Whenever you log on Facebook you see lots of inspirational posts. Self-proclaimed millionaires who post endless selfies dining at fancy restaurants or flying first class and a supposedly motivational quote. Religious fellas who post about every new shiny gadget they acquire plus a scripture claiming to be giving testimony about the goodness of their lord. And altruistic people who genuinely want to uplift and empower lives.
I have lost count of the times I have tapped the steering wheel. My phone buzzes. For a second I weigh whether to pick it or not. What the heck, I can’t think straight when it comes to her.
“Kevin, where are you? I really need to get out of here,” goes Adele’s frail voice.
“I’ll be there in a few. Just hold on.”
“Okay. Hurry up.”
The words Ali Pita was here may not be visible. However, they are engraved on your body from your toe to brim. They do not know that I was the first fella to do a practicum here or that my stay was prolonged. Would you tell them? Would you tell them that they will never hit the bottom reed like I did?
Your new home smells of opulence miles away. I can feel rich man’s affluence flow deep in my blood as the guard opens the massive gate.
The sound of waves breaking on the beach, the rustling of palm leaves and crickets merge harmoniously into some sort of wild symphony. She is standing next to you, leaning on the wooden balcony railing. A light on the neighbor’s porch gives the complete contour of her body in silhouette.
The bedside clock reads 12:23 AM. You are at her place. Stark naked. Allowing the salty sea breeze to cool off your body after a steamy session.
I am sitting on the edge of a balcony with both feet dangling out into the darkness. Eyes fixated on the smartphone screen. Waiting for a text that will determine whether I will jump to the asphalt pavement six floors below or crawl back to bed next to the sleeping beauty. Restless. My stomach is churning. The artery on my right temple is throbbing furiously. None of the Yoga relaxation tactics I have tried are working.
I had just dropped off some young lady at her apartment when the request came through. An unwanted request. I intended to drive straight home after dropping this particular client.
Let’s get over with the introductions. My name is Daniel and I am an Uber driver based in Nairobi. I was hoping to go home at around 11 pm because my wife doesn’t like it when I go home past midnight.
Three days ago, I was standing on the edge of a cliff next to a waterfall. Moments before a lady and two guys in the expedition group jumped off the cliff without the slightest hesitation. It was now my turn to make the jump. A crowd of more than 50 hikers was watching from the sides in anticipation. Uneasy, silence followed. Every single flash of the camera pushed my racing heart a notch higher.
Reality hits you really hard when you turn 25. You realize that you have lived for a freaking quarter century yet have nothing to show for it. Quarter-life crisis strikes. Younger siblings look up to you, parents expect you to take on more responsibilities, hell even kids start referring to you as yule mbaba, thanks to your bulging waistline.
Her overpowering fragrance has a hypnotic effect on you. She rests her head on your shoulder as her long polished nails make patterns on your thigh heightening the sexual tension. The heat emanating from her body, melodious voice and the sight of her long sexy legs scramble your thinking. The chemistry between you two is palpable. Disapproving looks from fellow passengers have utterly no effect on you. She sits up.
“Have you made up your mind about tonight?” She asks.
You try calling a couple of people on your phonebook. Nobody picks up. They have all seen the news. You are no longer in a position of power and influence hence they don’t see the need of hanging around you anymore. Reality hits you, you are all alone just like you started only that you are now old, unemployed and neck-deep in debt.