CHAPTER EIGHT - A Cocktail of Double Life

 Come back to me

Come back and say your still in love with me

Come back and say that I am all you’ll ever need

Baby come back come back to me

Oh please come back to me

Come back and say you’ll work it out with me

Come back to stay and say you’re never gonna leave

Baby come back to me

                Dolly Parton

After hours of being in total darkness and eerie silence in the bedroom, Kamaria moved to the living room to find the same darkness and silence. She turned on the lights and the television, sat on her favourite seat and wrapped herself in a couch blanket, rocking herself. She had no interest in watching the television, it only served as a good visual and mental distraction. When she was not staring, she dozed off, transporting her brain to a land of dark and disturbing dreams. She would wake up with a start then continue staring at nothing in particular.

She missed her guitar. It was the only inanimate thing that could calm her down.

Moving to Ruaka and having a job that left her little time to do anything unless it involved sleeping and resting meant that she played her guitar less and less. Initially, she had tried to slot in twenty minutes every day but when she realized simple things like tuning the chords was making her tired, she had given up. Now, as she sat on her favourite seat feeling miserable and angry, she missed the guitar, one that she had left in Ruaka along with the miserable experience with Jamba. Strumming sad songs during low moments, she had long ago realized, pacified her morose moments. Since she had moved to Kileleshwa a few months after her parents’ deaths, the guitar had occupied a spot next to the television. Seeing the spot empty made her feel even more edgy. Eventually, she moved seats, but her eyes would still find the guitar spot.  

The tears had long dried, the heaving had long stopped. When morning came and found her staring blankly at the same guitar spot, her anger had subsided, leaving her feeling  at peace, but empty.

At six AM, feeling groggy but awake, she dragged her feet to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She did so as she looked into her own eyes on the mirror reflection and almost choked on toothpaste when she suddenly decided she would go to work. She would not quit. Jamba was not going to drive her off.

“You are insane, woman…” She pointed at her reflection with the toothbrush.

Against all the good things that were happening in Ruaka, what she considered to be Jamba’s stupidity suddenly seemed a fickle reason to give it all up. She loved her simple life in there. Jamba, she said loudly, was an idiot not worth upsetting her plans. She would focus on the good things, she was not going to let Malik, or Wanjala, down. She was not going to let herself down.

In all her history of breakups, ugly or calm, going away was usually her way of moving on, her way of putting distance between herself and hurt. Not anymore. ‘I haven’t spent this much time in Ruaka just to go back to my old, cowardly ways. I am not fleeing…’ She said loudly, slipping out of her clothes and getting into the shower with resolve and defiance. 

Her emancipation was going right, even with the upset Jamba had caused. There were also too many loose ends in Ruaka to just walk out for Jamba. She needed to do something for each of her three friends; Kendi, Mwikali and Wanjala. She knew it may have been too much to expect, but she hoped Jamba had some degree of shame, enough to keep him away from R&R. If he lacked the shame, and going by his behavior it was a possibility, she would just work on making it strictly business between them.

Last night never happened as far as she was concerned.

Six o nine AM, she called Malik.

“Serah! Are you okay?” He asked anxiously.

“I am alright, thank you. I am sorry about last night. Can I come to work?” He was quiet. “Malik?”

“Yes, yes. I am here…you want to report for duty, you mean?”

“Yes…please…”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes I am. I want to come to work, if you haven’t replaced me yet.”

“Impossible to do so at night. Look, if you want a few days off, I will understand…”

“No. I want to come to work.”

“Okay. I will call Wanjala to tell him it’s business as usual. But, I need to see you in my office at nine AM. Can you make it? You and I need to have some sort of a candid talk…”

____________

She did make it, just. Fumo had used back roads that got them in Ruaka in half an hour, at eight thirty AM. She had dismissed him, sending him off with her laundry and instructed him to deliver her meals when Mariam was done preparing them. She brisk walked to work and knocked on Malik’s door two minutes later than her appointed time.

“Come in my dear. Have a seat. There is some hot water in the flask – coffee? Drinking chocolate? Tea? A beer?” They laughed.

“I need a coffee. I didn’t sleep very well…” She slumped on the same plastic seat she had sat on during the interview. It made the same farting sounds it had made that day and just like that day, Malik did not seem to notice it. She shrugged and fought a threatening giggle. He made coffee for her, not taking his eyes off hers. She was busy avoiding his eyes by studying and rubbing her hands on her lap nervously.

“I know whatever it is has something to do with Jamba. If you want to tell me about it, fine. If you don’t, that’s fine too…”

She sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “Did you talk to him?”

He nodded.

“Well, it’s not that I do not want to talk about it, but I just don’t know what to say. I made a stupid mistake. That is all there is to it…”

“Alright.” He sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “I however do not believe it is that simple. Something that spooked you enough to make you want to quit is not simple.” He placed the coffee noisily on the table, removed his thick glasses, rubbed his eyes and nose vigorously, returned the glasses and leaned back on the chair. “See, I may not be old enough to be your father, but I have enough experience and wisdom on the delicate and often confusing matters of the heart to give fatherly advice. Also, I know a little about you and I know a lot about him. Based on what I know, I think it somewhat makes me qualified to give an opinion. Will you listen?” She nodded.

“Alright. Here is the thing. I have known Jamba for a long, long time. Way before he lost his wife, when he would sneak off home once in a while to come here and have a beer. His wife was very religious, she would have caused hell if she knew he drunk. He would keep oranges, a face towel, toothpaste and toothbrush in my office and use them to freshen up and mask his sins just before going home.” Malik laughed at the memory. He did not laugh often and that he laughed made Kamaria smile. “He is a good man, really…” he saw her fold her brow. “I know he is a little confused, he can be inconsiderate and stupid, but I attribute that to him losing his wife. I am not excusing whatever he did that made you so mad, I am just asking you to hold down your knee-jerk reaction to whatever it is – perhaps try and understand why he did whatever he did?” Earlier that morning, Malik had called Jamba to tell him Kamaria had changed her mind about returning, and had also made him tell what had made her so mad.

He leaned forward to sip more coffee.  Kamaria held her cup with hands, holding it by the mouth, smelling the coffee instead of drinking it. “He hasn’t found his footing since losing his wife, not properly. He may kill me for saying this, but he does have trouble with women – I don’t even think he loves women as much as people think he does – knowing him, I believe it is just something to get his mind off his wife.

“He never cheated on her, and I would know if he did. That he never cheated was not for lack of opportunity. But when she died, he started thinking too much with the wrong head.” She giggled. “Some of my waitresses have been…erm… victims, for lack of a better word. A couple of times there have been ugly scenes here between Jamba’s dates and some waitresses…”

“He brings women here?”

“Used to. Not anymore. I know he brought a certain woman when you were on duty, and he worried about it, because of you…”

“He told you about her?”

He nodded.  “Why am I being the village gossip, you may wonder? Because, whatever you may think of Jamba, you have changed him. He is work in progress – I don’t know how good the progress is, but it is progress. I know for a fact he no longer sleeps with the waitresses. It could be a coincidence but that stopped when you joined us. He also asked me for permission to ask you out…”

“Really? Why would he do that?”

Malik shrugged. “Right?...Like, do I look old enough to be your father?” They both laughed. “Anyway, I asked him the same question, especially because he had never asked me about the other waitresses – I only used to find out when the girls would get into fights over him and I would have to intervene.”

“What did you say? About the permission, I mean?” She placed her coffee cup on the table and placed her elbows on the table, leaning closer to him.

“What could I say? You are an adult, one I am sure capable of making sober decisions. I told him it was up to you…anyway, long story short, Jamba genuinely likes you. He may have strange ways of showing it, but like you he does. I spoke to him last night and he was distraught, and sorry. He may have spent the night outside your flat…”

“What?”

“Yep. He came here with Sudi, then went back to the flat. He probably slept through, he was drunk. Sudi took a cab home…did you sleep in your house?”

She shook her head. “No. A friend’s.”

“Mh…what do you want to do? About Jamba, I mean?”

Earlier, Kamaria had thought she had the answer. That she would ignore him. That she would work on hating him. But after listening to Malik, she was not so sure anymore. “I honestly do not know.”

“I guessed as much. I have asked him to keep away for a week or so when you told me you would be coming back to work – that will give you a week to calm down and think what you want to do…”

“Thank you very much.”

“You are welcome. And my earlier offer still stands; if you want to take time off, let me know. Also, I meant to ask you, are you still sending out your CVs?”

She nodded. “Yes. But nothing yet…”

“Well, keep doing it.”

________________

It turned out to be the longest week of Jamba’s life. Several times he regretted making that promise to keep away. The same number of times he remembered it was the best option, for now. A week, he hoped, would be enough for Kamaria to calm down. He had messed up, and he also needed the same one week to get over the shame he felt.

He kept his word to Malik. Keeping his word meant that he went home early everyday of the week, having no desire to be anywhere else. Rosa had called every day, he had ignored every one of the calls. He knew it was unfair and every time he looked at her name flashing on his phone he swallowed a tinge of guilt, but also, every time she called, he would wonder what kind of a human would take so much humiliation, over and over. He knew Rosa was incapable of loving anyone but herself, thus her drive to keep calling him could not have been love. He narrowed down her reasons for calling to either ego, or need for money. He had sent her some money as a tester, and she had left him alone for the rest of the day. 

That he was home early every day also meant he had to give endless excuses to Christine, who wanted to talk to Serah so she could thank her personally for the gifts. How was he supposed to make that happen when he could not even talk to Serah on the phone? He had not promised not to call, but he was too scared of a rejection to call her. By the third day, he decided rejection was better than nothing, so he dialled her number. She did not pick. She did not pick the other four times he called.

“Listen sweetheart, on Saturday, we will go to Serah’s house. You can thank her then…” He finally told Christine when he ran out of excuses.

“Yay!” Christine had gone on to remind him about it on Thursday and Friday, and on Saturday over breakfast.

“This had better work…” He muttered to himself. His plan was simple. He knew Serah’s shift for that Saturday was starting at ten AM. Because she trekked to work, she would have to leave at least half an hour earlier. All he had to do was make sure he was at her gate at nine AM.

Ten minutes before nine AM, he bundled the kids into the car, his heart rate abnormally high.

“Call her and tell her we are here…” Christine urged when he parked outside her flats.

“Why don’t we wait for her and surprise her instead?” Christine did not know that he had tried to call that morning, and she had ignored his call.

“Yay!”

At nine fifteen, Kamaria walked through the gate, wearing her waitress uniform, sunglasses on her eyes and sneakers on her feet. She looked at either sides of the road, glanced at his car but did not seem to register it. He had parked between two other vehicles. She started walking towards the main road.

“Daddy! Daddy! There is Serah…Serah!” Christine was shouting through the window.

“Shoosh…”

“Serah!” Like the determined girl she was, she was having none of Jamba’s shooshing.

Kamaria stopped and looked around in confusion, finally looking at the car. One hand went to her mouth, the other one on her heart.

The car’s child-lock was on, but the window was down. When Christine climbed out through the window, Jamba was more amused than shocked. He let her go, slowly came out and opened the door for Christian. Christine and Kamaria were already hugging by the time he started walking towards them, Christian cautiously following behind. Kamaria, locked into Christine’s hug in a squat, hang on to the little girl, feeling safer there as she watched Jamba and Christian slowly approach.

The hug was broken when Jamba and Christian got to them. “Hi Serah…”

“Hi. Hi Christian…” She hugged Christian and shook Jamba’s hand, avoiding his eyes. “What are you all doing here?” She had gotten over the shock, now she was shaky.

“I wanted to thank you for the presents, and daddy suggested we give you a surprise…”

“What a lovely surprise. So nice to see you. Did you like the presents?”

“I love them. I sleep with Atoti now…”

“Who is Atoti?”

“The doll…” Jamba said with a giggle. Kamaria smiled at Christine.

“What a lovely name. Christian, did you like your present?”

She had bought him a remote controlled fire truck. He nodded shyly. She and Christian never did get a moment to bond, him having been too busy playing with his friends during the party.

“He loves it, but he will not let me drive it. Could you buy me a pink one?”

“Christine! That’s bad manners…” Jamba admonished in horror. He was already feeling bad about Serah spending what he considered as too much money on the presents.

“That’s fine. I shall get you a pink fire engine.”

“Thank you…”

Kamaria finally settled her eyes on Jamba, who looked so static she was tempted to poke him to see if he would break. She hated herself for missing him, for wanting to hug him. “I am sorry but I have to go to work. I am running late…” She said instead.

“Come on, we will take you to work…”

“That’s not necessary…”

“Please Serah…” It was Christine. As Kamaria looked at Christine’s perfect puppy look, she accepted she was going to have trouble resisting her, now and in the future.

“Okay. Let’s go.” She said resignedly.

Kamaria sat at the front with Jamba, the children at the back. She did not once look at him, or address him directly. Jamba kept stealing glances at her. The ten minute ride was made easier by the fact that Christine talked throughout.

“Thanks for the ride…”

“When will you come and see us at home?” Christine wanted to know.

“Oh…. I don’t know. My work is so busy I hardly ever have time to relax…”

“My dad is a boss; he could ask your boss for permission…”

“Yes he would. Look, I will let you know very soon, okay?”

“O…kay.”

She looked at Jamba. “Thank you…”

“Can I come tonight…please…” Kamaria saw right through that he was using his children’s leverage to make her agree. It was not fair, but she knew she wanted to see him. She nodded.

“See you later. Bye children…”

“Bye…”

And she disappeared into the building, straight into the washroom. She needed to freshen up.

This was going to be a long day.

***

On and off throughout the day, mostly on, she thought about Jamba. She was not sure when her hate for him had petered out. It was possible Malik had wiped it. Or that she had missed Jamba too much over the week. Or that seeing him and the children that morning had rendered any resistance she may have had, powerless.

At some point, Kamaria even laughed loudly when she imagined what Shani would think of everything. She had not told Shani, and even she did not know why not because everything that happened in her life, she always recounted to Shani.With a sense of pride, she welcomed the possibility of finally being courageous enough to face issues on her own.

So Jamba had made a stupid mistake. But was it possible she was partly to blame? Had she not known about Rosa? Had she not even suspected that Rosa would be on the guest list? If one could ignore the passionate kiss, one she still felt a week later, was there anything else that may have made her think she was Jamba’s only sexual interest? Did she even want to be his sexual interest?

 So Jamba had flirted with her; so they had gone out for a date; so they spoke on the phone everyday – was that enough to think she owned him? Was she being a spoilt spot for expecting him to drop Rosa hot potato style, just because she was in the picture? Was she even ready to have him, exclusively or otherwise?

The week he had kept away had been dull – even worse than when he had travelled to Uganda. Jamba had become, to her, part of the reason she enjoyed working at R&R. She could not stand seeing any other customer occupying his corner, and she had put the high stool on the inside of the counter, something that had amused Wanjala.

She wanted things to get back to normal, but her definition of normal was cloudy. Did she want to continue flirting with him? She was not sure – they had crossed the line with the kiss. Would she be okay with a platonic relationship? She was not sure either – the same kiss had raised the stakes.

Then there was Christine; undoubtedly irresistible, and she had her eyes on Kamaria. She would definitely like to see Christine again, and again, but how would she do that if she was not going to be seeing Jamba? Perhaps she really needed to confide in Shani.

At six o five PM, she handed over the shift and walked out with every intention to walk back home, but Jamba was waiting for her at the entrance, engine running and passenger door open.

“Get in…” Her ordered, his tone taking her by surprise.

“Stop ordering me …” She protested weakly.

“Get in, Serah. Or I will make you…” She quickly looked around then entered the car, banging the door. She folded her hands across her chest and huffed. “I wanted to walk home…”

“Well, you are not. And you are not going home right now…”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Stop looking so alarmed, I am not kidnapping you. I just want to go to a quiet place and talk…can you let me do that, please?”

She didn’t seem to have a choice, unless she was willing to jump out of a moving car. “I am wearing my waitress uniform, we cannot go anywhere…”

“I am aware. I don’t want to get out of the car either. I have a full tank; we could even drive to Mombasa.” He chuckled, she huffed.

“What do you want, Jamba?”

“You…”

“But…”

“Please don’t. Let’s get to a quiet spot, and then we can talk. Please…” He turned on the car radio, put the volume up. She rolled her eyes and sighed. And he drove towards Thika on the Northern Bypass, then drove across Thika Road to the Eastern Bypass. When he got to Kamakis, he picked a random pub and took a parking slot. It was already dark.

“I thought you said we were not going anywhere…”

“It’s okay. We are not leaving the car. The place is busy enough for us to be safe in the car…unless you want a drink. I can get takeaway.” She shook her head. He turned off the engine, looked at her shivering body, reached for a jacket at the back seat and covered her with it.

“Thank you…”

He took a deep breath. “I am sorry. I am so, so, so sorry for last Sunday…” She didn’t answer. A lump had just developed in her throat. She was determined not to cry, not in front of him. “I was stupid and inconsiderate. I should have told you Rosa was coming, but I was afraid you would say you didn’t want to come…”

“Not telling me made matters worse…”

“I am sorry. I behaved like a hormonal teenager trying to score points. I let down my family and you…”

“…and Rosa.”

“Yes.” He agreed, hesitantly.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

He winced and shut his eyes tight. How was he supposed to tell her he was with Rosa for only one reason, and that reason was sex?

“In a way…”

“She is either your girlfriend or not…” She challenged.

“Not really.” He decided to be honest. His reputation had dipped enough, telling the truth was his only hope for salvaging some of it. “I am with Rosa for only one reason, that reason is sex. She now seems to want more, I do not…”

“Have you told her that you do not want more?”

He shook his head. “No. I have shown her though… she doesn’t get it…”

She had a lot to say about his answer, like what was so hard about telling her he was not interested, instead of showing her? But she decided to keep that for some other time. “Why don’t you want her as a girlfriend?” She asked instead.

He gave a short laugh. “Do you know who she is?”

“Should I?”

“If you are on social media, you should…”

“I am not…”

“No wonder. I am not either, and my social media ignorance got me where I am with her. She is a socialite, one Sudi tells me is very popular. Now, if I had known there was a possibility that my photos would be all over social media and I would be called bae to a person I have no intention of having a relationship with, I would never have gone near her…”

She wanted to laugh, but he looked so miserable, she decided she did not want to add onto it.

“But you are almost always at R&R. When do you see her?” She asked, wondering if Shani would know Rosa.

He shrugged. “Hardly…but usually when I need sex, or when she needs money…” He had never realized how ridiculous his explanation sounded until he said it to her loudly.

Kamaria burst out. “What sort of a relationship is that, for goodness sake?”

He was glad she was finding it funny. “One that works for our current needs. At least it did at first. It was sex for money..."
"Isn't that what you call soliciting, or enabling prostitution?"
He shook his head. "I don't know, Serah. What I know is I was getting what I wanted, and she was getting what she wanted..."
She shook her head then shrugged. "What changed?"
It was his turn to shrug. "I think I did. I know I did when I realised who I got myself mixed up with. I changed when I realised I wanted you..."
She smirked. "The way you have Rosa? Sorry, I couldn't do that..."
"I know you cannot, and I am not asking you to..."
"...enhe...back to Rosa..."
"Yeah...I am certain I will never, ever, want to marry her, or date her properly. She is, in a stupid way, safe for me. She is happy that I give her money. I am happy to get some sex…”

“That sounds so bad…”

“Does it? But it’s an honest relationship. We both know what we want from each other…well, until recently it was working perfectly on my side.”

It made sense. But it also made her wonder what he wanted her role in his life to be.

“Why are you interested in me, then? What am I to you? I don’t want your money, neither do I want to be an occasional sex partner.”

“Clearly.” He had often wondered about that. Most of the women he dated almost always wanted money from him. Many of them were doing better that Serah financially. How did she not need money? How was she so satisfied with the meagre salary and tips at R&R?  “Honestly, I don’t know what I want from you – the possibility of what I really want is scary. It is also possible I am subconsciously sabotaging myself. I am not even sure I am mentally equipped to handle you. You are clever, you are funny, you are hot as hell. You are scary.”

“You keep using the word scary. What do you mean?”

“The things you make me think are scary, Serah. You are also too mysterious. I am unable to work you out and that is terribly unnerving. I always feel like there is something you are hiding from me, I cannot for the life of me work it out. I want you for me, I have nightmares imagining you seeing another man. I want to see you all the time, make love to you, and only you, but that thought is so scary because after my wife died, I had vowed to never fall in love. That is why someone like Rosa is perfect. I really do not want to fall in love with you…”

“Then don’t…” She spat.

“It’s not up to me, tell that to my heart. What I want to know is, what do you feel for me?”

“As if I am going to tell you. What would it matter and you already know what you want, or don’t want.” She spat, suddenly feeling resentful. “Look, take me back home…”

“Please…”

“No, Jamba. You are very disrespectful. You sit there, tell me you are shagging another woman for the heck of it, then tell me you are falling in love with me but you do not want to be with me. What am I, a sponge with no feelings? So suppose I am in love with you, do you expect me to be in a sort of love limbo until you make up your damned mind? Have you even for a minute considered how your words are affecting me? How selfish can one human being be, gosh…” She was so exasperated, she slapped her forehead, harder than she would have wanted to.

“Serah please… that is why I brought you here…I want to know.” He pleaded, attempting to hold her hand. She pushed him away and clicked her tongue.

“I am sorry, you will have to guess. Now, take me back home. Now!”

He put up his hands in surrender. “Okay, I will take you back home.” He turned on the engine. “I am so sorry if my words hurt you. It sucks that I seem to have made things worse. I just thought honesty may be the best thing, considering what happened last Sunday.”

“Bless you for your honesty. Look, I really do not want to be alone with you again. I mean it. I do not want to be alone with you, okay?”

“But I can come to the pub?”

“I do not have the power to bar you, you know.”

“Christine?” He was clutching on straws. 

“What about her?” She glared at him, realizing what he was doing.

“She loves you. I can take your rejection, just. But she will have a hard time. She wants you to come visit us – she even asked me to bring her to the pub more often…” He laughed, in spite.

“We can arrange. I can take her for lunch once in a while…her and Christian, of course.”

“I can be providing the lunch money…”

“I don’t need your money.”

“I have noticed. But you spent so much on the presents and it made me feel guilty…”

“We have our good days…”

“But you should save that money?”

“For what? What good is money in the bank if it is not being used to spread happiness? I have no child. No family. My aunt pays rent, pays for my clothes and food. I do not plan to buy land or anything like that. A few coins will not dent my savings.  Allow me to spend my money as I wish…”

“Okay. It’s your money…” He threw up his hands and switched on the ignition. She was throwing more mystery his way.  

“Exactly what I have been trying to tell you.”

He didn’t get it. Every time he saw her, he was left with more questions than answers. How could she be a struggling waitress and not value money, at all? How could any human being have no value for money, or desire to invest? It did not make sense to him, like about everything about her.

                As he grumpily drove back, matching her silence, he decided that one way or another, he would get to the bottom of her. Why was she the way she was – a character full of contradiction? He dropped her home, she cringed from his intended hug and instead muttered a bye, then walked away,  head held very high. He watched her until her tall figure disappeared into the building.

                “Serah, one way or another, we will be reading from the same page…”  He drove away and for the second time in as many weeks, she made him feel completely dejected.

A month crawled by since that conversation.

First week was awkward for both Jamba and Kamaria. It left Kamaria wondering why he kept going to R&R. He still sat at his corner, pretended not to notice how strained their conversations were, pretended, she was sure, that he did not know she was talking to him out of obligation.  They both checked the time too often, like they were in the last place they wanted to be. He no longer offered to take her home.

The second week got easier. Slowly, they found things to talk about, to laugh about. Like a drunk patron. Or when Jamba walked in soaking wet from the rain. Or when he found her barefooted and went on and on about the dangers of broken glass. Or when a regular customer’s drink was laced by a woman he had come with, a woman no one had ever seen before.

And she got friendlier, and more willing to start conversations.

“Do you have anything planned for this Saturday…” She asked him. That was on Thursday. He raised his brows hopefully. “I mean, have you planned anything for the kids…” She saw his brows fall and felt a little sorry. “I have the Saturday off. I can take them to town if you have nothing planned…”

Jamba almost choked on his drink. “Are you serious?”

“Of course… unless you have a problem with that?”

“Problem? Are you kidding me? Christine has been on my neck every morning during school runs…this…this will just make her so happy…”

Kamaria felt slightly embarrassed about how emotional he looked. “Thank you…” He said. “I can have one of the drivers to be available…”

“Rubbish. You will do no such thing. The kids and I will be alright…”

“Come on…”

“No… It is either my way or no way…”

“You are not being fair…”

She shrugged and winked at him. “Take it or leave it.”

“Fine…at least let me pay for everything…”

“I will let you do no such thing…this topic is not up for discussion, thank you very much…” She moved on to serve a customer and the only thing she had agreed to discuss about it was how she would hook up with the children. “I will wait for you in Ruaka at the Banana junction.”

“Why there?”

“Because we will be taking a matatu to town, and that is the bus stop…’

He decided he was crazy for agreeing to let her take them, alone. Suddenly, perhaps because it involved his children, he realized that he knew very little about her. Where did she really come from? What if, with her mysterious ways, she was a kidnapper who has been marinating him for all this while? Did Malik have copies of her identification cards? As much as he loved Serah, he still did not know her enough to trust her fully with the children.

As he went out to smoke, he called Malik and asked if he had Serah’s documents.

“Of course I do, why?”

“You are sure they are …you know, real documents?”

“Of course I am sure. You cannot get police clearance with fake documents, and we got that for her…why, what is going on?”

“Well, she wants to take the children out, on her own…and I am not sure….”

Malik laughed. “So you  are afraid she may kidnap the children?”

“Can you blame me? I do not know anything about her…look, can you give me a copy of the documents?”

“Certainly not…if she kidnaps them, I will hand the copies to the police. Otherwise, it is up to you and your gut – decide how much you trust her…”

“Do you trust her?”

“Serah? Absolutely…”

***

Saturday, ten AM. She was wearing a pair of black jeans and a hooded top. She wore the same sneakers and carried the same rucksack she had during the picnic. She had instructed Jamba to dress the children ready for a lot of walking. She saw Jamba’s car and saw the children waving at her from the car.

Kamaria walked to where Jamba parked, slightly ahead of the matatus.

“Hey…” She said, opening the passenger door and taking a seat, turning towards the excited children. “Hi guys, ready for adventure?”

“Yes…” They answered in unison.

“Are you sure about this? I could just drop you to town…” Jamba sounded worried and she could understand why. It was the first time his children would be in a matatu.

“No. We are fine. I promise to take care of them. I also promise to send you a location pin every half an hour…” She was making fun of him, but it made him relax.

“See you later…”

She held Christine and Christian in each of her hands, leading them to the matatu and deliberately not looking back at Jamba. Neither of the children looked back at their father, too excited to worry about a grownup’s worry.

The matatu ride was the easy part, but not necessarily the fun one. Crossing the chaotic Nairobi streets sent the two children into endless giggles. They wanted to enter the first chips joint they spotted. “If you eat now, you will be too full to have any fun…come on, walk on…”

The three of them spent five hours together. The children seemed to be in a competition on who between them would divulge most of their father’s secrets. He snored, loudly, Christian said. Daddy loved spending the night on the sofa, Christine countered. Daddy hates tea, he prefers a beer. She did not know how to stop them from feeding her with their father’s harmless secrets, but she laughed at every one of the revelations.  

They stopped by the Parliament Building as she pointed at them where the first president still lay. They wanted to see him, she explained why they could not. The crossed the busy Uhuru highway into Uhuru Park. They rode on the boats and fed the fish. She called Jamba and gave the children the phone so they would talk to him.

When they finally settled to eat and saw pizza on offer, the two children changed their mind on eating chips. Each of them ordered for a medium size pizza. Neither of them finished. She packed the remainder in her rucksack. She had to call Jamba to ask if it was okay for them to have soda and ice cream on the same sitting. “That would be mad sugar rush and they will be walking on walls all night…please tell them daddy says they should choose just one…” She did. 

Kamaria took them to a supermarket and bought each of them a swimming costume of their choice. "Would you like to test them?" They nodded with excitement. So they walked up University way to Statehouse Road, into the YMCA. 
“Can either of you swim?” She asked as they stood at the edge of the pool.

“Yes, but not so well. We have lessons every week at school…” Kamaria, in her school days, was a good swimmer, about the only thing she was excellent at in school. She was having fun coaching Christine and Christian. “You can swim for sure,” she encouraged. “You just need more practice and some confidence…”

At three thirty, they left the YMCA. Christine and Christian were so exhausted, she decided she did not want to punish them further by making them walk from the YMCA to the Khoja Mosque bus stop. She called a Taxi.

At four PM, the taxi pulled outside Jamba’s house. She hugged the children and gave them the left over pizza along with the still wet swimming costumes and towels. “Tell daddy I will talk to him later. Right now I have to go and get ready for work.” She did not want him to insist on driving her home and to work. But, when she walked out of her gate heading to work, Jamba was waiting outside.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, but she entered the car without waiting to be invited.

“I am not so easy to avoid. I am here to drive you to work.” Without waiting for permission, he held her head between his hands and turned her towards him, then pulled the same head to his shoulder. He felt her tension, then felt her relax before pushing him away gently. “Thank you. Thank you very much for giving my children such a lovely time,” He whispered as he started the car. “Also, they want to know if you are doing this again next week …needless to say, I said no on your behalf.”

“They are such fun kids. I had a great time. I have never had to be in charge of children.”

“From the reports I got, you did a great job for a first timer.”

“Thank you for trusting me with them.”

“You are welcome,” he felt slightly ashamed for having doubts about her. “I should be thanking you. The boat rides, the eating, the costumes and towels you bought, the YMCA, the taxi home…just wow. I know you hate hearing this, but I really would like to pay back some of that money…it is simply too much and I am dying of guilt here…please.”

She looked at him and sighed. He did make sense. A waitress would not go spending thousands and thousands of shillings in a day and not cringe, then continue refusing to be refunded. “Okay…you can give me some of it…”

“Thank you…thank you…I will give you when we get to the pub…” Perhaps, he though, she was not so strange.

She smiled, and maintained the same smile all the way to work. So did he, especially because he felt lucky for not being slapped when he had hugged her head.

Story by Ciku Kimani-Mwaniki
Personal guinea pigs: Nyambura Michuki, Rachel Gathoni, Ceh Gichimu, Shiku Carole
Nip & Tuck dude: Anthony Luvinzu