CHAPTER TEN - A Cocktail of Double Life

– Life without you, would be nothing

Just like a song without a tune

And life without you would be empty

Just like the night without a moon

Love is the season

-          Bagatelle

On Malik’s insistence, the bartender replacing Kamaria was female. For four days, Kamaria sat on the other side of counter on Jamba's seat as she watched, having realised the new girl did not need training. Njeri was streetwise and had, unlike Kamaria, worked in many other bars. “Way dingier than this,” she told Kamaria. “Compared to where I have worked before, this is a posh bar.” Njeri had a big laugh, and a lethal tongue - Kamaria had giggled enough times at clients who had already received her no nonsense but diplomatic tongue. Njeri had also wanted to know if Malik was married. “He’s very handsome.” Was her excuse for inquiring "I was mistress to my previous boss but he found a younger one and I had to leave." She had said casually, leaving Kamaria open-mouthed. Kamaria did not know if Malik was married. It had never occurred to her that Malik had another life outside the pub. In her mind, the only thing Malik had time for was the bedlam of papers on his desk and the profit and loss account of R&R.

Two days after her last day at R&R, Jamba picked her and her two suitcases from the gate of her Ruaka flat. She had not wanted him to offer help with the suitcases from the house, so she had dragged them down the stairs five minutes before he arrived. “You should have waited for me to help you with these – they are heavy.” He said as he hauled them at the back of the pick-up. He hugged her and whispered ‘let’s do this’ before opening and shutting the car door for her.  

Kamaria sat quietly next to him as she looked outside the window, nervous about the uncertain future and the lunacy of her decision. But she was also excited in equal measure. Jamba, looking her way once in a while, did not try to draw her in any conversation until they arrived in Githogoro.

“Welcome to our humble abode my lady. On behalf of the children and myself, we are honoured and we hope you will be very happy with us…” Jamba broke the silence with a bow and a smile.

“You got jokes…” She giggled, following him as they both dragged a suitcase each.

Panting in his unfit state, Jamba had dragged the heavier suitcase up the stairs, wondering what was in it. How many clothes did she need? A few minutes later, they were in her designated bedroom. “The previous nanny wore uniform…” It was half a joke, said as he heavily slumped on the bed, telling himself he needed to get fit.

“So? What does that have to do with me?” She looked down at him from the door, hands akimbo.

“You may want to wear uniform…” He suggested. She clicked at him, walked to the wardrobes and opened all the doors. Safe from several sets of what looked like nanny uniform, the wardrobes were otherwise empty.

“Why would I want to do that?” She asked in feigned horror. She had been in work uniform for a year and a month and in her opinion, enough was enough.

“Well…to preserve your clothes…”

She burst out laughing. “Well, thank you, but no. I have had enough of uniform wearing…”

Jamba’s subtle suggestion was courtesy of the memory of how he had found her wearing tiny shorts. He wasn’t sure he could take that kind of dressing on a daily basis and be expected to remain sane.

“Are you sure?” He was now standing at the door, keeping his distance.

“Yes I am sure. I have enough comfortable slacks. Don’t worry about my Sunday best clothes getting ruined.”

He shrugged. “Okay. You settle in then, I will wait for you downstairs. Come down whenever you are ready.” And he was gone, leaving Kamaria taking in the room. It was bigger than the one she had used during her short stay a couple of weeks before. It was beautiful too. King size bed positioned in the middle. The light grey walls and bed covers would not be her natural choice, but they were lovely.

There was a chest of drawers, and a shoe rack that made her miss her many pairs of shoes. The room could not measure up to her room in Kileleshwa in both décor and size, but it was nice and cozy. She opened the door to the balcony and looked down from first floor, loving what she saw. She took a deep breath, as if to store the different fragrances emitted by the rose flowers that dominated the flower garden below her bedroom.

She considered unpacking but immediately binned the idea. She was not in the mood. She just needed to know what she would change into after her mandatory evening shower, and what she would wear in the morning.

She looked at her watch. Three thirty PM. In a little more than half an hour, the children would be home. She smiled, imagining their excitement. Jamba had taken the afternoon off to help her settle in. Earlier on, in her little flat, as she had dragged her suitcases down the stairs, she had felt a hint of sadness with the realization she would miss the little, cozy house. The family unit Jamba and his children provided was beautiful, but her little flat provided comfort and privacy.

She found Jamba in the kitchen, waiting with two glasses of wine.

“Drinking at this time?” She asked, accepting the glass of red wine from him.

“Yep. Welcome drink, that’s all…cheers. To good times.” They clicked their glasses.

“I really have to be careful about my diet while I am here. I do not want to get fat again…”

He laughed, remembering how she had looked like when he first saw her. If he had not witnessed every step of the change, he would never have believed it. 

“You can lose the weight you gain every day because I have a gym in the house…”

“You do? How awesome is that? Can we see it? I can start working out tomorrow. I shall also be walking around this area for six kilometers every other day, same way I did while working at the pub.”

“You really are scared of weight…”

“You have no idea. All my life, I have fought the weight. This is the longest I have stayed slim, and I am determined to win the battle of the flab…come on, show me the gym before the kids arrive…”

They carried their wine as she followed him to the gym.

***

For one month, one that was so slow it may have as well been a year, nothing out of the ordinary happened. The semi-lonely mundane life was starting to grate on Kamaria. Being left alone in the house for hours on end had only been attractive the first week. She had read books from his bookshelf but soon realized she only needed two hours of reading before spacing out, or dozing off. She had never been a natural reader and always needed to make conscious effort to. 
She was not really alone in the house if one counted what she referred to as the ghost cleaner; Kamaria heard her, rather than saw her. Sometimes, Kamaria would walk in every room in search of her but after a month of never seeing her, she decided the cleaner was invisible. The only time the two of them ever met was when Jamba was introducing them and even then, the cleaner had looked at the floor instead of at Kamaria.

Every morning, the children would wake her up to say bye, Jamba would be left behind for a few seconds and speak to her from the door. Kamaria would go back to sleep for an hour, be woken up by the cleaning ghost lady as she dragged her equipment. She would use the toilet, brush teeth, wear her gym clothes, spend two hours in the gym, and then have brunch.  She would return to a clean, neat room.

From a laptop she kept away from Jamba, she followed up on the progress at Sassi. She made phone calls to the managers, and to Shani. She took long walks, sometimes up to her flat that was close to ten kilometers away, play her guitar for hours, back in time to wait for the children. She went to Two-Rivers Mall nearby and perused shops. Once in a while, she took the garden shears and nipped the roses. The gardener would hover around, keeping distance to avoid conversation, or so she suspected. Kamaria was sure he was only showing himself to ensure she did not mess his work. She never did.

At four PM, the marathon would then start. As she and the children had their snacks, she would catch up on what they had been up to in school. She would help with homework; sometimes she would sit in the bathroom and wait for Christine and listen to her endless chatter. They would cook together, eat together. Sometimes they made dresses for Atoti. Kamaria was slowly learning how not to prick herself with the needle. She would read them a bed time story, and the children would pray in turns. Kamaria never did lead the prayers, convincing them that when children prayed, God gave them priority. She did not know how to tell them that she did not know how to pray.

Sometimes, Jamba got home before the children slept. Mostly, she was the only one awake by the time he arrived. Sometimes, she obliged him by sitting with him as he had his dinner. Sometimes too, she just went to her room and read or watched television. Life was too normal and she was craving for action. She missed the madness of R&R, but she loved having Jamba to herself, even if for a few hours a day.

Why, she wondered in frustration, was she so hard to satisfy? Why did she get so jittery when things looked normal?

She would leave on Saturday morning and return on Sunday night. Saturday nights she joined Shani and Jalani for a drink, careful never to drink too much to earn a hangover. Sundays she returned to her flat in Ruaka after lunch to wait for Jamba to pick her up. 

“I was thinking, you should go for driving lessons…” He had just picked her up and he was driving slowly on the off-road.

“Whatever for?” She asked cautiously.

“For starters, everyone should know how to drive, whether or not they own a car. Two, I think you should be able to take the other car whenever you need it. You could even take the kids for a meal when they close school. You could use it to move around when you need to.”

Her mind went on overdrive. Going for another driving class was out of the question. “I can drive, you know…” She thought first and decided part-truth would set her free.

“You can? How?”

“I guess the same way you drive…”

He snorted. “No, I mean, like, you already went to a driving school and all?”

She nodded. “My aunt paid for it…”

Ah, the aunt. The one he had never seen. The one who did everything for her but get her a job deserving of her qualifications. The one who had somehow never shown her face, even though she was supposed to visit the country once a year. “Awesome. That certainly makes life easier. Do you want to drive us home?”

She snapped her head as she looked at  him. “Like, take over from you?” She felt nervous. She was a good driver – would she have to pretend she wasn’t?

“Yes, like take over from me…” He had already parked at the side of the road, got out, opened her side of the car door. “You are driving us home. It’s only a couple of kilometers and traffic is quite light here. My car is shift gear, can you handle it?”

“Isn’t that what they use to teach?”

“That’s a yes then. Okay, come on…”

And she took the driver’s seat. Jamba observed her as she adjusted the seat, checked and adjusted the rear view and side mirrors, studied the dashboard, fastened the seat belt, switched on the engine, put the signal on and she smoothly eased the car into the road. He was secretly impressed by her confidence.

It was a slow drive, much slower than he could ever drive on his laziest days. But it was an expert drive. Gears changed in time, relaxed on the seat and not leaning forward like many new drivers did; unafraid of traffic. How did she get such confidence on the road? He even caught her holding the steering wheel with one hand. He wanted to comment, but he decided to hold his tongue.

“I am curious…” He went for something different.

“What about?” She turned to face him for a couple of seconds.

“Your aunt…the one you live with…”

She felt her heart beat go up. “She doesn’t live here…”

“Yeah. But you live in her house…she lives in, what, New York?”

“Uh..huh.”

“Does she know you worked as a waitress?”

She laughed, mainly to buy time. “No. And she doesn’t know I am working as a nanny either.”

“Why not?”

She sighed. “Well, she thinks I have everything I need, really. House, clothes, she sends me some money. She wouldn’t understand why I would want such jobs…”

“Why do you?”

“Why do I what?”

“Want such jobs?”

“Simple. Because I want to feel useful. I want to sweat for my money…”

“You are a graduate, right?”

She shifted uncomfortably. She wanted to get home quickly. She pressed on the gas and overtook a slow moving lorry. He  tensed, but remained quiet about it.

“I am, yes.”

“What did you major in?”

“Finance…”

“Have you been job searching?”

“As a matter of fact I have.” She pulled by the gate and wished for the guard to hurry. “Nothing was forthcoming…it was frustrating.”

“Your aunt could not pull strings?”

She knew that was coming. “She tried, but nothing came up.”

“I can pull some strings for you…”

She did not answer immediately, taking time to expertly park the car in reverse. He wanted to say impressive, but did not want to digress lest he lost the moment.

She turned off the engine, pulled the hand break, removed the keys and held them. Then faced him. “You know, I am not so sure anymore that I want to be in finance… I shall do this for a while and when I am ready, I will let you know.”

How strange was this girl? He was offering a job on a silver platter. He knew he could get her a job, in finance or wherever else. Enough people who owed him favours, but here she was, casually turning the offer down. To be a nanny. His nanny. His ego convinced him that she did that because she wanted to be nearer him.

Still. Very. Strange. Girl.

--------------

It was eight forty five AM, Kamaria was in the gym, alone, sweating it out by lifting weights and grunting shamelessly. A month of lifting weights daily was working magic on her arms and wearing sleeveless tops had lately become a joy. As she worked out, she was wearing a sports bra, spandex gym shorts, feet protected by a pair of Nike socks and sneakers.

In between her grunting, she thought she heard a car screech to a stop on the gravel, but quickly dismissed it because Jamba was not coming back until evening. No one visited in his absence. Five minutes later, there was an urgent knock.

“Who is it?” She asked, placing the dumbbells on the floor.

For the second time in a month, she saw the ghost cleaner in human form. At least she saw the head that carried a terrified face. “Madam, you have a visitor.”

Kamaria frowned, wiping her face with a white towel. “A visitor? Who is it?”

The cleaner shook her head. “I don’t know her…”

Her? Had Shani traced her?

“Madam…she looks angry…may be you shouldn’t see her. She asked me, 'where is that witch?'”

“What?” She dropped the towel and stood up quickly. “What does she look like?”

Even before the cleaning lady finished describing her, Kamaria knew it was Rosa.

“Oh God. What does she want?”

“I don’t know. But she looks angry…”

“Don’t worry. I will take care of it in a moment…”

Kamaria started pacing the room. Her brain was pacing at the same speed. She did not need anyone to tell her that Rosa was not here for peace talks; her type only thrived on confrontation. The question was, did she come for a physical or verbal confrontation? Kamaria could hold her own verbally when the need arose, but she had never had a physical fight in her life. As she increased the speed of her room pacing, she decided she would be damned if she didn’t defend her honour. If Rosa wanted a confrontation, she would give her with the specifications she wanted. Her phone was on the floor next to the gym bench she had been sitting on. She picked it and dialed Jamba’s number.

Her picked on first ring. “Are you okay?” He asked in panic. “Is Rosa there?”

“You knew she was coming?”

“Not until a few minutes ago when she called to tell me she would be coming to evict you. I tried to call you but you were not picking." Her phone was on silent mode. "Is she there?”

“Yes she is. I am in the gym so I haven’t seen her. I hear she is angry…what’s going on?”

“I don’t know, but knowing Rosa, it cannot be good. Look, I am heading back home. I am just past the Village Market right now and if I do not find traffic in Ruaka, I should be there in fifteen minutes. Can you stay in the gym until I come…”

“I guess…”

Jamba disconnected. And she thought. She would be damned if she was going to let Jamba fight her battles. Rosa was here for her, not Jamba. She would give her what she wanted. With utter deliberation, she tucked her phone in her boobs and hurried to the living room, where she guessed the guest was. She was right.

When Kamaria walked in, Rosa had her back to her. She was studying a wall mounting. Kamaria had time to study her. She saw the heels first. About five inches of red stiletto. An ill-fitting red dress was next. The weave was long and expensive. Then Rosa turned and Kamaria saw the make-up. She started giggling but Rosa had seen her.

“You!” Rosa wagged her index finger at Kamaria, one hand on her hip. “What do you think you are doing? And what is that you are wearing?”

“Excuse me? Who do you think you are?”

“Jamba’s girlfriend, just so you know. Look, I don’t know how you conned him into letting you stay here, but enough is enough. You are leaving the house right now with all your rags. I warned you off him last time, didn’t I?”

Kamaria finally allowed herself to giggle softly, then the giggles got near hysterical. Rosa was visibly taken aback. While a few moments ago she had stood with confidence, now her hands hang awkwardly on her sides, looking at Kamaria in confusion. 

“Why are you laughing? This is not funny…”

“To you, perhaps not. To me, it’s hilarious.”

Rosa charged at Kamaria menacingly, her palm up, like one intending to strike. Kamaria, standing her ground, stretched out her hand to stop her. “Don’t. You. Dare come near me…just don’t.”

“You think you are my equal?” Rosa demanded, but she stopped, her hand going down.

Kamaria giggled again. “No, actually. Nothing about you inspires me, so, no. But I am just wondering, what right you think you have to decide who works for Jamba and who does not?”

“I am his girlfriend…|”

“Dream on. Having sex with someone doesn’t make you his girlfriend…”

“How dare you?”

“It’s true though, Rosa. Think about it – do you ever see him, unless you are having an arranged sex date with him? Do you go out with him? Do you know his family – did he even introduce you to his family as his girlfriend during the birthday? Does he send you love texts? Does he call you just to check on you? I am sure you have asked him to meet your family but has he agreed to do that?”

Kamaria almost felt sorry for witnessing the deflation in front of her eyes.

“You...”

“Look. It was nice of you to stop by, but you can go now. If you do not like my being here, pick it up with the boss, not me. You did not hire me, you cannot fire me…”

They heard Jamba’s car and both looked at the door. Rosa ran to the door, Kamaria walked to the kitchen. She was hungry. She put on the kettle, slid two slices of brown bread in the toaster, cut up a tomato and onion for her salad. They were taking longer than she expected, she guessed they were arguing, though she could not hear voices. When Jamba and Rosa walked in, her bread was already buttered and she was just sprinkling lemon on her salad.

“Hey Jamba. I see you found your visitor…coffee?”

Jamba paused at the door, visibly confused. He expected to find a weeping girl. He looked from Rosa to Kamaria – Rosa’s makeup was running down, her eyes were red and tired. He could not guess what Kamaria had done to Rosa to make her look so disheveled.

Kamaria, although  vividly sweaty and still had her gym clothes, was a picture of composure.

“Jamba, did you hear me? I asked, do you want coffee?”

He cleared his throat. “I guess I do…”

“Good. I boiled enough water….”

“She’s very rude. Look at her, pretending she has done nothing wrong. She was awful to me earlier…” Rosa broke down, going to hug Jamba who instead of waiting for the hug, he walked to the small dining table and took a seat, quietly, studying his nanny.

Rosa, deflated by the snub, went to the door and leaned on it as she wept softly. Kamaria finished making two cups of coffee and placed them on the table. She took her breakfast and took a seat next to Jamba.

“There is more hot water, and coffee, if you like…” She addressed Rosa.

“See? She cannot even make coffee for me…”

“Now why would I do that? I don’t work for you, and I only make coffee for nice guests. You are not nice…”

“Are you going to let her talk to me like that, Jamba?” Rosa was getting hysterical. He quickly swept his eyes across the counter, checking for potential weapons like knives. Clear.

“Jamba, say something!” Rosa shrieked.

Jamba put his hands on his face, in frustration. “I will make your coffee. How do you like it?”

Kamaria gave a short, malicious laugh and sealed it with a snort. “You don’t know how your girlfriend likes her coffee? What sort of a couple are you two?” She didn’t look up, instead she took a bite of her bread.

“Rosa, sit down. I will make your coffee. Do you want milk and sugar?”

“Yes. Two spoonfuls.”

“Sugar is bad for you…” Kamaria quipped.

“Take a seat.” Jamba told Rosa but glared at Kamaria.

“I don’t want to sit with her….”

“Suit yourself…”

Rosa snorted as she tried to fight a resistant sob, then took her walk of shame to the seat opposite Kamaria who ignored her and concentrated on her salad.

A minute of deafening silence later, Jamba was done. He placed the coffee in front of Rosa and took a seat between them. The silence continued for a while, the only sound coming from their mouths pulling coffee from the cups.

“Now, this is awkward.” Kamaria finally remarked, wiping her mouth with a serviette. “Look, I am sweaty and all. If you two have nothing to tell me, please excuse me as I go take a shower…”

“Don’t you move!” Jamba roared before turning to Rosa. “Rosa, what do you think you are doing?”

Rosa eyes grew in size, in shock. “Excuse me? You sound like you are blaming me, after you witnessed your maid…”

“…Nanny…” Jamba corrected.

“Whatever. She is so rude to me. How can you let her do that? Why are you defending her?”

“I don’t remember defending her. I am just asking, why are you here?”

“Because…because…she needs to leave…look at her, looking like she is the madam of the place. Using the gym, wearing those tiny, tight clothes…”

Kamaria laughed again. “Has anyone ever told you how hilariously ridiculous you often sound?”

“Don’t talk to me…why are you even using the gym?”

Kamaria threw up her hands in surrender and then leaned on her seat. “You told me not to talk to you, so I shall not answer your question.”

Jamba was looking at Kamaria like one seeing her for the first time. This side of her, he had never thought possible, even when Sudi had told him how Kamaria had handled Rosa during Christine’s birthday, he had not thought she could be this verbally dangerous. He was angry at Rosa, but he felt sorry about how easily Kamaria was stripping her pride off.

“Look, ladies. Calm down.  This is ridiculous. Rosa, you do not come to my house unless you are invited. You do not threaten my employees…”

“What about her?!”

“What about her? From what I gather, you started it. Perhaps you expected her to squirm at your presence and that is why you are so upset, but when you go attacking people for no reason, you have to expect them to attack back…”

Rosa started weeping. “You don’t love me…”

“What does that have to do with anything? Why does Serah threaten you…”

Rosa snorted. Kamaria offered her a tissue. Rosa ignored it. Kamaria placed it in front of Rosa. “Because I know. Women just know. She would take any opportunity to sleep with you…”

Kamaria laughed, a little nervously. “Look, Rosa. This is enough. You can go back to whatever it is you do in life and let me be. I am not interested in your man. What you need to worry about is if he is really interested in you. If you are having relationship problems, do not drag me into it. I don’t do well as a third wheel.” She looked at Jamba. “And you, keep your sex mate on a leash, away from me. If she is your sex mate, nothing more, you need to tell her so she knows her place. If she is your girlfriend, you need to act like a boyfriend. I am out of here…”

And she was gone, leaving tangible silence behind her but as she started climbing the stairs, she animatedly started talking to herself. 'How dare that woman? With her bad imitation of a Barbie doll face and ill fitting clothes. How dare she invade me like that? And Jamba? What sort of a man is he? He couldn’t stand for much – just blabbers and blabbers like an idiot." She entered the bedroom and banged the door, leaning on it as she fought tears. "This is the last straw... I cannot handle more humiliation and being taken for granted." She managed to fight back the tears, stripped and let the gym clothes lie on the floor and went to the bedroom.

Ten minutes later, she came out of the bathroom with towel wrapped around her body. Jamba was sitting on her bed facing the bathroom door. In her shocked state, she noticed he had gathered her clothes into one heap.

“What are you doing here?”

“I live here…”

“…not in my bedroom. I could have been naked….”

“I doubt I would have noticed…” It was a lie. He was aware there was nothing underneath that towel.

“What do you want?” She leaned on the wall, near the bathroom door, in case a quick escape was needed.

“How dare you talk to me the way you did in the kitchen?

She studied him. He looked genuinely upset. “You don’t like facing the truth much, do you? You and your girlfriend are birds of a feather…”

“Don’t call her that…”

“See. Look, I have had a bad half an hour, I cannot take anymore. If you need to tell me off, wait until evening. Please…”

He looked at her for a few seconds, then started to walk out. “You can relax, she’s gone.”

“Good.”

He banged the door behind him, or perhaps her senses were being sensitive.

She sunk on the bed, covered her face with her palms and started crying.

________________

As soon as Kamaria finished dressing, she called Mariam.

“Mariam, how are you? I need a favor from you. Can you find somebody to leave your children with for a couple of weeks…”

Mariam did not ask why, she told Kamaria she could leave them with her older sister who was currently jobless and already living with her. “Ask her if she would be okay to look after them on her own. I will pay for her time. I need you to stay with some friends and look after the children, for a couple of weeks or so, starting Monday. I will pay you double for that. Can we meet in Kileleshwa in an hour?”

An hour later, Kamaria was briefing Mariam. She would live with Jamba for a couple of weeks. She was not to give any detail about Kamaria’s life, especially the fact she was wealthy. If asked, she was to say that she, Mariam, used to work for Kamaria's aunt’s friend and that was how they met. She was to remember not to refer to her as Kamaria, but Serah. She would feign ignorance if questioned on Kamaria’s  whereabouts for those two weeks. “Talk as little as possible, you hear me?”

“Yes madam. But ai… I am confused…what is happening?”

Because she needed Mariam to understand why she was being asked of so much, she explained the important details. “I have been living undercover; you must not let anyone find out my true identity.” She finished.

Mariam, both shocked and confused at the revelation, nodded. Her boss had worked as a waitress and a nanny? Why would she do that? She also knew it wasn’t in her place to demand for answers. After all, she was providing employment for her sister, and she would also be getting double pay. That was enough to buy her silence even under torture.

***

She and Jamba did not discuss Rosa that evening, or the next, or the next. They did not watch movies for three days. The weekend was coming, and she needed to prepare him for Mariam. On Friday, she stayed up and waited for him. He came in smelling of beer and she knew he had been at R&R, the first time since she moved in with him.

“We need to talk…” She sat opposite him in the kitchen.

He chewed silently, studying her face and trying to gauge her mood. “What about?” He asked cautiously.

“My aunt wants me to do something for her – I need to be away for two weeks…”

He dropped  his folk noisily on the plate. “What? What are the kids and I supposed to do?”

“I got it all covered. I am sorry I took liberties but I felt bad about leaving. I have to though. As far as my aunt is concerned, I am not working so there would be no reason not to go to Mombasa…”

“Mombasa?”

She nodded. “I am sorry. She called me yesterday and she wants me to leave on Sunday. I spoke to a nanny I know through her. She is very good. She looked after my aunt’s friend’s children for years. Her name is Mariam…if you are okay with it, she can start on Monday. She can come tomorrow to talk to you…”

Jamba had suddenly lost his appetite. He pushed his plate away and sighed. He didn’t like it, but he also realized he was not being given a choice. Serah had a way of giving him orders without being obvious, but orders were what they were. He could not threaten to fire her; he had a feeling she would shrug and leave with her two heavy suitcases.  

“You say she is good? What’s her name again?”

“Mariam. And yes, she is awesome. I promise the kids will love her, and she is a great cook…”

“The kids will not like the change…”

“I know. I feel terrible, but it is only for a couple of weeks…”

He sighed again. “Okay. She can come tomorrow so the kids and I can meet her…but you have to promise to be back after two weeks.”

“I promise to try. If not, Mariam can stay as long as possible, but I will be back.”

“Please do. And Serah…”

“Yes?”

“Sorry for the other day. About Rosa, I mean. She is taken care of…permanently.”

Her head screamed that she needed to ask what he meant, but her heart knew better. She didn’t ask.

“Thank you. I am also sorry that I was a bit rude to you…”

“Yeah. Your mouth needs taming…”

They laughed, the first time they had laughed together in days.

She pushed back his plate to him, locked her eyes to his and nodded. He started eating again.

                                 ***

The day after Rosa caused havoc in her life, Kamaria had locked her hair by default. The morning after she had woken up with a sour taste in her mouth, she had woken up feeling so fatigued from a bad night of little sleep, lacked the energy to use the gym.

As she had brushed her teeth, she had rubbed her inch long hair as she brushed her teeth and loved what she saw. She had gone to African Royalty Salon, one she had known about through an ex dread-locked boyfriend.

That evening, Jamba had complimented her new hairdo - she had grudgingly accepted the compliment because she was still upset with him about Rosa. The children had loved it more.

Now, deep in thought, she sat on her favorite couch in her Kileleshwa house, hugging a pillow with one hand and twiddling with her locks with the other hand. Slightly folding her nose as she allowed her mind to dwell outside the pressing issues, she wondered why it had taken her so long to discover the joys of natural hair.

Her thought box, the TV, was on. Whenever she needed to think, she left the TV on, low volume. That way, she didn’t have to hear her heart thudding, or her brain revving. Her world was hanging on a tight rope, a reality she found both frightening and unnerving. If she had faced her demons of loneliness and confusion in the one year or so of her under cover activities, this was the time to slay them.

It had been three days since Mariam had replaced her as the nanny; it felt more like three years. She missed the children, she missed Jamba even more. When she had asked Mariam to take over from her, she had contemplated disappearing forever; even willing to give up Mariam to Jamba, knowing Mariam was reliable.

As she twirled her hair, she was not so sure anymore. Living without Jamba and the children was beginning to feel like an unnecessary self inflicted punishment. But she also knew, her lies had to come to an end and unless she was willing to tell the truth, she could not return to Jamba. Something about the argument with Rosa had made her realise she did not want him having another women, she was unwilling to look the other side.

Only the truth would suffice, but how to tackle the truth? Would Jamba, like a big percentage of people who knew her true identity, change his attitude towards her? How would he switch from looking at her as a simple waitress to a young millionaire? Also, would he trust her feelings for him or would he start wondering whether he had been a subject of a social experiment?

As she sat in Kileleshwa, Fumo was clearing her Ruaka abode. She didn’t want to keep any of the furniture there and had instructed him to divide everything between himself and Mariam. Only her clothes and beauty products were to be taken to Kileleshwa.

She was running. Again. It was a weakness she was constantly aware of. When it got too hot in the kitchen, she ran. When she didn’t know how to handle a situation, she ran. Often, she changed her mind and went back to the kitchen, but it was a thorn in her own flesh, that her first instinct was to run.

Earlier that morning, she had spoken to Jamba and the children when they were on the school run. Jamba had put her on hands free and the chatter had made it almost impossible to understand them. Their excitement had left her feeling guilty and lonely. For a moment she had even considered returning. She asked about Mariam, they were all happy with her, but they wanted Kamaria back.

“She cooks better than you…” Christian had declared in young innocence. She had giggled when she heard Jamba reprimanding him in the background.

“How is Mombasa?” Jamba had asked.

For a second, the question had confused her. She had forgotten she was supposed to be in Mombasa.

“Mombasa is fine. Too hot, but lucky I am going to be inside most of the time…”

“No beach time?”

“Not yet. I have been busy.”

“Send us a beach photo…”

Her heart had skipped. Was it a trap? Did he not believe she was in Mombasa?

“I will.” And she would. She had enough beach photos.

“Where are you staying?”

“Diani…” It was a quick and easy lie. That was where she always stayed. If he wanted details on Diani, she had them at her finger tips.

“Ooh…living large?”

She laughed. “I could get used to it. The only problem is, I can only afford it when someone else is paying for it…” She needed to stop the lies. They were killing her conscience.

“We could holiday there, all of us. The kids love the beach…”

She hesitated. “Perhaps. We will talk about it.”

Now she looked at the time. It was eleven thirty AM. Time to get ready. She had a lunch date with Shani. Not only did she need to get physically ready but mentally as well. Shani would have a mouthful to say about the situation. 

After a quick shower, she slipped into a pair of jeans and a white cotton top, wore a hat for disguise, topped it with a pair of shades. She hated driving in Nairobi, but Fumo was busy and although she could, she didn’t like to summon the other drivers in the office.

As usual, there was heavy traffic along Argwins Kodhek Road. Because it was a hot day, the kind of hot that signified rain later on, she had her windows down. She was too lost in her world to notice the shocked face of the driver on the other side of the road.

Jamba. He had to be dreaming, he thought and slapped himself lightly on the cheek. Nope, he was not dreaming. That woman, the one driving the Mobius going to the opposite direction, had to be Serah. But it could not be; for starters, Serah was a poor girl – the girl he was looking at looked like she was born driving that car. If she was not wearing a hat, it would have left Jamba with no doubts if the girl was Serah or a perfect look-alike. Two, Serah was in Mombasa, or was she? He wasn’t sure about anything anymore. Then he remembered his recent conversation with Sudi. Could that have been the same woman? It had to be. The car behind him hooted for him to move, jolting him back to reality. What were the chances? He stepped on the gas, wishing traffic wasn’t so heavy because he would have disregarded the meetings he had, turned and trailed that car.

The coincidences and strange happenstances surrounding Serah were beginning to bother him a lot. He needed to do something, and fast.

___________

“You are so screwed…” Shani declared, looking at her friend with feigned pity.

“That, I am. I am deep in it, and I do not know what to do…”

They were at their favorite Java, both eating chicken mushroom and spicy fries. Kamaria kept scooping the creamy avocado dip with the fries. “Gosh, this food is too delicious…” At this point, Kamaria did not care about the number of calories she was consuming – the thinking she was bound to do in the next few days would burn the calories faster than a marathon.

“Gosh, I cannot even tell you off.” Shani declared in frustration. “Love sucks, for sure. I should know…” She placed her folk back on the plate and looked away, blinking rapidly.

“What’s wrong?” Kamaria asked, holding her friend’s hand across the table in alarm.

“Jalani and I broke up…” She let the big tears come out then quickly used a serviette to wipe them off, careful not to spoil the makeup.

“Oh dear, oh dear…what happened? Where did that come from?” She had no memory of Shani telling her that she and Jalani were having problems. Could it be that she had been so engrossed in her own world to give a care to her best friend?

“I have been feeling it, the last couple of months…”

“You haven’t told me anything! I thought we told each other everything!” Kamaria accused, genuinely hurt.

Shani gave her a sad smile. “You know sweetie, you are already going through so much. I didn’t want to burden you with middle class problems…”

“Shani! That’s not cool…”

“I am sorry. It’s just that, well, you know, I was there, your number one critic on what you are trying to do, looking for genuine happiness, looking for yourself. Instead of encouraging you, I was being dismissive – I didn’t want to admit I was miserable and I wished I had your guts…”

“Shani….” She was fighting back her own tears as she clasped her friend’s hands. “Shani, I am your best friend. You cannot, not tell me when you are sad. I just assumed you and Jalani were cool…”

Shani shrugged again. “We were…well, I thought we were. But there were holes. In a way, I blame you for the break up…”

“Me? What did I do?” She pulled back, looking at her friend in confusion.

“Well, nothing really. But what you have been doing made me think a lot about life, love, happiness. What they really are. What really makes me happy. I mean, Jalani and I look like a perfect match. He is handsome, he is rich, he loves fun, he treats me right…”

“But…”

“But, I don’t know if he actually loves me. Or if I love him.  We live for now and it just doesn’t tick for me anymore. We go out, drink ourselves silly, do a repeat the following day. We go to the most expensive places, buy the most expensive drinks or get them for free. He likes being known as the guy who dates Shani, likes being the envy …but is that all there is to my life? Would he actually be with me if I was not The Shani? Would he want to be with me if I was not a socialite?”

Kamaria swallowed hard. Minus the part of being a socialite, she asked herself the same questions over and over.

“Look at you. You went below your level, actually found real love. A man who seems to love you without giving cat-wheels to what you own, who you are. I want something like that…”

“You want to do what I did?”

Shani shook her head. “Not really. I haven’t got the guts, or the patience. But surely, there must be someone who can love me genuinely, not because I am The Shani, and beautiful, not because I am the life of the party. Somebody who actually wants to have babies with me…”

“…And that person is not Jalani…?”

Shani shook her head, making a face. “I don’t think so. In fact, I know he is not the one. I hinted about us settling down and he pretended to be drunk, but I could tell he was not. I thought it was the natural thing, you know, after dating for almost two years.”

“I am sorry…”

“Nah…well, perhaps, a little sorry. But I would rather have such disappointments now, not when in marriage.” She chewed on her fries silently as she scrolled her phone. Kamaria just studied her. “You remember Nadia?”

She did. They were in school together. They didn’t hang out, but they knew the same people because they ended up in the same night clubs. Nadia wrote a gossip column and she knew who was doing who or what in celebville. Nadia had made a lot of careers and relationships, and broken as many.

“She sent me a photo of Jalani kissing some girl in a club…” She handed Kamaria the phone, showing her the photo.

“Ouch!”

“Yep. I guess I should thank Nadia for giving me heads up.  I should also be happy that whoever sent the photo sent it to her, not some other person who does not like me. There is no guarantee that the same person would not send it to another columnist or blogger, but by then I will not care because this photo gave me a good and genuine reason to call it quits with Jalani…”

“Wow. I am so, so sorry…”

Shani suddenly seemed to shake herself out of her sad persona, sat up straight. “But enough of my miserable life. Let’s talk about you. I want to talk about you because I have a few things to learn from you, oh Sensei. So, what are you going to do?”

Kamaria shook her head. “I have no idea. But I know, I cannot interact with them again, unless they know who I really am. The problem is, I do not know how to tell them…”

“I could do it for you…”

Kamaria laughed. “No thanks. It’s my problem and I will sort it, somehow. In the meantime, I need to stay indoors for at least two weeks because he thinks I am in Mombasa and I cannot risk bumping into him…”

“You are going to cook up inside the house…”

“I will go to the gym… or actually go to Mombasa.”

“Let’s go to Mombasa…” Shani suddenly said.

“What? Really?”

“Yeah, really. I could do with a holiday…you know, like to heal a broken heart and perhaps have sex with a random beach boy…”

“I would kill you…”

“I know. But let’s go anyway. When, tomorrow?”

“You are in a hurry…”

“Yep. For starters, I want to shave my hair…”

Kamaria burst out. “No, you don’t!”

“I really do. I like your new look, better than the bald head anyway. Also, I do not want to wear make up in Mombasa…”

“Oh dear, this is bad. Do you have a fever?”

“Also, I want to lose weight. Girl, you are looking too, too hot and Shani does not like being constantly upstaged. Now, this is going to be project Shani. I need to find me my own Jamba”

Kamaria laughed, wishing it was that easy, or that she had her Jamba.

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