You know how sometimes you have to make a mistake twice for you to know for sure ? Well, Kevo probably broke the record for the worst date in history the first time then outdid himself the second time. You will probably need to sit down for this one.
The first time Kevo and I went out, I ended up paying for his meal and three of his friends who wouldn’t know what manners was even if it hit them on the head. There’s something about a Meru bad boy. The ones like Donald Trump who just say whatever idiotic thing is on their minds except with no money and cannot construct a sentence to save his life. That seems to be my new type because when he asked me out again last weekend, I said yes.
I was bored on a Saturday afternoon … desperately in need of company and a mojito. He caught me at a week moment so I begrudgingly said yes and he offered to even come pick me up from my doorstep. You see ladies, kamuti works. You can change him. The glamification began. The girl inna di tight up skirt was about to kill this man – oh ! Her cheeks were rosy red so she can look like a blushing infant. Her non-existent cheekbones had been contoured to look hungry like the models on TV. Her bra was fitted with underwire like the metal they use for railways so her cleavage can be seen from out of space. Basically, she was the living breathing depiction of ‘goals’. Kevo might be the one, I wasn’t going to take any chances. Mbaiten’t I ? He hooted, I stepped into the car then my prince whisked me to a magical land. I wish.
When we sat down at the fast food restaurant (yes, he took me to a fast food joint. And not even the nice ones. The kind where you are not sure what will kill you… the germs or the man in the black hoodie staring at a corner. But I was glad he was trying so I held my tongue… and my purse.) and the food was presented before us,I couldn’t believe my eyes. First of all, the food was wrapped in the obituary section of the newspaper. Probably faces of people who had eaten here before me. I got 3 heart attacks and arteriosclerosis just by looking at the amount of grease on the chicken. If that was not enough, the fries had black spots on them that made it look like they had been rolled in black cotton soil before cooked it. The ‘fresh’ juice tasted like what I imagine diabetes tastes like and had an aftertaste! This is how I am going to die, I thought to myself. As I was still lost in thought, I felt a poke on my lips. It was Kevo attempting to find romance – in the cocktail of loud Kamba music playing in the background, salmonella on my plate and me holding on to dear life as the floor had a gigantic pothole where my stool stood – by feeding me with a toothpick and stabbing me in the process. Holy sweet mother of Malia and Sasha ! I could feel all the diseases from the right side of the hospital brochure attacking me. Tetanus from Kevo’s crime of passion, pneumonia from the breeze blowing in from where I assume a window used to be during colonial times, high blood pressure from the anxiety of having my bag snatched and a stroke from looking at the amount of calories in the food. But Kevo was humming. He was in his element. Beaming with pride that he had sponsored such a fine lady in such a fine dining experience. I politely declined and told him that I wasn’t hungry just to see if he would get what I was getting at. Shockingly, he took my plate… poured all my food into his orbituary and continued taking mouthfuls of the fries while still talking to me – spraying it all over my petrified face.
I could tell he was starting to get full so I began hinting at leaving but he informed me that a friend was going to join us. Not again. The ‘restaurant’ was so hot and stuffy at this point… people spoke loudly while others danced to the music as they waited in line to be served by the heavily pregnant clerk who I could have sworn was going give birth every time she sneezed. The worst part is, Kevo kept introducing me has his “ndarling” every time someone came over to say hi. The nightmare of it all.
Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, Kevo’s friend walked in. My ndarling had told me that his name is Adam but he forgot to mention that he was THE FIRST Adam. The man was so old and wrinkled, his skin so leathery and full of dents where I assume bones used to exist.. I could have sworn I had seen his face on that obituary that was on our table a few minutes ago. He walked, sorry, drifted towards us trying not to knock people out with his massive potbelly but failing terribly. I think one baby even disappeared under it. Kevo introduced us, intentionally avoiding my pet name like we hadn’t just announced our union to the 6 billion people in the tiny room moments ago. Who does he think is ? Does he not remember that I am his ndarling ? Men. SMH.
“Huyu ndio nilikua nakuambia” ( this is the one I was telling you about ) Kevo said to him.
Although the statement confused me at first, I was just glad that we were back together and he was acknowledging me again. Father-Time kept quiet for a hot minute. I am not entirely sure what the signs of a heart attack are so the silence was uncomfortable for me. Then he started inspecting me like a cow at the Agricultural show and shook Kevo’s hand gleefully. If he had teeth, they would be on full display.
“Sawa. Nikarembo ! Ntakachukua. Baba yangu atfurahi sana !” ( Okay. She is so beautiful ! I will take her. My father will be so proud !)
Three things: 1. Thank you for using ‘-ka’ meaning I am tiny. Told you guys. 2. I almost fainted at the fact that his father was still alive ! This man was comfortably in his hundreds. 3. It just hit me that Kevo had arranged marriaged me !
The car, the money he had used to buy me food poisoning and the pictures he kept asking me for were all from and for this man ! God’s college roommate with 50 shades of grey hair stretched out his hands to hug me and I sprinted out of there streaming like a mad woman. How can my ndarling do this to me after I gave him my fries and chicken?? I went home that day hungry and almost married to a man who probably participated in the first, second, cold, independence wars because of this Meru man that wooed me with his iPhone 6s, who later that day called me and said I have to refund him for the food and premium unleaded petrol he had used on me. Apparently, the man did not pay him because his child pride – me coz I am practically 10 compared to him- had disappeared.
Honestly, I am starting to think that Kevo might not be the one.
Until next time… 🙂