Saturday, 1 June 2013

Taking a bow....

The third and last part of my love story which you have all been asking me about and I honestly didn’t want to tell is, my second and last love, my confused childhood friend. For starters, we are no longer friends, we don’t speak to each other but live a stone throw distance away from each other. He is not to blame for this. I am, I made a choice to reconcile with my past by cutting it off. The bible says, if your hand causes you to sin, cut it off, I did just that.

Having stopped dancing, I felt lost, I needed to find something, someone to replace the dancing. I will be as honest as possible about my version of events. First, I went home, to brood near my mother, I did this for about three months, it felt comfortable, warm and lulling. I was at peace with myself, with the world and its occupants but the truth was my every other thing was at a standstill. So to get me started, I choose to go back to school to pursue further education. I choose to do some unheard of graduate course, armed conflict and peace studies. I have always wanted to be a mediator, so I did the basics of that at my bachelors, diplomacy. Then at graduate school, I thought how about I delve into the one thing that would lead to the need for mediation. 

I kept good grades, buried myself in books and choose to shut everyone out. I did not have any coffee dates, no lunch dates no dinners. It was me, my books and my house. I didn’t even make any friends at graduate school. I treated all of them from a distance, no one was allowed to know me. All they knew about my life was my name, not even the direction in which I lived. I was a loner who kept no company. I however  had two female friends who offered a pillar of support. Every once in a while when I needed to talk, they would offer me a listening ear, both are still my very good friends, those I have kept for years on end.

I lived in solitude for a good number of months but this changed when my childhood friend sent me a text message out of the blues. I did not even have his number and therefore responded to the text asking who that was. He called me hoping I could recognize his voice but no, feeling very disappointed, he had to introduce himself. We exchanged text messages and emails after  that, finally having lunch. At lunch, we had so much to talk about, childhood games we played together, the years we had been apart, the different areas we had visited together as children. That lunch dated wasn’t enough, so we moved our little talk to an evening joint and talked till late.

We had many of such both lunch, dinners , each of us living in denial about each other’s feelings. One day, at the bus park as he was seeing me off, he kissed me, and my legs pooped, just like those of a little girl. There under the umbrella right in the middle of town we stood, the time was still and the silence was loud, it was our special moment. What made it incredible was that he asked me first, and as I was still finding the words to answer me, he held my cheeks and kissed me ever so passionately. Ohhh Loving him was rare, as Taylor would say.

Loving him was like driving a new mossoreti down a dead end street. Faster than the wind, passionate as sin yet ending so suddenly. The few months we were together, I couldn’t even write, we were always together. Another thing you need to know is that for me to write, there has to be pin drop silence. We never had any of that unless we were both reading some different works of art that we would later discuss. As fast as he had come into my life, so did he leave because he was just too confused to make a choice, about what he wanted and who he wanted to be with. He couldn’t even decide whether he wanted a red shirt or a pink one in the morning as he would be getting ready for work. He was always attending to everyone’s business but his own.

For the lack of his two feet on the ground, we part company. When the time came for him to make a choice, he couldn’t decide and I was not going to sit around and wait for him to gamble .Besides I valued the friendship that had grown from childhood so much that I did not think that waiting for us to fall out and have a nasty exchange was a good idea. So I left silently with my dignity intact

I have nothing else to say about him, other than he set the standards way to high..he was truly a gentle man….while with him, I smiled and giggled a lot. He treated me like his most admirable jewel, guarded so closely, polished so often and placed on a pedestal for all to see.

Thursday, 30 May 2013

Love Story Continued............................

Having told you about my first love, and the dancing, I have received questions that I am compelled to answer regarding how my neighbor and I danced, what we danced to and how we danced to it. I will tell how why I danced for four years and a couple of months and why I don’t dance any more as you have been unable to ask me this directly. Many of you have probably heard of the waltz. This is ball room romantic dance for couples. The steps are articulated in great sequence, the music is arranged delicately and the ballroom gown is every so fascinating. Big and round, but not heavy, the cosset at the mid section around the waist ever so feminine, tight but not uncomfortable, the layers of lacing and satin, a fragile work of art. The colour chosen to blend with the wearer’s skin tone. How I loved to dance to the waltz….

Before September 2008, I was not much of a dancer; I was the one person my girl friends would count on to watch their tiny purses when we went out in the evening. Dancing had never been a thing for me; I enjoyed to watch people dance but did not care much for it. I always did a few dignified steps whenever I was forced to. For instance when a gentle man grabbed me as I would be making my way across the dance floor to the “ladies”. Those of you who have been to Cats Club at the Safari Park Hotel and Casino know very well what I am trying to say. Other times when my very few, counted and practiced steps came in handy were, when I attended close friend’s weddings and when I was a guest at fundraisers and other traditional ceremonies in my village.

The waltz however, came naturally for me. When he put his arm around me, pressed me to his breast, cavorted with me in the shameless, decent whirling-dance of the Germans, we had engaged in a familiarity that broke all the boundaries that I created. My silent lack of interest in dance turned into the burning desire to waltz forever. I am yet to decide whether it was the dance or my partner at the dance that made the dance so easy and so passionate for me, maybe my partner had other intentions, and well he won whatever his intentions were.

The waltz is a sliding and or gliding dance. It dates back to the 16th century and is said to have originated from Austria. The dancers hold each other so closely that their faces touch. It follows an instinctive knowledge of the weight of fall, utilizes surplus energy to press all of one’s strength into the proper beat of the measure, thus intensifying the personal enjoyment in dancing. It is a dance for couples who are very comfortable with each other. The waltz allows people to dance mad, but, also allows the women to be celebrated because of their movements and grace of which they never tire. I was one such woman.

That night he a wearing black suit, a well pressed white shirt and a black bow tie to finish of his attire. His shoes had been well polished and I could see my reflection on them. I wore a purple ball room gown which he had picked out for me. I had silver shoes to match. The length of the heel a little off the ground but comfortable enough for me to dance. My hair had been freshly done and I wore it up in a tight bow at the back of my head. It was pinned up to precision to ensure not a single strand would leave it rightful place. I was smart, I felt smart, similar to food served on a platter and garnished to seduce the masters test buds.

I was anxious, I had been to ball rooms before but this particular one, I was going be the center of attention. My neighbor had been invited to grace an event that had the ballroom theme. He was going to be the chief guest at a highly sophisticated even and had chosen me to be his date. We were still very young in our knowledge of each other. In fact, when he had first asked me to this even, I had given him a straight no for an answer. Well, let us just say, I went to the dance.

I will be totally honest with you, I had practiced a few ballroom dance steps because the neighbor had been kind enough to let me know way in advance that we would open the dance floor given that he was the chief guest. I bought a tutorial CD and would practice my dancing with my friends in my house as we laughed at ourselves. My friends kept wondering why I had gone through all that trouble for a man I barely knew. They would wink at me every time we would meet on the stairs, they would call his name in a manner to tease me. I would deny having any feelings for him, the truth said in whispers, was that I had fallen head over heels and was just now going with the flow.

That night, when it was time to open the dance floor, I stood with all the grace within me, I was asked to choose a song that would open the dance to honor me. I will not tell which one because I still listen to that song, repeatedly but I would not want to be teased about it. I think it is actually the only classical music CD that I own. He held me close to his heart, his grip so firm but not uncomfortable, his breath fresh, his cologne was masculine but not choking .I stood there, right in front of him, his one arm around my waist and me the same and the other held out, not too high though, his lips were close to mine as he was looking right into my face. He was taller than I am, and his height was just perfect as we had chosen the right heel to cover for the difference, allowing him to be about three to four inches taller than me.

The pianist pressed a key with a deep tone, an indication that the music would begin immediately. In that position, ever so close, he leaned forward and told me to remind his to stop. I nodded in response, still looking for the right words that seemed to have escaped me. In no time, we were gliding and dancing ourselves crazy on the dance floor, the rest of the guests stood around us at a safe distance, giving us room to delve into the more intricate areas of waltzing. This involved turning lifting and much more as I had done my practice really well. After about 10minutes, still dancing as the center of attraction I looked at him and gave him the cue to stop. We continued dancing for a few seconds before we stopped with him raising his hand for the music to stop. There was a loud round of applause and a lot of bowing. This was followed by him inviting everyone else to the dance floor and thanking me for allowing him to have the first dance with me.

After that night, we would waltz even in the house. It was common to find us waltzing I the supermarket. We loved to shop late in the night and this would allow us to have the time to waltz and to shop at the same time. This waltzing came as a package with him referring to me as “my lady” and me referring to him as “my lord” as we asked each other for a dance. Many times, we would dress up for the dance even at home. Many of our friends actually learnt the dance from us as it was the best entertainment we ever provided whenever we were hosting.

I have extensively dealt with how I danced, why I danced was simple. It was because I had learnt that dancing was a unique way of expressing one self. It would express joy, love, romance, it could be used to seduce and most importantly express anger without making faces or raising one’s voice. From my dancing, he could tell I was unhappy and me the same. It was an art so fashionable and so loud to be ignored.

I will in another posting, tell you about the second person I fell with.I refer to him as my confused childhood friend.....yo will certainly understand why very soon

Monday, 27 May 2013


Crossing an unknown river from your domain, observe the surface turbulence and note the clarity of the waters. Heed the demeanor of the horses. Beware of mashed ambush.
As a familiar ford near home, look deep into the shadows on the far bank, and watch the movement of the tall grass. Listen to the breathing of your nearest companion. Beware of the lone assassisin.

With the above in mind, I will tell you a love story, my love story .It is not sad one, neither is it a fairy tale. But I must tell it, at least to give the world my version of events. For a year and five months ,I have lived with a truth inside, so safely guarded, a secret so deeply kept. I know I have the words to turn events around, but I have been biting my lips stuck in silence.
I have fallen in love twice. The first with a stranger on my flat and the other with a confused childhood friend. I am straight, and the people in question are both men. Both are with other people now and we all live in one town.

 I fell in love in the oddest of circumstances, I had a fallout with my landlord in September 2008.I had not been a bad tenant, but an informed one who was out to get value for my money. I was no part of those who were okay with okay, settling for crap which was served in large doses on the apartment building. I would ask questions and hold the management by their word. This was on matters cleaning, security, repairs ,garbage collection among others. I know this many of you can relate with. This made our relations so strained and left with three choices, move out, move out were the first two, while the last was to await an eviction notice which would come with a humiliating eviction as those fools didn’t know the law and would evict you as they handed you the eviction notice, which had no notice period.

It all started on a Friday, the previous day, I had just travelled from home which was about 400 km from the Capital city where I was attending school at the time. With the fatigue and all, I slept in late. The weather was also conducive for that but this was rudely interrupted by a loud knock on the metallic door. It was one of the house agents who had come to collect rent. As usual we had a nasty exchange before he locked me out of my house, leaving me in my pajamas in the September morning chill. Whoever saved me from that morning chill, happened to be the first person I fell in love with. He was a neighbor who had listened in on our exchange of unprintable words. He came downstairs as his house was right above mine, talked to the silly agent and convinced him to allow me to get into the house, freshen up, change and pick m bank documents so that I would be able to pay him his rent. They had their conversation as men, I wasn’t involved , couldn’t get involved, was too angry to utter a word of sense. I was shaking with rage.

I got in, brushed my teeth, slipped into a pair of faded jeans and my house chores tee shirt, picked my hand bag and left. Allow my love…ohhhh still neighbor to remain anonymous. He stood  in the middle of my living room, watching over me till I was done, to ensure the agent did not harass me any further. He also walked me to the bus park as he told me small time stories to calm me down.Well,lets just say whatever he did, worked for me. By the time we got to the boulevard, I walk calm and collected. I thanked him, bid him bye and boarded a noisy bus to town.

While in town ,I took my time, attended to many begging of semester errands. Paid my school fees, I was at the bank, why not pay it anyway, I told myself. I bought house supply and had lunch before setting of for my house that had been held hostage by an idiot in the name of an agent. When I got home, the fool was still at my door, several hours later, I threw the money at him and demanded a receipt. Which he couldn’t give, so I took my money and asked him to open my door and wait for me in his office on Monday. As it was fifteen minutes after close of business on Friday.

As I was just walking into my house, the said neighbor appeared on the staircase and asked me how it all went. He listen with keenness so rare in the male species. Wearing a face of great concern he invited me to dinner in his house….he assumed that I had starved the whole day and was too tired to fix myself a meal. I agreed after a lot of convincing. The meal was prepared just the way a bachelor would prepare his food. Be the judge of that sentence…….I do not want to sound ungrateful.

At dinner, we were joined by two of his male friends, who were all psyched to go out dancing that evening. I was invited…..of course, and it was a Friday evening, school wouldn’t begin till Monday  why not, I went, danced myself lame and got high on sugar from drinking so many bottles of Fanta orange. At the end of the night, I went to my house and slept in till late Saturday afternoon. Every other weekend, we always went dancing and the dancing ended a year and a half ago. Every other Friday turned to four years, dinner turned into all the days meals. However, I stopped dancing and I haven’t danced ever again. I don’t have a neighbor to dance with anymore. He dances, I know he does, but with someone else.

The detail

Having basked in the sun enough, it was inevitable that I either let my mind wonder, building  and demolishing castles or listen in to the conversation that my all about love neighbors were  having. The latter was a better choice. The former  has always left me drained, a bit disorientated and  well with a feeling of pity.

My friends talked about everything and I also listened to everything including the body language and body communication that was louder than their speech. I hope my honey moon will be much more sensible, rather I would be much more sensible during mine. I told you before that love is intoxicating, it leaves no room for reason or rationality. My friends as I call them, had a overdose of that intoxicating drug, love.

I love you and will never stop loving you, said Steven. Anne smiling like a young teenage girl looked at him and asked ,why do you love me or what do you love about me. I love you because you are beautiful, I love the smell of your hair, I love your tiny mouth and juicy lips, I love that you have a body to die for. I love that you are bright and smart. I love the look in your face when you are angry, that turns me on. I love that you are patient and kind, I love that you are at peace being you, I love that we are able to talk even without uttering a word. I love that you danced yourself silly at our wedding, I love that you are scared of spiders and I will always have to kill them for you. I love that you are my wife and no one can take you away from me……having heard enough of why he loves her, I shut my ears to the rest and waited for little Anne to write him  a love song in response.

As for the body language, let us start with what Steven looked like and what he wore to the beach. As is the norm, the beach is the one place where minimal clothing is allowed. So he was in a pair of white and blue beach shorts, that served him as a swimming costume as well. He had a defined six park, a clear indication that he spent some good quality time at the gym. Do not get me wrong, Steven did not look like one of those body builders who lift weights and flex their muscles for a living. He had a bit of muscle, a fairly hairy chest, cleanly waxed armpits a wedding band on his left hand finger, He had his hair in a neat cut. His nails were visibly manicured and pedicured. The man clearly takes care of himself, as that was not enough proof, he was very particular about how his lady applied sunscreen on him. He was keen to ensure that every inch of his skin was covered in sun screen.

Baby I love you because you are strong, yummy to look at, confident, smart and intelligent. You also always know what to say where and how to say it. I like it that you think and know I am hot. I love you because you gathered the courage and took your time to chase me for a record one year. I love you because you have strong family values, I love that I can share my thoughts with you without any fears. I love that you have faith in me. I love that you are a pillar I can lean on and I am sure not to fall. I love that  when you kiss me, I always want to live in that moment forever ,that when you run your fingers through my hair, I get goose bumps, that when you stare at me,  I get shy and loose my balance. I love you for who you truly are Steven….said Anne.

They exchanged niceties as their bodies said the words too. Steven would from time to time run his fingers through Anne’s hair, she would allow his hand to drop to her back. She would kiss the back of hs neck, bite his ears a whisper into his ears. I speared myself the torture by choosing not to listen in on the whispers, I can only imagine what they were telling each other. Having heard enough and enough of the sun, I packed my stuff and left bidding them bye in a hushed tone, ensuring I did not kill their moment.