My mother always warned me about buying half price.
She stopped me from buying sweet bananas when I was in class five. She stopped me from looking through a pile of colorful tops at Kibuye market when I was in class seven and in the supermarket she would tell me “look at the expiry date!”
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I thought I was smart until I walked into Naivas Supermarket and bought two sets of Fa Deodorant (Roll on Sticks) only to get home and realize they were going for half price because they would expire in 14 days.
My mother always warned me about buying half price but all her life she lives as though she is priceless.
It’s from her that I know not to ignore that voice in my head when it tells me otherwise.
It’s from her that I choose to love, let go of love and most of all, not to blame myself for someone else’s actions.
She would always look at me and say “if you truly value something, then half price does not come near it, you can always go above and beyond, but never cut it to half. Well, the best would be to create it then and it’d be priceless, now wouldn’t that be something?”
So, when this love of mine says that I have no heart, I sit back, brew some coffee and think of half price. I think of how far away it is from compromise, and how it can be mistaken for the other. I think of how easy it is to the bear guilt over words that are spoken unto us, words that would become labels, that we wear like our skin, judging us with every breath…and there’s no price I’m willing to pay for that kind of feeling, not even, half price.
“I can’t do this Mark. I am not like you and you cannot expect me to turn a blind eye to all this, what I mean is that, a part of me will always be weary of your actions. I’ll be the kind of girlfriend who listens in on your conversations when I know it will do nothing but hurt me, and I am not for that, why hurt myself when I can ease myself of the pain?”
“What would you like me to do?”
“Get another job or something…anything but what you do.”
“I have worked on this for five years, created contacts, partnerships with hospitals and pharmaceutical companies, it is not an investment I can walk away from just like that.”
“Well, I guess that’s that then.”
“It is I guess and as much as I try, I have always known that I cannot have it all. Christine, let’s get you home. Thank you for taking the time to think this through.”
“Mark…”
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He smiled at me, got me to my feet and we walked out of the restaurant hand in hand. Each step I took felt lighter, but when I got to the car, I could not bring myself to breathe.
My love had me and let me go like I was the wind.
What would he say for himself? Was he not going to ask me to re-evaluate my decision, or maybe at least beg? Six months of emotions and he was going to step back and watch me walk away, just like that? Why was I even at odds about it? I was the one who chose to step back from my love, why was I perplexed that he was not fighting for me? How was he to fight for something that wanted to be free of him?
But, it was not just something, it was me.
This was my love.
This was him and I…two people, two souls, one who lived in an alternate reality, who wanted the gifts, love, caresses and protection but not funded them. Oh my…my love was nothing like the riot act I knew about…my love wanted Mark under my terms and conditions and if they did not apply, then my love wanted out.
Had he made any ultimatums on his love?
As the driver made his way to my apartment, all I remembered were the times when we’d be at a party, at an event, anywhere in public and I’d catch him staring at me. His eyes, his body shifting ever so slightly to acknowledge my presence.
“You are quiet Christine, what is going on in that head of yours?”
“Nothing, I am just tired.”
“Don’t worry, we are almost there. I’m sorry I kept you up so late.”
“It’s okay, I am off tomorrow so I am not worried about getting sleep.”
“Sure.”
He did not utter a word until the driver pulled up right outside the flat where I stayed. Mark had been here thrice. He stepped out of the car and held the door for me and walked me to the stairs.
“So, you’d better go in and get some rest Christine, okay?”
“Mark, are you not angry or disappointed?”
“You made your decision Christine and I promised that I would respect it, I guess I’ll think about it when it finally sinks in, but for tonight I am more concerned about your well being.”
“Forget it Mark, what well being? How can you be so calm? Why won’t you fight for me or for us? Are you just going to let me go like that? Like I never meant anything…”
“Christine…sit down, just sit for a second and breathe.”
“Why should I breathe?”
“You’ll die if you don’t.”
“This is not funny Mark.”
“No, it’s not, but I change my mind. You are not a single rose in the dark, you are more the thorns that serve to protect the bud but often get in the way and hurt the petals while they’re in bloom. You put yourself down when you are conflicted Christine, now, let’s get you inside your apartment and you’ll sleep on this and wake up feeling refreshed tomorrow.”
“You are crazy.”
“You love me for it Christine and for the record, I never said I gave up.”
“Good, because here’s the deal, you do what you have to do, just don’t tell me about it, because I know from time to time my mind will come up with all these negative outcomes. But, I want you Mark and I want us to work.”
“We’ve been working Christine, haven’t you been around?”
“Shut up and stop being so charming!”
“Hey, at least I am charming. Goodnight love.”
“Goodnight love.”
I locked the door once he’d stepped back and walked to my bedroom, the radio was still one just like I’d left it and with a slow hum, it hit me. I had this love and I chose to keep it after knowing what it felt like to want to throw it away. My love had never left, it had only been undergoing an evaluation, but I was too invested, too optimistic to want out and Mark…he had his love.
It is for this sole purpose that when he pushed back his chair and reached out for my hand, I knew right there and then, that everything would be like the smoke. It was and was not there. It stung my nostrils, watered my eyes but even then, it only existed when I called it to the present moment.
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“Christine, do you love roses?”
“Yes, who does not love roses?”
“Well, a lot of people believe that they are too cliche, but you remind me of a single rose, standing out in the dark. Do you know what I mean?”
“No, I am sorry I do subscribe to your philosophy, look, we need to talk, Mark.”
“We are talking. We have been since you got here.”
“It’s not that…look, can you stop playing with my hair…look, Mark, stop all that…sit down!”
“As you wish…let’s sit.”
“Look, Mark…this is just so difficult for me, how can we be together when what you do could harm your life or worse off, what would people say?”
“I am a Pharmaceutical Investor, what more would people say?”
“Mark, you told me that you deal in acquisition of organs, and we are talking about human beings, like do you simply receive a call for someone asking if they can get a kidney or say some blood and you make another call and voila, it’s done? It’s a crime, it’s wrong!”
“When you have a child who needs a blood transfusion but the hospital tells you that the blood bank cannot give it to him or her because they do not have it, what do you do? Do you sit back and watch your child die or do you post it on facebook, call other hospitals and keep asking until one person or two show up to save your child’s life?”
“It’s not the same Mark and you know it!”
“My dear, it is how you choose to see it and our healthcare system is plagued with so many ills. I worked as a Doctor for a year to realize this, but there is nothing as bad as knowing the system or the institution you belong to failed to achieve it’s mandate. People do not go to hospitals for a check-up, only to be wheeled to the morgue. Look, I am glad we are talking about this, and you are still reeling from it all, so tell me, what’s bugging you?”
“I don’t know, it’s just odd Mark. I mean, I never expected this and it’s just, I can’t explain what I feel.”
“Come here.”
Yes, I leaned into his embrace and he held me as the night grew into her own. I had questions and I expected a sense of rage to overwhelm me, but every fire that burned in me was put out by Mark.
A charm for every doubt, my mother would call it, but even so, was this what I envisioned?
So, my love was with me, but so was every doubt, every fear and what threatened my love was not giving in to it, but giving in without giving caution a hearing.
When you meet love, before they consume you, kindly send them my way…I’ll be the girl in black braids waiting with a five liter jerican of kerosene and fingers ablaze.
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Mark had me when he bumped into me in that grocery store. I wonder, was it easy like this for anyone? To live for the one your heart calls out to. To wait for their call, to look for them in a crowded bus stop, to see their faces in song, to hear their voice on the radio and to yearn for time to stand still so you can cherish a few more seconds with them.
I wore a short black dress. Mark does not care much for black dresses, but his love for burgundy is evident by the number of dresses in that color that are hanging in my closet.
His driver arrived fifteen minutes early and waited for me to get ready before we took off for the restaurant.
Mark was waiting at the lounge for me such that when the driver opened the door, I saw him coming down the stairs, his eyes fixed on me, taking up every inch of me the way they traveled from my heels to my eyes. He smiled and stretched out his hand and I took it.
It was his for the giving and mine for more the support than the taking.
How did we end up here? One the prey, the other…the one who hunted the hunter?
“Thank you for coming Christine. You are beautiful.”
“You mean, I look beautiful? Wow, thanks.”
“No, you are beautiful. Looks are fleeting, but you my dear, are beautiful through and through and I am honored that you chose to have dinner with me.”
“You always have a choice. You made yours and I know I made it seem like you had no choice, but that’s what pressure does to people, doesn’t it? Anyway, thank you for being here. I look forward to dining with you.”
“You do?”
“You are nervous.”
“Nervous?”
“You repeat what I say or say odd things when you are nervous. Right now, your right eye brow is raised and you are about to slap my arm…see, there, so you are nervous. Don’t be, in fact, we do not have to talk about anything that you are not willing to explore, promise me that you’ll just relax and enjoy your time with me.”
“That sounds fair.”
“It does and you my dear are breathtaking!”
“Eish, stop with the compliments you’ll take all my bonga points!”
“You can never have enough bonga points.”
As we sat down to dinner, it dawned on me that he’d pulled the Mark charm on me again and I had fallen for it.
Love is bliss. It torments the one whom it engulfs leaving the other swirling in a sea of ignorance. How could he sit through a meal, compliment me, feast his eyes on me and yet not want to lose his breath over the sole reason for the ultimatum he gave me? If I asked that he let me be, would he do it?
These thoughts pitched tents in my mind throughout dinner. As he asked for dessert, this little stream of awareness struck me, Mark had not carried his phone. He’d gone for an hour without any calls, texts, reminders or simply reaching out for his phone.
Was this the kind of love I envisioned? If you come across love, tell your love that my love is looking for it.
I also heard that two’s great but three’s a crowd. It’s the final day and Mark promised he would send someone to pick me up. “I do not believe that people should argue in a car, the number of accidents caused because of the anger and arguments are already high, I do not want us to be that statistic.”
“Mark…”
“No, I know you have your decision to make and I will accept it, but do not make me come pick you up only to drive in silence or argue. I will send you a driver. He will come for you at seven and we can sit down and talk things through, please.”
“Okay, sure.”
“Thank you and take good care of your self Christine.”
“Yeah, well…thanks.”
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I know it is too much to ask of you, the one who is reading this, unaware of what I look like, who I truly am or what purpose I serve, but have you ever been disillusioned by love? Have you ever bought into a kind of love that shredded your heart?
For the past two days, my mind has gone through every possible situation, it has challenged me to a Russian Roulette and I have won. No, my heart has won.
Is it fair to think or not to think?
Is it fair to feel or not to feel?
Is it fair to wonder or not to wonder?
Mark told me that he was a Pharmaceutical Investor the first time we met.
For six months, I believed that he dealt with hospitals and supplied medicine, but what would you do if, like me, you discovered that he also knows how to get a kidney or can provide blood faster than any blood bank in your country?
What would you do when he gets a call and you unexpectedly walk into the room to hear him say that he will be there with a kidney in time for the operation?
I remember inhaling as much air as I could but still feeling choked and him standing there, in the middle of his living room, looking at me and then walking slowly towards me to help me into a seat. He handed me a glass of water and then said “take deep breaths Christine, you have questions and I’ll answer them, but only when you are ready to hear me out.”
Was this my love?
Was this the one person I told my sisters was “my happy place”? Who traded in body organs? Who made and received calls regarding supply of kidneys like they were placing an order for a pizza delivery?
Was this my love? Could this have been my love all along?
Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is not spiteful or vengeful or demanding.
What do you do when the one you love is far from the love you envision?
I did not choose love. It did not choose me, but some part of me believes that I agreed to stay here long enough to feel like a choice, to look like a choice so that my beloved would finally look into my eyes and tell me “I love you.”
Three words. Eight letters. Four vowels. Three consonants.
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I met Mark in a mall. Yes, I was making my way to a grocery store just like him, but one of us bumped into the other and it resulted into a conversation about which fruits to buy and how to make perfect smoothies. It was during the time I was having an “MCP”, a Middle-Class Phase, where I believed that making smoothies would surely propel me into healthy living, but I failed to work on my peace of mind. I was working long hours at a call center needing the healthy fix.
He had the Colgate smile, the kind that could start an estrogen war within a person and the universe at that moment had picked on me to be the bearer of this war. I remember thinking that ‘if he asks for my number, I will be sure to give him my email address too,’ and right there and then, he asked if we could sit down at a cafe within the mall and chat.
It was a Saturday. My laundry was done and I had no plans other than following a smoothie recipe and making one, successfully. We walked out of the grocery store and headed straight to the cafe.
He pulled out a seat for me, let me order first and before I could say another ‘thank you,’ he smiled at me again and said ‘Is it okay if I ask to know your name?”
“Oh, sure, sorry, I’m Christine but my friends call me Chrissy.”
“Christine is a beautiful name, well, it seems mine is not as far away from your name, since I was named after one of the people who followed the man you may or may not be named after.”
“And that name would be?”
“Mark.”
“Four letter name…that’s easy to remember.”
“Yes, well, my parents made sure that I knew and read all about him, because he was a disciple of Christ.”
“So, you grew up in a Christian family?”
“Well, I don’t know if we are a Christian family but the old man was a Bishop and his wife, well, she did know a thing or two about the Bible.”
“Wow, that must have been something.”
“It was. Forget all that, tell me about you, other than bumping into strangers in grocery stores, what do you do?”
“I see where you are going with this, but I did not bump into you, ‘Mr. I am texting as I walk,’ so, I work in Customer service. You may have probably called in once in a while complaining about bundles or your airtime vanishing into air and called me a thief.”
“True, I may have. There’s nothing as bad as buying bundles and running out of them unexpectedly. Well, I am in the field of Medicine.”
“Wait, are you Doctor?”
“No, not a doctor but more along the lines of Pharmaceutical Investor.”
“What does that entail?”
“It’s more about ensuring that those who need urgent medical care get it, be it in form of connecting pharmaceutical companies to hospitals or simply making deals that prolong lives, so I am what you would call a modern day consultant, but not a doctor.”
“Okay, what did you study in campus?”
“I did Medicine and then went ahead and took up a Masters in Business Administration with focus on Finance. How about you? What did you study?”
“I studied Education and now I am a Customer Care Agent, talk of falling far from the tree.”
“You do what you can and it beats taking to the streets every two or so years demanding for what’s due to you, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does.”
Well, that’s as far as my mind can go in recollecting that first time we met. I remember wondering just how he could speak with such ease, ooze all that confidence and not worry about being turned down by me. It baffled me, but more than that, my reaction to him shook me.
I was not the kind of person who talked to strangers. I was also not the kind of person to talk of my life to someone who was not a close friend or family, so much so that my sisters and brothers often called me a ‘rock.’ They labeled me the girl who had no feelings. The one who was so focused that it was either her way or no way. It got me where I was but having Mark unravel a softer side of me shook me, not because I did not encourage him, but because I wanted to be softer and more vulnerable around him.
And when those feelings kept unraveling, a part of me shut down, and when I needed it the most, it eluded me.
I wonder, was this just a game to him? Was I simply prey and once he caught me, he couldn’t help but play with me for a few seconds before tearing me apart?
If you would have asked me “what is love?” two years ago, I would have read you the riot act,”love is patient, love is kind, it does not boast…” and like my friends, you too would have rolled your eyes.
I could not sleep.
Forget sleep, I have not closed my eyes and kept my mind still for thirteen hours. He will be expecting an answer, but even as I write this, chances are you have walked right past me along these streets. You like every other person has probably walked right past me or worse off, him, but who gives the one they love an ultimatum? Who throws you off a cliff and tells you they’ll come for you in three days?
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Forgive me, I am ahead of myself again, I cannot seem to catch my breath or align my thoughts. One thing is certain: I love him. The other thing is certain too; this kind of love scares me.
I was labeled Christine by my parents. They saw me and thought that name would suit me just fine, but sometimes, my soul yearns for Delilah. It yearns for a name that is as far as it can be from the one whose amazing nature is the basis of the Bible. I am no saint, but even as a sinner, I have my limits.
The one I love is called Mark. He is turning thirty six in a week and I know he hopes that I will stick around long enough to celebrate this milestone. Knowing Mark, he will probably go all out and hire event planners and caterers to throw him a lavish birthday party. His friends will come for the drinks and the promise of pretty things, and my friends will come to behold this rich dude that I snagged and they would plaster photos on Facebook, wishing us the best with their hearts hoping we break up or I die in my sleep.
If you are like my Mom, you are probably wondering, what led to the ultimatum? What happened that made Mark give me three days to decide whether I want to be with him?
Did we argue? No.
Did we stop trusting each other? No.
So, what is love? I have no idea for as I write this, I have two days to go and what I know is that love did not choose me. Someone did. His name is Mark and last night he finally told me what he does for a living and for the sake of love, I cannot help but feel as though my organs are spilling out of my body.
It’s 3:15pm as I type this and a big part of me is thinking of standing in the middle of the road and yelling my rage out. The other part of me is seated in the corner sipping coffee, rolling her eyes and saying “like really? ain’t nobody got time for that.” The final piece of me is unmoved wondering when I will get my thoughts together and finally smile or act like the world is okay.
At this point, I simply have no care for all of it.
I am glad that I took time and went in for a much needed book haul.
This month’s brought all kinds of reckoning with it and today was one of those days where I sat back and had to contain everything that I was feeling.
I had seconds of frustration that materialized to rage and from there an absolute sense of calm, I almost laughed out loud about it. Now as I sit here, watching the city come to life, there’s this couple seated at the table in front of me that’s been talking for an hour. The guy has his hand covering the girl’s and she shakes her head once in a while, trying to release her anguish, but he keeps it all in check-I’ve seen him struggle to get her to look into his eyes…and I feel out of odds for simply finding her neck so beautiful!
The kind of luscious cocoa neck that you’d want to run your finger slowly up the spine of it.
It’s been a stream of endless chatter but even as I end this, I know that I am not far from having this kind of feeling in writing and hopefully, for my sake as well as that of the gods of literature, it will materialize to something.
PS: I should probably stop singing and dancing along to Drake’s ‘In My Feelings.’
I swore in between smiles, but you…you know what it means to pull me close and ask me to stay away.
You laughed at this…’how can you not write?’
I swore and even then, the voice inside my head raised a toast to the lie.
I knew that I would write about you. I would say what you left unsaid.
I would make mountains out of one molehill.
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I would wind myself up in my doubts, fears, insecurities until this wedge was drawn between us. It would not be your fault, because hey, the world’s tough on your kind…the world is so harsh that you do as you please, collecting ‘karma points’ as you go your way.
A karma point equals every heart you break.
Every tear shed, every prayer for the universe to wrench your heart out of its cage, every time you said ‘you are the most beautiful girl’ or ‘I love you’ or ‘she means nothing to me’ to every girl. Karma points that the universe redeems when you finally find the one your heart yearns for but she ain’t got time for you.
The voice inside my head said all this as we talked of the beauty within us.
In my own way, I listened to this voice and when you stepped back, choosing to go your way, find your path without a word…I only stood there smiling and wished you well.
When her time had come, Swazuri stepped onto the mainland at dawn, Lawama and Aziza watched as she made her way into the territory she once called home. Lawama was afraid of what would become of her, but even so, he did not show his fear.
Aziza knew everything about the girl’s rage and helped fuel it. If ever they were to wage a a war against Ghadhabu and win, then she knew that rage was the strength the Princess needed to destroy the goddess and make the people of the ocean most powerful once again. Ghadhabu was powerless without her drum and she knew that Lawama had destroyed the drum two centuries ago. This time the battle would be in her favor. She wanted to dance to any tune at that moment, but she could not help but feel as though there was more the ocean was yet to reveal unto her.
Juhudi was long gone. His heart feeble and his nimble fingers unable to play the flute. Swazuri asked for permission to be with him and she denied her the opportunity saying that Ghadhabu had taken his soul. The Princess had bought this, her eyes filling with tears for the man she grew to love as her own Father, but even then, nothing but the destruction of Ghadhabu mattered to Aziza.
She would make things right, bring Jabali back to life and give him the chance to choose the one he truly loved. If he truly loved Ghadhabu then he would have to search for her soul into the after life once Swazuri had destroyed her. Aziza watched Swazuri go as her heart filled with pride. She was ready for whatever would come her way.
It had to be done.
Lawama asked “Do you think she will accomplish this task this time around?”
“It has to be done. Ghadhabu does not have her drum and that makes her vulnerable.”
“You do not have Juhudi’s flute too, Mother, so aren’t you just as weak as she is?”
“You forget your place my son. I am Aziza, goddess of the Indian Ocean, this is my realm and I control the wind and the earth, what does your aunt have in her power to control? Nothing! She has nothing and now, she too will understand what it means to lose everything you love. She too will have to live for centuries without the comfort of the ones she loves.”
“If you say so Mother, but, I am glad that Juhudi will not have to bring forth another child only to lose her to us. It’s enough Mother.”
“The one who comes after the first does not say what should be done. Remember your place son, because you are to inherit my throne and if you speak with such clogged ears, then I fear the sand from the mainland will cease to respect the waves that hit it.”
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It is said that the people of the Lake saw a young woman, eyes as green as fresh leaves, eyes as blue as the lake and wherever she stepped the land shook. The birds of the air fled before she arrived and even the old who had seen the worst of men could not comprehend the wrath that came with her, but it was when her feet stepped into the waters that a sudden tremor was felt.
The truth is certain, no man lived to tell the tale.
When the sun graced the sky the cries of the women filled the land, but the one who knew the truth lived to speak of it years on. She spoke of how a young woman met an older woman by the lake and looked into her eyes for a while before running to embrace her and together they destroyed the very thing that had caused a rift between them.
When the old woman spoke, no one believed her, they said there was no way a young woman could destroy the land, kill all the men and leave only women behind. They say that it is impossible for then how come the men live? How did the women bear children?
She listens and shakes her head, as though their folly amuses her, but she knows this to be her truth.
She knows that there was only one Princess among men. Her wrath spared no one, but even so, she also knows that it is because of what she did that night that the waters of the Indian ocean taste of salt while that of the lake is pure and as sweet as the breath of the wind.
Aziza drowned in her sorrow when Swazuri never returned and every year after that one man would grace the mainland to play the flute. The Prince of Sirens lived on, but only because his daughter chose to end a war that caused grief to the people of the lake.
This tale is told when the woman wishes to make the history of the lake known, but when no one is watching she would look up to the sun and in doing so, her eyes would glisten like the lake…is it blue or green, I fear I cannot tell.
nilichoandika 