The Night That Was: Part One

“…….may lead to forfeiture of damages.” I enter the space key.

I see my phone ringing. No haste, no haze to pick it up. I look around, still, as though some burden is piling lots of weight on me.  My thoughts wander afar and wide. I peer into the dark, unperturbed, and relentlessly quashing a languor of love thoughts. A dozen thoughts flash past my arcane mind.

I start to think what possibly could be an impetus behind the ardous call? An emergency? Oh, no. The hour is ungodly and the cold could nip at your nose – stepping out is not a good call. Danger often lurks in the dark.

But Tess, a damsel I have known for the past few weeks can’t call just for the sake of it.  I am yet to unravel this impetiginous motivation.

I am yet to finish hyping my keyboard. I need it for my sustenance.

Before, I key in a few more words, my phone lights again.  I slide it open as imperceptibly as possible. And with such emphatic fashion. My adrenalin is on the loose, perhaps. I need to find out the contents of the message.

It is a blank message. No coma. How do you send blank message? Never mind, I need to fix my subtle projects. Then another tumbles down the network.

“Kindly pick my call.”

“Okay.” I reply.

The next thing is my phone ringing. What would Magufuli do? I pick it up.

“Hi Tess”. I say whilst clearing my nimble throat.

“Hi, howdy?” She inquires. “Been calling you all night and you just won’t pick up. Sawa tu.”

The last statement startles and fragments my objectivity. An appeal to emotion. But an appeal.

“You see, there’s something I am tryna do so all my thoughts have been fixated on everything but the phone.”

I just lied, I Know, right. But the human mouth is lame and wired to lie. A consolation.

“Okay.”

It sounds like a tentative ‘okay’. That which is measured like a medic’s apothecary cans. I know something is up her sleeve.

“I need you to do me a favor. One small favor.”

“Go on, I’ll be happy to help.” Not sure whether I just made a commitment or not. Anyway, it could be my right of reply.

“You don’t have to say no.” The finality in her intonation attracts my curiosity.

“But…..’’

“No buts, tonight you will have to keep me company. And thanks for saying yes.”

The things I do for this country are worthy of a mention, at least. I have always been a good listener. Maybe my cognition skills are more robust than I thought. Somebody once suggested I am emotionally intelligent. Not sure everybody I have bumped into would share this sentiment.

“So, are you coming right away?”

It is a half past midnight. The Ramadan moon is casting its beauty over the metropolis.

“Give me thirty minutes.”

“No more, no less.”

I feel like I have been thrown out of the comfort of Noah’s ark into the flood gates of medieval times. I imagine the comfort of my bed. The tranquility of the mind. Or, the embrace of the duvet I had washed the previous morning.

I upload my projects into the cloud. I roll into my boots and grabbing my jacket, I lock up the place. Outside, signs of humanity are almost inconceivable except for the roaring of engines from afar.

“Meet me at the Red Office. Grab you a taxi or a nduthi – whatever means that will get you here.” A text message rams into my inbox.

I know it is going to be a long night.

In a few minutes, I manage to procure the services of a lone bodaboda rider.

“Vindu vichenjanga”. I say, grinning, from side to side like a conniving rascal.

He fidgets. Probably, he did not get a word I said. It is immaterial anyway, cause, whatever the phrase means, I ain’t a clue.

We ride in silence. Destination Red Office. Constantly, we bump into a pothole or two, the one he cannot possibly discern. A sad state of affairs for a county with immense repute like Nairobi.

Immediately I alight, I pay the rider and inform her that I have arrived and that I am waiting at the entrance. Mean looking bouncers with biceps stretching far and wide look at me. Or, maybe at best, they imagine I am out of place. An outlier.

I look around. I am at the heart of sizzling music, flashing neon lights and brazen revelers. Twilight girls are trying to sell their wares. A typical Nairobi night life.

We climb the stairs and settle on a table. She motions a waitress to come over.

“Whatchu doin'? All drinks on me, just sit back and relax.”

My reasonable conjecture is that she has had a little too much. She orders her liquor.

I order a soda.

Something is ominously wrong. I have known her to be judicial, if not her frugality.  Here, she is lost in the frenzy of deafening urban music.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, I came to unwind. It has been a difficult week for me.”

Suddenly, I feel the compassion and the empathy well my heart. Hopefully, what she is about to tell me is not heart-wrenching.

“Anything the matter?” I extend an olive branch.

“You see.., where do I start from?”

I know how it feels for someone to confide in me. It is a feel of grit, responsibility and trust all rolled into one. I know there’s a drop of greatness in every man.

To be continued……………