Everything

I thought she was a mermaid the first time I laid eyes on her. She was partly immersed in the water and all I could see was her waist up. She was a beauty. No, she was more than beautiful. She had that devilish beauty that led Adam astray, that which has fallen great men of the earth. I am a great man. I watched her close, admired her even. As she played in the water, I played too. I have never been a good swimmer, and as I could see, neither was she. But I could not stop looking at her. She had on a flowery mosaic costume, dominated by red and blue. It was silk and knotted around her back. She had brown braids, thick woven brown braids pony-tailed to the back of her head. Then, she was a mermaid. Or so I thought.

It was the tail end of the short mid semester break. We were at Nyali Beach where myself and three of my workfellows linked up to wash away the wear and tear of the previous semester as we prepared for the final term of the year. The day before, I had been part of a Badminton team that was eliminated in a tourney at Oshwal Academy. On our way to the beach, one among us had picked up two ladies to ride with us. They knew each other way back and this was their day to play catch up. Mitchelle was the other lady, unknown to us all. She came as a companion to the other lady. We also passed through a Wines and Spirits joint and picked up two six packs of beer, a Jack Daniels and Lime Water. Then off we set. The beach was my idea. This was my day in the sun and I intended to enjoy it fully.

While my colleagues chose to sit beachside and enjoy the drinks, I changed into my swim shorts and hit the waters. The sun was hot and the water was cold, it was the right weather for a day out there. It felt therapeutic. That’s when I saw her; she had ditched the company and got into the water. She was after her own good times. She was graceful and cool, and she swam like there was nobody else in the water. It was as if she was alone. Like the cares of the world mattered not to her at that moment. She caught my eye, and it was too late for me to take them off her. Yet she did not acknowledge my sight. She just went on about her swimming unmoved, unstirred and unaffected. And just like that, I was smitten.

I was anxious.

I followed her swimming radius like a stalker, hid my face among the other swimmers, buried my face in the water at times but never did I keep my eyes of her. And when she walked out of the water, I realized two things: that the water was not fun for me anymore and that she was not a mermaid.

One was drunk, another tipsy and another level-headed. His level head was essential, he was the designated driver. The lady was just tipsy; tipsy enough to laugh at my shrunk junk under my shorts. I took the joke, reddened, smiled and went to refresh. I got back to a photo shoot. Poses were posed, smiles smiled, cheers cheered and pictures taken. All the while, I stuck close to her but the drunk was all over her so I could not make my move yet. We left. She sat next to me in the car, yet nothing was said between us. Our ride to town was noisy, with periodic laughs and giggles. They were happy and we were just seated next to each other.

We had to drop the drunk and the two ladies because they were working in Mombasa before the rest of us proceed to Taita. The driver chose to stop at Oilibya Filling Station just infront of Sabasaba. Everybody alighted at once except the two of us. It was as if there was something lingering; unspoken. It was awkward and neither of us wanted to say a word. It was uncomfortable. I took my cell phone out my pocket and pretended to be busy browsing and I noticed she did the same. And it felt as if the uneasiness was not going to end. The conversation window was almost shutting when I heard the driver ask if everyone is set. Then, I spoke. I said hi. She said hi back and smiled and handed her my phone, on which she keyed in her number. She said her name is Mitchelle. And that was that. We all exited the vehicle on opposite sides. The pissers pissed, the shitters shit and I finally let out the bubble of fart I was holding back like an anxiety air balloon. We said our goodbyes, hugged casually and set off.

A typical journey from Mombasa to Taita takes two and a half hours. The journey was short. Fatigue struck as soon as we left and with it came a deathly sleep that carried me through till I got home. We made a pitstop at fast food restaurant before the drive up the Taita Hills. Took a shower, munched my food and caught some Z’s.

The sun rose and the sun set. The unremarkable routine of the session kicked in. We taught like worker bees, trained like soldiers, laughed like jokers and some weekends, partied like rock stars. The pictures were uploaded to a fun Whatsup Group created; I took some of them and put them on my face book page. They were celebrated with friends and strangers alike. Some days I reminisced about that weekend at Nyali, sometimes I remembered the sensation she caused me and sometimes I shrugged it off like a day gone, never to return. I was in a bad place when we met, and nobody knew it so that memory was light at the end of the tunnel; an instance of promise.

I reached out.

She was a free spirit with a cool demeanor, soft and realistic yet she possessed a calm aggression about her hidden at the back of her eyes; those big, attractive but deeply devilish eyes. She was born in a family of four, three sisters and a boy. Bred in Taita by a mother worthy of all praises she gave, she would beam every time she talked about her mom. And an absentee father who left without warning or a kiss goodbye (notice), only to resurface later in life when all kids are all grown. Last I checked, they are a family again. Props to her mom who held the family down and was still hospitable enough to take back the prodigal dad (son); no questions asked.

At first, we were casual about everything. A ‘Hi, howaz yo day?’ text followed by a prompt ‘heey, my day was fine, hw was yoz?’ That quickly changed to good morning and good night messages and further to calls every free time of the day. No time was limited for us. And all of a sudden, a day was dull without talking, and was better after a conversation with her. She was working in Mombasa as a receptionist at some firm whose name I cannot recall. She quit. Said she was frustrated. The pay did not match the work. And just like that she was jobless. It used to bug her. She has never been used to being idle. She went back home to Taita; home, closer to me. This was a sign.

For a lady who has worked since she finished high school, these were strange times. She left home to work not so much to her mother’s liking. She was against it, probably worried that she was still too young to face the world. She wanted to spread her horizons and make her money; be independent. She wanted her to stay home for a little bit more, to help her out and grow an inch. She did not want to stay home doing nothing. She thought she was little. She was determined. A small argument ensued, not the breaking glasses type of argument, not the throwing tantrums kind either. It was a reasonable one. She wanted the finer things in life that her mum could not provide and she did not want to make her break her back to buy her the accessories of life. So, just like that, she won and left. This was the first time she was back home jobless.

Her African name means to tie, or to bind. And by this time, true to her name it seemed to me that I was bound to her like a spell. You know those witches spells that link your whole self to someone else and then your fates are intertwined; the ones we read about in Vampire Diaries and Harry Potter. Her other name, because she is African (and Africans for some reason almost always have three names, save for Luos who are more African than the rest) means She is from another land. At this point, she looked sent from heaven. And no, she doesn’t have that angelic beauty written in fairytales, she is chocolate brown; a petit little pretty face with the charm- aroma of fine wine. I have a penchant for brunettes.

We went out a couple of times. She loves pork. She could eat a whole pig if her stomach was big enough. We hanged out on weekends and end of days. She loved music, I did too. She loved soccer, I did too. She was charming, I am too. And we grew fond of each other like to beans in a pod. I fell in love with her. What made me fall for her? A conversation. We had a small misunderstanding. I was wrong and she stood her ground and did not back down. She was strong. She was proud. She was independent. I remember she was so self assured and assertive that I forgot about our differences and realized she was the real deal. She was there, and I could not take her. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.

I had a girlfriend then.

Perhaps this is a story for another day.

Nandi was performing at Moonshine in Mombasa on the night of 31st December and we had planned to go usher in the New Year with Mitchelle. We did not make it. She convinced me not to go. We had planned to start a business with her In January so she said it would have been better to save that money for the business. So we all slept in and called it a year.

The business took off well. Mitchelle knows her stuff. The sun went down and back up. Tragedy stroke at work, two colleagues passed away. One who was a close friend. The lady was a victim of breast cancer discovered too late and wrong diagnosis. The close friend collapsed at his home at night and died. She left a widower and a child and he left a widow and two kids; both infants. It was a dull January for us all. Leah sat her examinations. Funerals were arranged. We moaned, we got broke, we buried and we tried to heal. The business was good.

The business was going so well that Mitchelle had to get her own place. We met weekends but time was limited. She was doing well and because of my work commitments, I could not audit the business or manage it. The money we clocked in January was used to aid her house but then February the money coming in started being irregular. And the trend was poor. I noticed and asked for records which she did not avail. I suspected she was faking the records and siphoning money for her own selfish gains. I confronted her and she did not take it well. She threatened to leave, two weeks later she made good her threat and left.

I saw the hurt in her when we met especially after the business took off. In one of our heart to heart, I told her I was in a relationship. She listened. She saw that I was not happy and asked why I had not walked away from that unfulfilling union. I said I had not gotten the opportunity. I could tell she felt for me. She was single. She had previous relationships that had not worked out so well. They were more sexual than intimate. She had never fallen in love and she had never loved before. She was vulnerable with me. I was to propose to her after breaking up with my girl. I promised myself I would. I wanted to be as noble a man as I could be.

One conversation that got me during our good times was about how she broke her virginity. It was not her will. When she left home to work, she got a job as a waitress at a Sunderland Hotel at Wundanyi. She had to move in with a cousin in her maiden days. It was all work and no play, but she was not a dull lady. Being the dolly bird she is, guys were after her a lot. She was not into any of them. Her cousin had a boyfriend who would sleepover some of the time. One night her boyfriend came with a friend as they got into it in the other room, the friend advanced. She did not want to, but she was pinned down. She was susceptible. Next thing she knew was her screaming as the guy pushed into her. In a court of law, that is rape. Statutory. Perhaps this was one the fears her mother had.

I went to check the books. They confirmed what I suspected. The records did not match the remittance I had been receiving. I was heartbroken. I was beset. I was taken aback. I trusted her and she messed me up. The thin line that separates love from hate broke. I closed the shop and picked everything that was mine. It was shitty. I tried to reach out but she did not stretch her hand. It was bad. I had to involve the police to get her to talk. And when I picked my stuff I went home, disappointed and broken, I slept a nap of relief. When I got up, I wrote her one farewell message. We have never spoken ever since.

One time, in one of those intimate nights, when all the cares of the world were unknown to us, when we locked the world out and it was just the two of us, I googled the different types of kisses. She was intrigued. It was exciting to learn all of them. And when she left the next day, I kissed her on her forehead and she said that was everything.