Category: stories

The guilt of depression

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There’s a certain guilt that comes with depression. I know that not everyone who has been through depression may feel this, but allow me to share my story anyway. I have a job, it isn’t much, but it has been enough for me this past few years. My bosses are also really great and friends of a friend, so automatically, we became friends. And they, have I disappointed on multiple occasions when the episodes came. I have friends who have stood with me over the years and a family that loves me. But they have been on the other side of my depression too.

I always tell myself that the next time an episode comes, I’ll be better at handling it. It feels like I was making everything up when the worst has passed. I feel like it wasn’t much of a big deal and that I should have handled it better. I tell myself that I have learned my lesson and that the next time it hits, I will handle it like a piece of cake. And every time, I am convinced that it will work. And it does, for a few days or even weeks, I can take it. I feel that I have it under control and that this time, I will make it out without disappointing anyone. That this time, I am going to be strong enough. And this time, I won’t let it break me down.

I never truly realize when I break. Sometimes, I can’t even feel it coming. Maybe I am too focused on not being on the floor I don’t realize that I am no longer standing. I don’t feel myself fall to my knees, and when the earth swallows me, I don’t feel it. And then all I can feel is an overwhelming sense of darkness, an endless pit that does nothing but grows deeper and shallower that, in the end, I’m gasping for air that never comes. In a moment, all the strength I thought I had gathered to pull me through is gone without warning, and my life feels darker than a night with no stars.

I try to tell myself that I will make it out. That it’s happened before, and I made it out anyway. I try to tell myself that I’m creating all this in my head and what I need to do is wake up, and everything will be gone.

But even when I wake up and make myself some coffee, the fog stays.

Even if I manage to get out for some fresh air on the rooftop and feel the breeze in my hair, the breathlessness stays.

Even if, by some miracle, I manage to go out with friends, drink, dance, and laugh at their jokes, the darkness stays.

I think people have a single idea of what depression looks like, and I will tell you, mine is a cycle of what people think it’s like and what it’s not like. For a long time, I denied the existence of my depression. I was afraid of visiting the therapist’s office because they’d confirm my suspicions and then tell me that there was nothing really that could be done about it. I kept to myself over and over again when the episodes hit. I still haven’t gone for a diagnosis yet. But I know enough not to deny the possibility of its existence.

But I don’t know what’s worse; between the actual episodes of depression when I felt helpless to do anything; and the after recovery period when I had to apologize to people for ghosting when I had to explain that I didn’t mean to hurt them and try to make amends with clients and bosses who’d been depending on me or try to explain to my friends why I hadn’t been answering their calls or helping them with their business plans.

This is part of the guilt.

I’m not the kind of person who is good at expressing how they feel about something. And in my vulnerability, I’m also not the best person to take criticism. If I say I am sad, but the person I’m talking to says it’s not a big deal, that I should get over it, I tend to feel that I am blowing things out of proportion and that I should move on. And so, you can imagine how trying to explain to ten people you have disappointed how it isn’t something that you felt you had control over feels like for me; or maybe not that you felt helpless to it. That you want so bad to undo it even though you know there is nothing you can do to change the past. Even though they may forgive you this one time, you’re probably just counting the days until your next penance and confession.

That’s the guilt I’m talking about.

When you get back to the living and realize life went on. And you try to catch up. To convince people to help you catch up. To always feel like you aren’t catching up and to struggle with the constant thoughts that you won’t be good enough after all. It’s when you realize that four years later, whether you see the therapist or not, your depression is still with you, and you’re still hurting people you love and care about. Not even they may understand even though you are dying for one person to understand your pain.

It is the pain of constantly trying to make your problems and emotions smaller so they don’t take up the space in the room and then blaming yourself when you’re not seen. There’s a lot of guilt that comes with depression. And I wish telling it to you could make it go away. But it doesn’t.

ps: this post offers no medical advice or diagnosis. It shouldn’t be interpreted as so.

be conscious of your comments, this is a true story.

Happily Ever after?

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Happily ever after?

Kisses and cuddles till morning. Watching sunsets after a long day and leaning into his touch when we make dinner.  Nights on the terrace watching the stars light the sky and counting falling stars. And in the morning I will have my black coffee in the black and white mug, he’ll sip his orange juice in the scotch glass because he doesn’t like water glasses. We will have two kids, a boy and a girl and name them Brian and Brianna. We’ll live by the beach so every day feels like we are on vacation. And our kids will never go to boarding school until they are in high school. Oh, and I can’t wait for my family to meet him, and the wedding, and the…

Calm your titties! It was just one kiss but you’ll have to forgive me because I have already admitted to being an over thinker, who partially believes in fate and who’s newly acquired a belief in godmothers. And godmothers bring on happily ever after, right? So you can’t really blame me for believing that the first kiss that feels real after so many disappointments will bring on true love and a happily ever after, right? Right? Well, maybe I should stop watching to many love stories. I should have learned my lesson with Kevin! Sigh!

We’re going for a drive after the date. I’m giddy as is clearly evident in my plans for our future. God, that must have been one magical kiss because he hasn’t even grabbed a boob yet and I have fallen. I am smitten, I am dead. I need saving because I am a hopeless romantic and I am really trying to keep my mouth shut before I say the wrong thing… and we all know how that went last time. But I did get a magical kiss at the end… Two actually, so no regrets. I don’t know where exactly we’re headed to because in all honesty, I’ve been staring at Michael since we left the hotel and he has not let go of my hand. He keeps planting kisses on the back of my hand, my palm and my fingers and I melt with every little squeeze. I am lost in this magical world of ours and I don’t want it to ever end, so instead of looking to see if we’re stuck in traffic or maybe we just stopped in the middle of the road, I plan for our marriage and name our kids, choose outfits for the holidays and make coffee and orange juice for breakfast in my head.

I finally snap out of it. There’s a song playing on the radio and the beat jolts me back to reality. It’s the song that was playing on my phone the day I told Kevin that I was in love with him and he shoved the words back at me like they meant nothing. He told me I was stupid for believing in happily ever after, godmothers and Father Christmas. And so the doubts set in. I’m trying to cling on to the feeling of feeling wanted, needed, loveable, the feelings of a moment ago. Not stupid. Or un-loveable. I think Michael notices, because he holds on to my hand a little tighter while I go rigid and he asks me if I would like a drink. I finally look outside and start counting passing cars and singing lonely tunes in my head. He kisses the back of my hand and exits at the next petrol station. He says he’ll be back and exits the car. I am still looking outside, but inside my head, I am hoping he’ll grab some skittles, a bottle of wine and those chocolate bars they always place so seductively at the counter so you can grab them like a cheat meal at the last minute. I know he can’t read my mind and that I should just leave the car and grab them myself. I know, but my mind says one thing and my body does the opposite. Maybe, this would be the perfect time for my godmother to show up?

We’re back on the road again and I look at Michael again. The song has ended and with it some of the heaviness.  I reach for his hand and he smiles at me then gets his eyes back on the road. I want to experience what this feels like. To want someone so bad you don’t want to care about the doubts. To want someone and something so bad that nothing else matters. To crave the intimacy, and believe in happily ever afters and to be loved back without asking for it. I want it all and I don’t want to think that maybe I am moving too fast and shouldn’t fall so soon, because everything feels so right in this moment. And then we stop. I have never been to this place, I am sure of it, but it is beautiful. I can see the city from up here, dotted with beautiful yellow, red and green lights. Maybe a little of blue too. I am out of the door before Michael can unclasp his belt and I want to dance and breath and watch the city lights from up here. I don’t know what possess me but I feel like a little girl and like nothing can take this feeling away. I scream at the top of my lungs and jump up and down and I am sure I look like I have lost my mind but it does not matter. I can feel the breeze in my hair, on my face, between my thighs as my dress rises and falls with every jump.  It feels like a little heaven up here. Michael watches me from the hood of his car with a smile on his face, but it’s not enough. In his suit n tie, I grab his hands and twirl him around. I must admit, I am a pathetic dancer, but with freedom this much I could own the world.

I am breathless and happy and free and the lonely song has all but faded to the back of my mind. I stand on tiptoes and kiss his lips, long and passionate and hard. I grab his shirt and look deep into his eyes in the semidarkness and he smiles at me. Maybe fairy godmothers do exist after all, because he brought the wine and the chocolates. Maybe after I tell him my skittles story, he’ll have them next time, but for tonight, this is perfection. We spend the entire night under the stars and I know that’s a crazy thing to do on a first date, but have you met me?

I don’t want to leave when morning comes, but he has to travel in the afternoon and at least needs some sleep before he’s behind the wheel again. He holds me close and says to me;

“Baby, you know I can’t sleep when you’re here, at least not today. I want to touch your hair and kiss your lips and watch your face and everything that you are. I want to hear you laugh, and see how your face gets animated when I ask about something that means a lot to you. I could stare at you all day, and then I’d never sleep. “

“I have my doubts, I swear I do. But when you call me baby, everything stops and all I can hear is my heart beating like it’s going to break out of its chest… when you call me baby, I want to kiss the breath out of you because I don’t know how else to show you that it means the world to me. Oh Michael, if only I could gain the courage to tell you this…”

It’s been a week. A whole seven days, 167 hours and 42 minutes since I last saw Michael. And I know this sounds crazy but if I don’t see him in the next hour, I will lose my mind. He is travelling back today. He’ll be in town by curfew and I have already told him tomorrow is too long for me to see him so he’s coming to my house tonight. I am losing my mind by the minute anyway, because I don’t know what I’ll do. I might jump his bones. Or follow him around like a lost puppy and sit outside the shower when he freshens up because we’re not at the showering together stage yet. I’m even overthinking what to wear because I’ve never really had a guy come to my place at night and I can’t afford to have the wrong outfit.

I have to go and figure out all these things. At least I know dinner is beef, ugali and greens. And before you say I should have ordered in Chinese, I know that’s his favorite. Wish me luck, because tonight, I will claim him as mine and call him baby when he’ll be too far gone to remember his own name.

Did you say kissing?

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Have you watched Mulan? If you haven’t, you definitely should. It’s one of those movies that just leave you with questions, or perhaps I am an overthinking person who reads more into things than I should. And then I question who determines how much thinking is too much, who decides that and how on earth I’m I ever to stop questioning if I can’t tell how much is too much. I guess I will leave it all to fate then, the kind of fate I don’t know if I fully believe in or if I just blame for things I didn’t do well enough and things I did too well I’m afraid of taking credit for. Loyal, brave and true. Three simple words but I can’t take them out of my mind ever since I heard Mulan say them and now I have found that they sound better in my ears without the Chinese accent. I found Christina Aguilera and she has been singing them over and over in my ears I can hardly tell when the song starts and when it ends. I am obsessed.


I’m seated across from Michael and I have a smile on my face. I’m trying to determine if it’s a nervous smile or if I am just happy to see him or maybe it’s out of years of practice and I’m so used to smiling I practically don’t know what else to do. I’m trying not to falter from his piercing gaze because I feel like it’s a staring competition that didn’t require us to prepare for. I read, for this date. I shopped for this date. I even called my mother and without necessarily telling her anything, I told her about him just so she could tell me that I can do this. The thrill is kinda wearing off and I’m not all that confident like I was when we met. But how can I not be, scared that is? I am realizing perhaps too late or maybe too early that this night means more to me than dressing up and impressing and a good dinner that doesn’t require me to do the dishes later.


I think he’s talking, about his day or my hair and I hold his gaze steadily and smile sweetly. I want to be here, present in this moment, I want to breathe in deeply and honestly laugh at his jokes, but if I close my eyes, he will know something is wrong. And I can’t let that happen. I want one, maybe five seconds, to breathe in and out and get all the doubts that my ‘ex’ implanted in my head. To remind me that I am good enough and that as much as I am lucky to be here with Michael, I am worthy of this attention he is showering me. Loyal, brave and true, that is what I want to be, with myself. To some extent, I had convinced myself that I could do this, that I am past healing and it is time to move on. But what if I am not and Michael sees that and decides to leave me here, will I ever gain the courage to put myself out there again? If my heart is broken before it is truly healed, will it stop bleeding at all?


“Do you ever get scared? Scared that if someone truly knew all your colours, they wouldn’t want you anymore?”


The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I hold my hand across my mouth. I want to apologize for cutting off whatever he was saying, but I was so lost in my head that I honestly don’t recall what he was going on about. And he doesn’t ask me, thankfully. I look at him straight in the eyes and wait for what he will say. I need him to say something. Anything. But instead, he stares back to me. He opens his mouth to say something and then swallows his words in his saliva. I want to crack his thoughts.


“I… that’s a complicated question.”


He looks down into his coffee cup. He tilts his hands on his lap. He looks at the waitress. I don’t want to think about the question, so I watch his every move. If I think too much about it, I might let it slide through and tell him it’s not a must that he answers. I might apologize and tell him that I haven’t gone on a date in a long while and that all the stuff I spent the last few days reading kind of just evaporated and my weird side is out before I can tell her to take a back seat and watch. But I need him to answer, I know I do. So I stare as he moves his hands, and his Adam’s apple bubbles up and down his throat and I look at the arc of his eyebrows and the lashes. Okay, that’s enough distraction.


“I do get scared. This moment right now, I am scared. I’m scared that when my nights will be dark, the darkness may be too much for you. I’m scared that maybe this evening means more to me than it does for you and I’m trying to show you what it means, and I’m scared that maybe I have said too much and now your phone will ring on a fake emergency call from your best friend and you’ll leave and we will be done before we’ve truly begun…” He’s starting to blabber now and all I can do is smile. Not because he’s blabbering though.


I reach out and hold his hands in mine and he stills. He looks at me with a look I can’t exactly read, and we stare into each other’s eyes. Have you watched Bridgerton and there are those numerous scenes where those love birds just stare into each other’s eyes and you can literally feel the electricity between them? (Sorry, I don’t do spoilers so go watch the series, lol). That is what it’s like for me at this moment. Suddenly, all I want is to claim his lips in mine. To taste the wine he’s been sipping and to smell his freshness from beneath his neck as I explore the curve of his collarbone. All I really wanna do is hold his neck in my arms and kiss him thoroughly, with every fibre of my being till we both forget what the world beyond us feels like. I can feel it, and since I haven’t been keeping dinner date rules anyway, I decide in a split second that breaking one more won’t hurt. Wait, did you guys say kissing isn’t for first dates?


I can feel his eyes as I rise to my feet. The way my dress shifts and his eyes follow every movement and I can feel him tense up because I still have his hands in mine. For a minute, I hesitate, but the look in his eyes is everything. I pull him out of his chair and pull him closer. He would pull away if he didn’t want this, right? Please God, don’t let him change his mind. What if he doesn’t want to do this today, here? I’m starting to overthink this so instead, I voice my thoughts


“I want nothing more than to…”

I don’t finish the sentence, because when I pause and bite my lip, he has his lips on mine faster than I could have finished the thought. It’s magic, it’s musical, its fireworks. It’s all those romcoms I’ve watched ever since I was sixteen. It’s all those forbidden magazines I read in between my blankets so mum would never find out. It’s every poetry I’ve ever written and it’s as magical as anything I have ever imagined. I don’t know how long we last and it doesn’t matter, but when we come to, I can feel all eyes in the restaurant on us. I’m about to start thinking that maybe one of them is a police officer and we’ll go to jail for breaking the rules, but as I hear someone clap behind me and shout “Get him girl” I can’t help but smile and blush deeply.


As Christina raises her voice and my heart soars with her, I cannot help but get lost in the meaning of the words. How often are we lost and how often are we hiding so we don’t have to face what’s true behind the armors we don each day? What are you without the armor? What I’m I? And in this minute, I realize that I don’t have to figure everything out yet, just that I want this man with everything in me and he wants me enough to bare his soul to me. And so I grab the back of his neck again and push my luck a little farther. I guess one night in the cell wouldn’t hurt.

what do people talk about on dates?

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So, you remember all those one-night stands whose names I don’t even remember? Well, I mean not all of them but yes, most of them? Well, I decided to quit on them a while ago and I’ve been doing this self-reflection thing and trying on this glove called self-love and I tell you, it’s a tough one. Not the fitting bit, no, that one is perfect.  But I’m still working on how comfortable I am to walk in it in public. It’s like a perfect bikini. You spot it while walking down the street and you can instantly tell that it’s your size, the shade of pink is perfect for your skin and the price is just right. You twirl around in it and watch yourself in the mirror and even pair it up with heels and it feels really good, but every time you want to wear it to the pool, you feel like it’s too revealing of your curves, your beautiful desirable and totally insane curves. You’re gorgeous in them and you know it, but you somehow haven’t mastered on the confident walk that these bikinis deserve. Instead, you ease your way into them. First, you do the yoga pants that leave completely nothing to imagination, then you do booty shorts and tank top, then you graduate to hiding your bikini in a see through lace and finally, you’ll get rid of the lace too and you can totally rock that bikini pair without a care in the world. That’s kind of how I’m easing into this self-love thingy. And honestly, if you haven’t tried it, you totally should. Oh, and I’m so open to cocktails or coffee dates if you want some pointers on how this flows.

Anyway, talking of dates, I was going to tell you about my first real date after all these escapades of shabby hotel rooms and people’s magnificent bedrooms with perfect lighting. We met almost by accident. I say almost because I had partly planned for this meeting. Not that I knew who I was going to meet but I had made it a requirement for that day that I would definitely end up on a scheduled date by the end of the day. I was trying out new things that had my blood boiling and things that kept me up late at night and most of all, things that made me feel that what I was doing was greater than myself. And this was one of those nights. A journalist friend of mine had mentioned a breakfast meeting at the Hilton hotel whose main agenda was gender equality. That was straight up my lane. It was the kind of event that was not necessarily open to the public, but it wasn’t necessarily closed either, and I didn’t really care what that meant. The only interpretation I needed was that there was a possibility for me to attend without being on the official invite list. And I was also going to dress up. Way to go.

On that morning, I dressed in a black halter dress and paired that up with gold jewelry and golden heels. I was not going to miss this opportunity and I knew the only sure way was dressing up in a way that left no questions as to my invitation. And then I did a whole background check on all the invited organizations, all available information about the organizers and virtually everything else I could find about the event. Then I was good to go. Everything was going perfectly well; I had gained access without a hitch even though I arrived thirty minutes late, I hadn’t missed a table and I even had the chance to enjoy my breakfast without choking on a single bite of bacon or dropping my cutlery or getting mixed up on whether to use the American fork and knife style or the continental one without overthinking it. And the speeches were perfect, and trust me that’s a deal breaker for me because I find speeches to be a real bore, with barely new information and no jokes to keep me afloat. And then he rose up.

His name was Michael and I could instantly tell he was the kind of guy that grabbed the attention of everyone when he walked into a room. He was sharply dressed; navy blue suit, white shirt and red tie. I wanted to see his shoes, but honestly, I was more captivated by his hair. Long dark locks with dyed ends and stylishly bundled in a ponytail. It was a strange combination; at least my mum would have thought so, but I found it unsettling and appealing. To this day, I can recite to you the whole speech that he gave on that day. He was relevant and passionate and I was wholly consumed in his words I barely noticed when I dropped my fork halfway through my breakfast, or when the lady seated next to me tried to hand me napkin. I could have listened to him for ages and when he was done, I clapped even though no one else was doing it, it wasn’t that kind of event, but I didn’t care.

Later, I would be embarrassed. And he teased me about it. After the event was over, I grabbed a glass of juice and took out my notebook just to see if there was something worth noting that could have forgotten. I was so caught up that I forgot my embarrassing moment, or that the second reason I was there was to find someone who was as invested in life changing initiatives as I was. Then I heard someone clearing his throat next to me. I was kind of irritated to be interrupted, because that is the universal sign of, “Do you mind if I have a moment of your time?” and I was already picking an answer from the many options in my head that I usually reserve for an occasion just like this. But when I looked up, everything I had ever formulated stuck in my throat and I swear for a minute there I lost my voice. I think he liked how lost I suddenly seemed, I could see it I his eyes as he stood there smiling. I should have said something, but I just stared until he asked if I was taking notes to make a fan club for him seeing as I had so boldly applauded his ideas. I blushed then, and looked down, but thank God for my dark skin otherwise I would be spotting some red cheeks and whatever other indicators of blushing there are in the world. He sat on the chair next to me and I told him I would consider that idea, as long as I didn’t discover he was a pathological liar who would do and say anything for attention. We hit it off then because unlike other men I had met, he actually understood my sense of humor. It was as though my prayers had been answered in one unexpected way.

It could have been hours or days; it didn’t matter, because the world around us seemed to have vanished. We moved to the lounge when the hotel personnel came to clean the meeting room. We had coffee and then way too soon, it was lunch time. I wish I could remember what we had for lunch, but I was too absorbed in conversation with him that you could have fed me raw tuna and I couldn’t have cared or noticed. And soon, we were having cocktails and laughing at silly jokes. Glasses were refilled, the sun set, and the birds went to sleep. Too soon, it was time to call it a day.

He stood outside my car door and asked me if we could meet again. In that moment, I hesitated. Not because I didn’t want to go out with him again, but because I didn’t remember what it was like to say yes to a second date with a guy. I had perfected the art of sneaking away and disappearing, the art of skimming the surface and never staying long enough to dive into the deep end, and the art of not looking into someone’s eyes with a longing that meant more than just a few hours in the night. I hesitated and I could see him momentarily panic as I looked up at him from the safety of my car. I could drive off and he would have no idea how to reach me, and that would be the end of that. But I really wanted to say yes. I opened my car door again and stood in front of him. I could have given him a kiss, I badly wanted to. But, I also wanted a second date. Instead, I leaned in for a hug that lasted a minute longer than normal hugs. I inhaled his scent, drifting through the night air and closed my eyes listening to my heartbeat and feeling his hands tighten around my waist. Then I pecked him on his cheek. I climbed back into my car and smiling, I told him I’d have been disappointed if he hadn’t asked. And then I drove off.

It is crazy, because in all that time, I hadn’t remembered to ask him for his contact information or him mine. He didn’t know where I lived and neither did I. All I had was his name, but that’s not the problem. I will easily find him, because as good as I was on disappearing, I was also good at finding things or people who didn’t want to be found. My biggest problem at the moment is, when I meet Michael on Thursday for dinner and drinks later, what will we talk about? I mean, what do people talk about on dates? Because, it’s been so long I have forgotten.

one-night-stand-s

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He said no to me. After all the pursuit of years and years and all the fantasies I created in my bed for him. He said no. After I promised I would give him everything that the world would gift to me, my life, my breath and everything in between, he said no. After I told him how much he meant to me and that I could hold my breath when he was around me but could barely breathe when he was gone, he still said no to me. And that crushed me. Remember that time I told you guys about y ex who called me boring? No shit! I was not boring with this Kevin. I was everything magical and un-boring, and even that wasn’t enough. So I made a vow, but first let’s talk about these other guys whose names I will try my best to remember.

First, there was Martin. I swear to God, Martin was the kind of guy you wanted to have babies with. He was hot, with long hair, that inviting chest that screams lie on me and legs that just begged to be dressed in shorts. We met two weeks after Kevin said no, and I had decided that I was done wallowing and it was way past time that I moved on past him. Ted’s mom in ‘How I met your mother’ always said that nothing good ever happens after 2 a.m. and I swear on so many occasions I was inclined to disagree with her because some pretty magical shit has happened after 2 a.m. I hoped this would be one of those magical nights because Martin would help me forget. I watched him from across the bar for more than an hour and surprisingly, there was no girl in sight. He must be gay, I thought, but this little voice inside of me kept pushing me to make a move, never mind that I had been disappointed before by these powerful legs made even taller by the red strap heels I was sporting. After one final short of tequila, a slice of lemon and a sip of cold water, I walked purposefully towards him.

There could have been a fire at the next table or the pregnant woman I had noticed at table number five could have been screaming labor pains but none of that was going to stop me. I was a woman on a mission and my girl and I were going to get it tonight. He spotted me, two tables before I got to him and watched me with somewhat drooping eyes. I could have sworn in that moment that I had never beheld anything as beautiful as that man, seated a few feet from me, glass in hand, legs somewhat outstretched and stray hair stuck on his face. I could tell you what he was wearing, but really what I was more interested in was what lay under. Call me creepy or whatever, but as our eyes met and he wheeled his legs towards me, I could tell his interest was piqued as well. Long story short, we ended up in his apartment in some posh area in Kilimani. It was well organized, clean and meticulously so. And his bed was haven for the night. When morning came and I washed the make- up off my face after I asked if I could use the bathroom, I looked at my eyes and there was something different in them. As the hot water ran down my body and I stood there wondering what clothes I would be wearing after my shower, I could still feel Martin’s hands on me from last night. They didn’t feel like Kevin’s and he didn’t hold me like Kevin, but at least he did hold me for the night. I knew then, that I would not be seeing him again. I knew then that the night had forever changed me, and I knew then that I’d set myself up for a drug last night.

The next week was Deli. I asked him why his mum named him Deli and he said they were hoping to have a girl and name her Delilah. I asked her if they were Christians, because surely no mother would want a daughter who is set on deceit even if it meant they gained the whole world. She said the parents never cared, and anyway, they were Hindu and Delilah had always been a nick-name his grandmother called his mother. I didn’t delve into that. It seemed to me that there was a longer story there than he was willing to share and I knew that I wouldn’t be sticking around long enough to find out from his mother. For him, it was a hotel room. After, he promised he’d call. He was sweet and tender and kind. He fixed me a glass of juice after and asked if I needed a ride home. I said I would be fine, took a shower first and drank my drink later. And when he went to the loo after me, I snuck out of the hotel room, and dressed in my heels outside the door. I didn’t want him to call later, because I knew what I was doing and that did not include good morning texts and goodnight kisses.

                I could have stopped there, because even before I started, I knew that there was no return for the road I was taking. I knew that more than anyone else, I always caught up late in the game after everyone else had scored. And I knew that if I kept on going, I would be leaving later than everyone else. But I did it anyway. Because I wanted to see another face other than Kevin’s and I wanted whiskey smells to mean more than the kisses we had in the middle of the night when we stumbled home from a night out. I wanted mornings with coffee and smiles with strangers and I wanted no-strings-attached. And so I strung along on my ride Martin and Deli and then there was Luca, and then there’d been Rahim and Simon. And if I’m being completely honest, the list of names I could not remember far outweighed the list I could.

And then came the night at the beach. I could have sworn it was the crabs that I was afraid off as they scurried away from us and the little cocoon we had created for ourselves. And anyway, that is what I told Jamie. But I knew better. We had met that evening at an event that had been postponed to the coast. As a rule, I would never miss an event I had paid for and especially not one that I was bound to enjoy. On the dance floor I watched people dance and I so much wanted to let go and just feel my body free like them. But I knew I had two left feet and that was not going to be me. So, with drink in one hand and clutch in the other, I swayed for a little while as I let the music swirl around me. Later on, I decided to walk on the beach, still drink in hand, clutch in the other and heels on my shoes. I have to admit, it was a pretty pathetic attempt. Stumbling back, I sat at the bar once again and something melancholic came over me. I couldn’t have seen him coming, because to be honest, I was so lost in my thoughts and my drink was about to slip from my fingers when he cleared his throat. He asked if he could sit beside me and I absent-mindedly nodded. I don’t know how long we sat like that, his eyes on me and my eyes on something in some distant place where nothing existed. And then he said, “You have to try the Mango Margarita.’ We had had cocktails and watched the sun set with mesmerizing ease. I said little and he talked a lot. He was animated and he pulled me to the dance floor, daring me to say no because he knew all I wanted to do was dance as if nothing mattered because he’d watched me all evening. By the time the night was coming to a close, we didn’t want to leave. So instead, we walked to the beach, and lay on the wet sand.

I counted the stars, as he kissed my lips. I clutched the sand as he unstrapped my bra. I listened to the waves as he moaned my name. And suddenly all I could see were the faces of the string I had created and the ceilings I had stared on to. All I could feel were the hands that had grazed my skin as I clawed on their backs. All I could hear were our moans all mixed up to form a sound so incredibly high I couldn’t find the delight in the sounds anymore. I clutched at his shirt then and pushed him away. And I ran. I ran towards the waters and I don’t remember what I thought because I couldn’t swim. From far off in the distance, I could hear Jamie asking me to come back but I could not differentiate between what was real and what wasn’t. I must have stopped at some point or maybe, he came for me and dragged me out of the water, I don’t remember. When my heart began to beat normally again, all I could think about was how hollow I had become. He was holding me in his arms and I knew that really what I had been looking for was this kind of warmth. Warmth I had locked away as I closed myself out from the light I so desperately needed. Warmth I had locked myself out from when I refused to love myself enough to have let him go. I could have held on for longer, but I let him go. I looked hard into his eyes and smiled gratefully at him. I kissed his lips, clutched my heels in one hand and my clutch in the other. He watched, silent and unsure as if I was going to run off again. I cast one last glance at him and said thank you. As I walked away from his beautiful face, I thought to myself,

“It is finally time.”

He’s my Husband!

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I always knew I would never date a married man, at least not knowingly; it was a rule of mine. A rule I made way before I even understood what marriage is or what sleeping with someone is, and yes, there was such a time. I don’t think I cared much for the man and what he did or didn’t want. I know I cared for my conscience and trust me I have nothing against those who sleep or date married people, or people in committed non-open relationships. And now that I mentioned open relationships, I think life would be so much easier for cheating spouses if they just sat down and decided to be in committed open relationships, especially in this age and era where the only associations we make with relationships are ‘mtaachana tu’ or some other negative remark like ‘hoe sis, he’s also hoeing out there’. Like what happened to believing in happily ever after and celebrating our twenty-fifth anniversary? What happened to that idea of relationships or are we so hell-bent on pretending to not care that we end up convincing ourselves that we shouldn’t care at all, even if that’s the only thing we want to do? What happened to the idea of happy, genuine relationships or has Instagram pushed us to the idea of pretending to be happy that that has become a lifestyle and we are no longer concerned with the depth of happiness and joy and genuine laughter? Have we all become such good actors that it doesn’t matter anymore?


Anyway, let’s get back to me and my married men. I’d gone to buy supplies for dinner in town. I really wanted to make some rice and peas stew, and yes, that’s a thing. Wait, you already knew that. Okay. I also wanted a bottle of wine, badly. So, I have a place close to my house that I like getting my alcohol from. So I decided to grab the things I needed for dinner then get my bottle of wine, go back home, pour a glass, switch off all the lights and light candles all over the house. I was going to be alone anyway, so I would talk to the shadows in the dark and be like, “Honey, dinner will be ready in half an hour. Would you mind pouring me another glass and for God’s sake change the music?” And then I’d sneak on myself with a knife in my hand and scream because I’d think it’s a ghost. There’s such a story somewhere, I’m sure of it. I was coming up with all these things in my head as I walked into town and the flow was really good I actually had myself believing they were real, but after grabbing my things for dinner, I was standing at the road wondering if I should cross back and go home or go to one of those night clubs and just grab a drink without the ghost stories and the honey pretence. I chose the club, just for sanity.


When I got to the club, the place was full to the brim, the tables were all taken and the crowding got me thinking of COVID-19 flu catching every one of us in there, but like the responsible twenty-something year old that I am, I decided to go right head and sit on one of the already occupied tables. Table number one was reserved with a guy nursing a bottle of beer and I assumed he was waiting for his girl to get there; I wouldn’t want to interrupt that now, would I? Table number two had another guy sitting by himself without a drink so I thought I’d ask him too. It was reserved and I almost cussed my way out of the club and went home to honey anyway. Then he said I could sit till his cousin got there. I was elated, I mean, I was only going to grab one drink and I was sure by the time she arrived, I would have been done. I’m a Cider girl, he was a Tusker guy. When the waitress brought his beers I asked for one of mine. I’m not sure how she knew one would not be enough and she ended up bringing two. It would have been rude to refuse the drink offered by such a beautiful and overworked girl. He paid, though, and I saw the trick. He wouldn’t have to ask for my number, because I would send him M-pesa anyway. Cool. We talked, and laughed and bonded. He was from some place on the coast, and he had heard stories about Nairobi girls, so naturally, he was scared. I assumed he’d heard that Nairobi girls drug you and then steal all your money, or some other shit like they seduce you into their beds knowing that you’re married and then blackmail you into giving them money or they will tell your wife and you remember we don’t do open relationships yet, you know? I laughed, but I could tell he was serious. There was something else though. If that’s how he felt, why invite me to sit at the table and keep the conversation going?


Anyway, his cousin showed up at last, with a group of girlfriends and men, it was like we had known each other forever. We were dancing and singing at the top of our lungs and sharing jokes and drunken moments, taking pictures on Snapchat and inviting each other to some weekend getaway. Bottom-line, it was all fun and jokes.

He called me, later in the night. I don’t think he is the faithful kind. I think he’s the ‘committed but if I see something I like, I’ll hit it’ kind of guy. But anyway, I am single, what do I know of relationships. I might have said some things I don’t remember, but I do remember telling him that I don’t do married guys and asking him why he’s married but sleeping around. He must have answered me, and the answer might have made sense, but I don’t remember. It was a long conversation and I only hope I didn’t reveal about that time I went to my then neighbour’s pool naked in the middle of the night only to be caught by the guard who didn’t know whether to tell his boss or get me something to cover up. Kids, you don’t want to drink too many shots after a heartbreak from a guy who told you you’re no fun, you don’t take risks and your life is basically one big bore. Because then, you want to prove to yourself that you can take risks, so you end up in your neighbour’s pool, with a blaring flashlight in your eyes and you’re not sure whether to cover your titties or your eyes.


Fast-forward to the next evening. He asked me if I would be up for a karaoke night. I had never done anything like that before. I can only sing so long in the shower before I tell myself to shut up. But who is me, I told him I’d call back with an answer. I knew I would go before I even choose what outfit to wear. He said he was with friends, and so that worked even better for me. Just song and dance and a good time, then we’d all haul our asses into cabs with different destinations before the stupid curfew caught up with us. I got there just in time and he introduced me to his friends. They’re all out of my age group, I could instantly tell that. I’m not good with age or all these other things that people guess like tribes and where you were born or what you do for a living, and the shape of your toes is just by looking at your face, and I could certainly not say what age group they were in. I could only tell that it wasn’t my age group. Drinks flowed and conversations and karaoke. They were fun, they had amazing voices and I could tell they are the kind of crowd I feel comfortable with because we can talk arts and I get to ask questions and then listen. I was having a good time, complementing their skills and all that without having to say what I did, because what do you say? That I’m a student who’s still confused what she wants to do, but I’m currently volunteering, writing, blogging and stalking people on social media to see who would be helpful if I chose to get into that kind of field? So yes, I will ask the questions and shift the limelight to them.


It was working well until I asked this guy what he did for a living. And the only other lady at the table answers that he is her husband. I obviously didn’t know that. But I was honestly more interested in what he did for a living, so I reframed the question. And of course, she answered for him again, that he was her husband full-time. So I asked her what she did for a living and she said she was his wife, full time. I knew what she did for a living, I’d already asked my friend and I was impressed because it had something to do with kids and some amazing artwork and talent nurturing, I mean, who wouldn’t be? She laughed it off and said she was drunk.


Then it hit me. She was marking her boundaries; that I wasn’t to cross the line. He is her husband, full-time and I wasn’t allowed on that side of the line. I wasn’t to ask him what he did for a living because that could translate into an interest of mine and I would go out with him like I was with their friend. I wasn’t to ‘flirt’ with her husband, because at that point, any conversation we had could be interpreted to mean completely different things. I think she thought I’m a husband snatcher and I couldn’t blame her. After all, I was here with a married man, whose wife or kids I didn’t even know and who seemed interested in something other than sharing a drink and just talking like two adults without necessarily bringing the topic of spending a night in some hotel room together, clinking things other than drinks together. I got the hint soon enough, and I laughed internally. I laughed at how so-not-funny the whole situation was. I wasn’t interested in her husband or the other husband on my right either. At least not the kind of interest that ended up with clothes strewn on the floor and sheets tangled around our bodies. I was interested in who they were as human beings, what they did, what made them laugh and what were the most embarrassing moments of their childhood. I was interested in knowing who they are because I am an intimate kind of person and I can only hold basic small talk conversations for so long.


But well, he’s my husband!

That put me in my place, and off to the washroom I went.