CHAPTER THREE - A Cocktail of Double Life

Chapter three –

Yahaya unaishi wapi

Kwani jina lako halisi nani

Yahaya eeeeh

Maskani yako Kinondoni

Nyumba namba haijulikani

Yahaya eeee

                Lady JD

Two boisterous young women occupied a window table at Java in Hurlingham, allowing them to casually observe the mundane activities of people looking for parking spots, others trying to get out of parking spots, while others, judging by how they held their car keys on the ready, seemed to be looking for their cars. 

One of the women was easily recognizable in her long human hair weave. She had a body that was impossible to ignore and if one could ignore it, they could not ignore the very short dress that kept riding up her thunder thighs. She had kicked off her four inch heels. The other woman, casually dressed in blue jeans and a white linen top with neck strips of blue kitenge material. Her handmade sandals had the same blue. She was a far cry from the one who had two days ago sat awkwardly across an equally awkward club manager. This version fit right into the environment. Her hair was newly done, but instead of the expensive weave, she had shaved it to a centimeter. The near bald hairstyle made her scalp feel cold, but it also came with a certain freedom, not to mention the weightlessness. She loved it even more when Shani, on seeing it, had declared it ghastly.  

“Damn it, woman.” Shani had cussed just before she hugged Kamaria. “I know they say when a woman shaves her hair she is ready for change but do you have to scare off people in the process? How did Diana even agree to shave you?” They had used the same hairdresser for years; Shani had discovered Dee's Salon, along Ngong Road, accidentally. A call to bring forward a TV interview had come just as she was nearing China Center along Ngong Road and the Dee's Salon billboard had beckoned.  That was to be the first of many visits to the salon, and Kamaria had followed suit.   

Kamaria had chuckled and dismissed her friend with a wave of hand.

Through her expensive sunglasses, she looked at her friend with mild amusement. Shani was chewing on her fries too quickly and noisily pulling on her milkshake with the straw, magically leaving her lipstick undisturbed. ‘It’s matte, expensive matte lipstick. Plus you are not meant to eat your lips, just the food, please...’ She always explained when asked how she managed to not eat her lipstick along with her food. Kamaria had long given up trying to emulate her friend.  

“You are chewing on your fries as if for dear life…” Kamaria cracked as she picked one of her own, dipping it in sauce and chewing it slowly. 

“I don’t like it that you are taking digs at me. Anyway, can you blame me? I have so much to say but I don’t want to look like a horrible friend. So I am technically chewing my words. I can’t believe you are doing this…”

Kamaria laughed. “Are you not a little tired of saying those words? You sound like a broken record.”

“Nope. I am going to say them over and over until common sense returns to you. You are out of your mind, you know. A twenty six year old millionaire living in a one bedroom in some god forsaken place called Ruaraka...”

“Ruaka. Ruaraka is a different area…” Kamaria said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, whatever. They both sound god-forsaken. I

 hear there are a lot of muggings there, it’s just not safe…”

“Rubbish.  How do you know that and you don’t even know where it is and you cannot even get the name right?”

“I Googled…”

“Liar. Besides, there are muggings everywhere. Remember my neighbor who was mugged outside the gate?”

Shani thought about it for a second. “Still…it’s not safe. You do not even have a car…you are using public transport for goodness sake! Are you crazy? At least you should use taxis.”

“I am actually starting to enjoy public transport. You meet many interesting characters…” She was not telling the truth because matatus petrified her, but she was having fun agitating Shani.

“Good lord!” Shani muttered under her breath, putting her hand on her forehead and leaning on her chair in exasperation. “What happened to you?”

“I am not sure.” She said honestly. “I guess boredom is part of what happened!”

“Who doesn’t get bored? If you get bored, you fly to Diani and spend a week on the beach and have reckless sex with a stranger…”

“Been there, done that. It didn’t cure me…”

“But, working as a waitress? Couldn’t you get a job in your own company?”

It was a question Kamaria had asked herself enough times. She could just fire the CEO and take over. She could create a position and call it anything she wanted. It was her company, she had majority shares. She could just go there and spend the day supervising people and nobody would question her.

But she also knew, the experience would not be authentic. They knew her. They feared her. They all liked pretending to like her. Kamaria had convinced herself what she needed was new, unfamiliar grounds. A place where nobody knew her background, how wealthy she was. How she had never had to work for what everyone thought was a good life.

She had never had to earn the respect; respect was given to her by default. People, she was certain, not only pretended to like her, they also laughed at her half-baked jokes – heck, they laughed at everything she said, even when she was not trying to be funny. It gnawed on her, drove her so crazy, she often wanted to punch someone – her exasperation would be made worse by the fact she would have probably gotten away with punching someone.What she ended up doing was remaining silent, giving people the impression that she was aloof.

She craved undiluted human feelings. Knowing if someone, anyone could actually like her without prior knowledge of her background had become her latest obsession.

The only genuine love she knew was from Shani. When they were ten years old, Shani had slapped a bully who had harassed Kamaria. They had been inseparable since then. Shani, like her, was a privileged kid. The only difference between them was Shani still had the most important people in her life alive, not even she could understand the kind of deep and dark holes she often fell into, the type of questions she often asked herself on the benefits of being alive if one was so often miserable.

Shani, an extrovert who thrived on attention, a woman whose confidence levels could launch a spaceship, did not know it was possible to be utterly lonely in the middle of a multitude.    

Kamaria shifted uncomfortably on her set, adjusting her jeans that were pressing on her tummy. “I so need to lose weight…”

“Again? Don’t you ever give up trying?” Shani asked, rolling her eyes. She was a big girl. Her weight had never bothered her, it was part of her allure. “We are big girls. Always have been. Why you keep insisting on joining camp-skinny is a mystery to me.”

“I hate being big, and I love it when I am smaller. It is that simple.”

“Clearly not enough, otherwise you would be maintaining your small frame when you achieve it.”

“Can you swear, hand across your heart that you have never, ever wanted to be small?”

Shani chewed for a while in silence, thinking through the question. “No I cannot swear. In fact, when you are smaller, I have often thought that I should join you, and then I remember I love my food too much, I do not possess the willpower to sacrifice the food or go to the gym every other day, and I am afraid of losing my huge bottom. Taji loves it too much…”

Kamaria smirked. “Taji and every man who is not blind, you mean?”

They both burst out.Even as they spoke, a man passed them, he was so engrossed looking at Shani's thighs, he bumped into a wall. The two girls did not see that.

“How is he?” Kamaria was happy to steer the conversation away from her life.

“Taji? He is alright. I have a feeling he is about to propose…” Shani turned coy as she said that.

“Oh yeah? Would you like that?”

“Would I like that? Of course I would. I have been waiting for the question since the day we met two years ago…”

“Then that’s another reason for me to lose weight. I need to fit into my dream bride’s maid dress…”

“Just as long as you do not intend to outdo the bride!” The two girls laughed heartily. Kamaria was happy for her friend. She made her believe in love, even though her own dating escapades always seemed to end prematurely. Her luck in men lacked sense of direction, often led her to gold digger land, or vanity land.

‘Why do I seem to attract the wrong type of men? Why does every second one of them see me as their ticket to out of poverty?’ She had once asked Shani after a man, in a line of many his type, had tried to fleece her.

‘I think you have this look of a desperate girl.’ Shani had answered, getting a gasp from Kamaria. ‘You do though. I know you are not, but you do have this look…I cannot explain it. You make them think they are doing you a favour by dating you, and they think you would do anything to keep them.’ Shani, always blunt to a fault, had given her diagnosis.

‘Well, they are wrong. I do not mind helping, but I will be damned if I allow anyone to con me. And I am not desperate…’

‘Then stop looking so damn desperate. Walk straight, do not sink in the background, look at them straight in the face. Do not be obliged to be nice to anyone. Call them shit if they are.  Don’t look like the good girl next door. Also, try not to be so darn suspicious of everyone. Not everyone is after your money.’ That was Shani’s dose for the diagnosis.

‘I can’t do it.’ A different occasion, Kamaria ranted to Shani on the phone after leaving a man’s house in a hurry. ‘I have been seeing him for two months. I have only been to the salon twice, he has been there seven times. Seven. Can you believe that? I am leaving his house now before he returns from his manicure and pedicure. He has three types of day lotions, a night lotion, three types of colognes, he uses lip balm a hundred times a day. Honestly Shani, I feel like the dude in this relationship.’

‘Sweetheart, metrosexual is the new black for many a man. Deal with it…’

‘I won’t. I will just wait until I meet a man who uses the same cologne, one who does not do manicure…’

‘Well, good luck with that. Taji and I go to the same unisex salon. There are many couples who do that…’

‘You are all weird.’
'...And in relationships...'

That was not the end of her woes. She was unhappy with the brand of men who expected to be worshiped because they were rich, or handsome. ‘Why the hell would I do that? Do you do that with your men?’

‘Heck no. I have no time for that kind of rubbish. I love them, I do not worship them.’

‘Then there is hope…’

But that hope, for Kamaria, was dimming by the day. She was starting to believe Taji was the last of the good kind of men. Even as she thought that, she knew if he were the last man on earth, she would still reject him. She found him vain. She only tolerated him because Shani loved him and often found excuses not to join Shani when Taji was around. 

***

                Nine thirty AM, Monday.

As part of her weight loss journey, Kamaria had purposed  to walk to work. By the time she covered the five kilometer stretch, she was sweaty and panting. Her first stop was the ladies toilets where she opened the tap on her handkerchief and used it to wipe her face, armpits and under the breasts. She made a note to self to carry stuff that would enable her freshen up. She was also wondering how she would manage a ten hour shift when she was already tired.

Her shift was slotted for ten AM and she still had ten minutes to go by the time she went to the counter and found Wanjala, her to-be trainer, just opening the counter. It was their second meeting. Their first one, when Malik had introduced them, neither of them had had an opportunity to talk. 'Wanjala, meet Serah. Serah will be joining us from Monday. You will train her.' Wanjala had nodded, and Malik had steered Kamaria away. 
Within seconds of their second meeting, she knew she would like him. He's rather cute, she thought, Standing at over six feet tall, he was dark skinned with a determined look on his face, one he wore like a favoured accessory. His Afro hair was all shaggy, like he was not sure whether he wanted to have dreadlocks or not. He gave her a beaming smile.

“Hi. I am hoping you are Serah...” He beamed.

“Yes I am." She answered and chuckled, understanding he was making a joke of their first meeting. "Wanjala?”

“Correct. Karibu sana. Are you ready for the madness?” He ushered her in, letting her go in first.

“Yes, I am.” She tried to disregard the butterflies in her stomach.

“Good. You are lucky to start on a Monday. Mondays and Tuesdays are quiet, perfect days for a first day. Wednesday will get a little busy, especially because there is a live band that plays Rhumba. Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays are crazy devil’s workshops. By the time Monday comes, you want to move to Turkana and work in the mines…”

She gave a hearty laugh, appreciating his sense of humour.

“Good morning Serah, I see you can keep time…” It was Malik, coming from behind them, looking more harassed than he did when she first met him.

“Yes sir…”

Malik was studying her keenly. The feeling that there was more to his newest employee was stirring his curiousity again. She was wearing the waiter’s uniform – black skirt, black shoes, black waist coat and a white shirt. She should get lost in a sea of waiters, but it seemed like an impossibility, like he would still be able to pick her up with his eyes shut.

“Well, welcome. Oh, nice hair style…”

And he was gone. Kamaria watched him until he disappeared, wondering how a man with his gut could move like a hurricane. “Why was he looking at you like that?” Wanjala asked cheekily.

She shrugged. “Perhaps because of the new hairstyle?”

“I hope so. These club managers can be naughty. Most of them want to sleep with the new girls…”

She felt her heart miss a beat. She had never considered that possibility, she had no reason to. She had heard of bosses who demanded sexual favors from their employees, but it had never occurred to her that the same may be required from her.

“Is…is he like that?”

Wanjala shook his head. “No, but there is always a first time. It’s just the weird way he looked at you…anyway, shall we get started? First, I need to introduce you to the waiters, at least the ones on duty. I need to show you where everything is – there is not much as you can see. Just one big hall with as many uncomfortable seats as possible, there is some sitting outside. The kitchen, toilet, changing room and that is just about it. Then we need to take stock as you familiarize yourself with the drinks and the prices, how to make the one and only club cocktail also know as gin and tonic  – Malik tells me you have never worked in a pub before?”

***

Fast forward, three months later, a significantly smaller Kamaria was an expert bartender who no longer needed supervision or assistance. That she was enjoying her job was an immeasurable bonus. It was tiring, but it was getting easier by the day. Her only issue was not being able to strum her guitar every day. In the morning, instead of playing, she chose to work out. End of her shifts found her fingers, and brain too tired to play. But when she played, she made up for time lost.

When her shift fell on godly hours, she walked to or from work. Sometimes she would walk to and from, alongside some of her workmates. Often, she was on the same shift with Kendi, the waitress she had met on her first day, and Mwikali. The two became as close as she was going to let them be. They walked because they were saving money. She walked because she wanted to lose weight, and she wanted to fit in. So far, so good. They had wondered about her residence, but her explanation that she lived with a relative turned questions into admiration.

In three months, she had lost five kilograms. Her new diet almost did not need the physical activity to work, but the activity helped in toning her muscles. So far, she had replaced all her clothes because they all had started hanging on her.

Being busy and being too tired left her no time for self pity. There was no time for boredom either. She had no time, or energy, for alcohol, or greasy meals. Even her clandestine meet ups with Shani had not convinced her to over indulge, yet.

Life was good, but she was also beginning to develop itchy feet, having never had to follow a planned life before. She was fighting an urge to get away. She had thought of feigning sickness then get on a flight to Mombasa for a couple of days, but her conscience had become sensitive. In the end, she had decided that she preferred to be selling alcohol than being sold for.

She was now familiar with many regular customers. Some by face, others even by name. She knew their favorite spots. She knew their drinks, along with preferred temperatures. Some of them preferred the counter. She had also become the master of small talk because Wanjala had told her that most customers who sat at the counter expected the bartender to engage in talk. “When you are a bartender, you double in as a silent shrink. A lot of times, people just want to off-load. Try not to give your opinion though.” 

She had also become the master of putting off men. Malik had been spot on, on his prediction. She no longer blushed at the sexual innuendos, or the direct soliciting for sex. ‘You cannot really blame the men for trying. Many of the waitresses are happy to go off with these men,’ Wanjala had defended his clients. ‘That is sexual harassment.’ She had protested.  ‘And this is a pub. People are drunk and they think and reason like drunks…’ Wanjala had shot back. She had let it go, not willing to be branded a prude activist and appreciating that perhaps, sexual harassment was relative and the environment depended.  

‘Just say no. None of them will not die from disappointment.’ And so she had. Said no over and over. Some men left her alone after the first no, some were persistent, others had their egos bruised and called her names. Not counter reacting on the last group had taken a lot of self control.

Then she had favorite customers. Top of that list was Jamba. He, in her opinion, was sinfully handsome. Very tall, stuck somewhere between dark skinned and light skinned. His head always shinning with baldness, like one who went for a daily haircut. He had an inch long goatee, one he played with when deep in thought. His eyes were, in her opinion, the most endearing feature. They were so intense, she could never help thinking about wild cats on a hunt whenever their eyes met. The only way she could tear her eyes from him was to pinch herself, hard. He had a strange way of smiling that only revealed one side of his teeth.

She liked Jamba for another reason that went beyond his good looks. That he never asked to take her home, or to some lodging, something ninety nine percent of her customers did. And he smelled good. And it was the same cologne. Kamaria could smell him even before she saw him.  Like all customers at R&R, he dressed down, often in jeans and sneakers, tee shirt and a baseball cap. When he appeared at day time, he had sunglasses resting on his shiny head.

For months, he was nothing but polite to her. He would walk in straight to what she referred to as Jamba’s corner at the counter. He would say hello and order for a very cold Tusker. He would fish out a packet of cigarettes and lighter, arrange them in front of him but would walk out whenever he needed to smoke. He would ask her to keep his drink on her side of the counter as he was scared of it being laced. He would speak on the phone, a lot, but mostly he stared. He stared at other customers, he stared at the television, and he stared at her.

Whenever she caught him intensely staring at her, she would smile and immediately get busy, or pretend to. She did not want to make him feel awkward, and there was the fact that the stares made her blush furiously.

“Have you lost weight?” That would be the first, certainly not the last, personal question Jamba ever asked her. The question was also an ice breaker for long chats between them.

“Has your eyesight improved?” She shot back, fighting back the blush threatening her skin.

He laughed loudly. He had a good laugh, she thought. “You are funny. Talking of eyesight, how come you don’t wear your glasses anymore?”

“I didn’t see well then, now I do.” She blushed furiously, looking around for something to do. There was nothing, so she rubbed her hands together.

“You don’t mind me asking you such questions, do you?” He felt sorry for the unease he had caused.

“I don’t mind at all. Contrary to popular belief that women do not divulge their age and weight, I am not shy about it…” Jamba laughed again. She felt self-pressure to keep saying something funny, she wanted him to laugh more.

“So how old are you?” He asked, holding her gaze and unsmiling.

The moment was interrupted by a customer, a little blessing on her part. She was wondering if she was about to chew more than she was ready to swallow. The flirt gene, one that had been dormant for so long she had forgotten how it felt, had suddenly been reactivated, and it felt good. But it was making her nervous. She liked the professional relationship she had with her customers, Malik applauded her for it, she did not want things to change. But her mind, and mouth, were in cahoots to betray her resolve.

“So, how old are you?” He repeated the question when the customer left.

“Twenty six, going twenty seven. Why are you interested?”

He shrugged. “Just.” He said with a smile.

“How old are you?” She dared him, placing her hands on her hips and holding his gaze.

He groaned. “Now you are going to make me feel like a grandfather…”

“I will be the judge. How old are you?” Kamaria wanted to hold herself back because she felt her on/off assertive personality winning over her newly acquired meek one. She needed to stop. “I am sorry, I shouldn’t probe like that…”

Jamba laughed again, this time harder and longer.

“Amazing.” He declared. “I have never seen such a sudden transformation. One second you were the demanding queen bee who would take no for an answer, the next you are the meek kitten. Who are you?”

Good question. She muttered to herself as she started shining the wine glasses, placing them carefully on the shelves. She was deliberately avoiding his gaze. She wished she still wore her glasses, at least they would hide the emotions in her eyes.

“Serah, don’t be embarrassed. I started the batter so it’s my fault. I am thirty five. Is that acceptable?”

Acceptable for what? She wondered, but dared not ask him.

“It certainly is not grandfatherly.”

They were interrupted by Malik. The two appeared to be good friends. She did not know whether they knew each other in or outside the club, but whenever Jamba was around, Malik would come for a chat. Sometimes she would see Jamba disappear towards the office. Often, they would take a table far from her, like today.

She was thankful for Malik's interruption. What was she just about to trigger?



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








See you next week for chapter four as Kamaria fights feeling she was not ready for, feelings that were putting her new self in danger of exposure