only one, was her Mariam. She had no regrets about how she treated Mariam. 
Then Ruaka had happened and it was whole new world to learn for her. 
She may not have gossiped much with her workmates, but Kamaria had made genuine friends at work. She did, once in a while, wonder how they would react to her if they knew about her wealth. She liked that they had started on equal grounds – of course, she had advantage over them because she knew she was wealthy and they did not, but her feelings towards them were no less genuine.

She already knew a little of their personal lives. Some of their struggles were familiar because she had heard similar ones from Mariam. Their struggles intensified her guilt, made her realize how ungrateful she could be, how much she took her privileged life for granted. She longed to tell them money did not solve some problems, but they would ask her how she knew that.

She also knew money could solve a lot of problems.

For starters, Wanjala. She could not imagine how his salary, way less than her monthly food shopping, could maintain a family of four.

Then there was Mwikali who was paying her own college fees. Kendi’s mother was a near invalid because of her advanced diabetes. Between her and her three brothers, all casual labourers, they were paying for her expensive medication. “I just want to find a rich man to marry me, then he can take care of my mom’s bills.” Mwikali had once confessed during a walk to work. That had shocked Kamaria, that funding a parent’s medication could be cited as a good enough reason to get married.

Many people surrounding her in Ruaka were on shoestring budgets. She wanted to take on all their financial problems; she could afford it. How to explain herself was the problem. “You cannot carry everyone’s problems on your shoulders,” Shani had admonished when Kamaria narrated her work mates’ problems. “As soon as you sort them, there would be others on the queue…please do not do this to yourself. You went to Ruaraka…”

“...Ruaka…”

“Whatever. You went there to sort yourself, not to become Mother Theresa.” She hated to admit it, but Shani was right.

What she was sure about was, Ruaka would be a hugely defining moment of her life. That was the only certainty. 

Story by Ciku Kimani-Mwaniki
My Guinea pigs - Nyambura Michuki, Ceh Gichimu, Rachel Gathoni, Carole Shiku 

See you next week for chapter four as Kamaria goes on a date that complicates her life