Church Girl Part 3

It was Thursday, and she hadn't  said a word. The last time they talked was Tuesday. He was anxious, not sure if the date was still on, but didn't want to seem desperate. He started typing…. “Are we still on Kesho?’ Then deleted. Then typed, “Hi, I wanted to check if we are still on tomorrow.” Heck! Who was he kidding. He wanted to see her. In fact, he couldn’t wait for Friday. So this time he texted, “Hi, I hope you are well, I wanted to confirm that I am still coming to see you tomorrow. Looking forward” 

She was impressed, she loves it when men are straight forward. She replied within minutes and said, “All right buddy, see you tomorrow.” That stung. It was barely a week and he had been friend-zoned. He was tempted to text back, “see you sister.” But he knows when to be sarcastic.  He just said, “All right, see you kesho.”

In the messages thread, she had picked up that though corky, he was insecure and unsure of himself. When he lost control, he lost himself. By playing mind games all week, she had been pushing him unfamiliar territories. He was now vulnerable. He hated it. Mostly, he had women feeding from his plate, but this one is feeding on him. Balancing between making him insecure yet still stroking his ego.

Friday morning his anxiety was at its peak. She had never been to a church girl’s house. And rarely visited women’s house. He invited them over. That way he could be in charge. Like a croc in the water.

He has dated all manner of women. Bad girls. Wannabe bad girls. Rich kids. Name them. But not a church girl. Church girls were sacred to him. Though he has no fear in the world, he feared God’s wrath. With other girls, he knew what to expect, but this time he was clueless. Like a fish in a boat. It can smell water from a distance, but it is in a strange territory. Confused. At the mercy of this girl. Now he is thinking they should have gone for dinner at his favourite joint. That way he would have some level of control.

In the evening, he got there at 6:45. He is always missing his appointments. But he was not going to miss this one. Another thing that he doesn’t miss are flights.

All week, he toyed with what to buy her-men, when invited over by a lady, do not show up empty handed. He wanted a cheap yet elegant gift. A Lamborghini on a vitz budget. He wanted to make an impression. He settled for some African mural. The few times he had seen her, she had accessorized with something African stuff. He figured she would like it. If he was wrong at least he’d have tried.

At the gate, the guard asked him, ‘Boss, unaenda wapi na umebeba nini?’ He said, house no D4. Ignoring the second question, it was none of his business whatever he was carrying. The guard figured. But he added, ‘na madam ako na mgeni.” His heart sunk. Did she invite her sister in Christ? Or was it her brother just to ensure she’s safe? He felt cheated. But it turned out it was the cleaning lady who came over every Friday. They met at the corridor. He knew it was her because she told him.

The place was fancier than she had anticipated. It is a was not the typical uptown apartment, but old one with a very modern feel. The architect must have been a futuristic. A time traveler. Built in the early nineties. Huge windows with no securing metal bars, wide balconies and wood blocks floors with veneer finish.

The long driveway was paved with cabro, well-manicured lawns dotted either side of the drive way towered by beautiful palm trees which hinted the age of the apartments.

The parking slots were marked with house numbers. He noticed hers is empty. Where he lives, the parking slots are shared not dedicated. It is a first come first parks basis. But his bike has a special place, near the stairs, next to the meter board. Today he decided not to ride. He wanted to be fresh, nothing to ruin what might be a first of many because he sweats profusely.

At the door step, he cleared his throat, straightened his jeans and rang the doorbell once. He doesn’t like doorbells, because they have a way of telling your character to the host. If you press the bell so gently that it barely rings, that might be interpreted as timidity. If you press it too hard, then you are judged as aggressive. Door bells set the mood. Just like handshakes do.

When she opened the door, two things hit him, how different she looked without church clothes and the sweet aroma coming from the kitchen. He extended a hand, she refused, and asked him, ‘where are we? vestry?’ and gave him a log tight hug which he wished he could take longer. She was dressed in this short demin skirt, a tight V-neck black top. He expected to find her in sweat pants and a hoodie.

She had gone against her norm; she never had men over at her house except her brother. But now, she was trying to break away from the norm. Away from the thoughts that have limited her for so long. Thoughts that a woman worth her substance should not have a man come over to visit her house. Thoughts that having men over is a bad omen. Growing without a father had given her an insecurity about men. She did not know how to treat men or what to expect from them. All men who tried to get closer to her, she’d push them away with her expectations. She had decided to confront her fears and this was her biggest one yet.

He was ushered in, ‘after you, sir!” After she locked the door and before he could sit, he handed her the gift. She teased him, ‘did you bring me your heart in this?’

He said, “maybe, or it will win your heart.”

‘Can I open it?’ She asked.

He said ‘yes!’

He stepped back a bit so that he can have a better glimpse of her reaction when she opens it. As she struggled to open it, his eyes were taking in the house. Her sitting room was bigger than his and the kitchen combined. It had many empty pockets of space filled with different types of plants. Her house only has one grey couch that is foldable into a bed. A reading chair. A rustic TV stand, a 26-inch smart TV which she barely turns on, and a small Sony music bar that hummed in the background with Hugh Masekela’s Jazz. Her house personified her. It gives you a taste of who she is. She rarely wears any jewelry. She only wears a sliver wrist watch with very thin black straps. She is a minimalist.

When she opened it, she screamed, “oh-my-God-I-have-been-meaning-to-get-this.’ It is was a black and white mural of a Maasai woman carrying a jerry can on her head, a baby on her back and a bowl of kitchen supplies.” She always wanted to get that painting because it embodied who her mother was. She singlehandedly brought up seven children when their father died. And she always wanted something that always remind her of her mother. She didn’t want to have a photo her in her house. Having her where she can see her everyday would be too overwhelming for her. She preferred to her memories in her heart or something that was poetic to define her. Every time she saw something that reminded her of her late mum she would break down. One time she went to hospital to visit a friend’s mum; she was dressed in a similar sweater as her late mum’s favorite. She broke down in hospital you would think it was her mother who was ailing.

She hung the painting on the wall directly opposite her favourite seat, her sanctuary. And as she was doing this, he was admiring her. His eyes fixed on her ass and her flawless legs. It was the first time he saw that she had curves. She was always dressed in those long flowing dresses. She was a moderate dresser, but clearly this was her territory, her house her rules. She turned and caught him smiling. She winked. She knew what he had been doing.

Now with a bigger grin, he asked, ‘You, love it?’ 

She said, ‘yeeeeeees, how did you know I would love this?’

“Because I think you’re an African kinda girl. You seem to love your roots. And I noticed you accessorize with African stuff.”

He was right. She loved African print. African music. And now she was on a quest to read African literature. She hugged him a big thank you hug. This time with both hands round his neck. He wished he could freeze this moment. He could do it forever. It lingered for longer as the two took in the moment. When they let go, he held her waist, it was well defined, smooth to a fault with the right amount of flesh. He held her a bit tighter for a first date. She liked it. He could tell with the big smile.

When then let go, she run into the kitchen, she had left something in the oven.

Image source: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/364721269792409556/