He looks disappointed, he probably thinks only bad people are born in Nairobi. I assure him only the politicians are bad. He waves me in smiling. He thinks I am funny. If I were a lady, I'd probably get a, "naweza kununulia soda baadaye madam?" Instead, I bear the burdens of masculinity. Making brothers laugh and getting a nod, only.
With that, the conversation turns to fatherhood. What fatherhood means for each of us. How our fathers color who we are as men, husbands and human beings. They asked me to swear not to write about it. Of course I refused. It's like asking a Nairobi man not to hit on his girlfriend's busty friend. It is impossible.
A love story, gone horribly wrong. A corpse, an older lover and the threat of jail.
You come over to the kitchen, wrap your hands around me. You kiss my neck, and I giggle and blush like I am not a 43 year old woman. You whisper into my ear something nice. I push you away playfully.
He opened my door, winked, then walked steadily to his car. As the door closed on his back, it took everything not to shout and tell him I loved him.
You asked me a year ago why I loved you. I blushed. Then I said something about not having the words for it. Imagine that. A writer lacking the words to explain an emotion. I've thought about it long and hard. Of you, of me, of us. So here's your answer; a year later....this is why I love you.
We did it just like on TV. That first kiss was more teeth than lips but we managed. It really was a Physics problem. And once you understood how to use both your noses as fulcrums, you could settle in for a long and mostly enjoyable kiss. The only problem were my hands. They kept reaching out to her blouse.