The Irony of Life (8) 😔😔

THE IRONY OF LIFE (8)😔😔

Duration: 4mins

When I walked into the house, Jamani was seated on a couch all by himself away from other housemates—some playing cards, monopoly, others chatting, and a few others  glued to the television screen watching American football.

“Hi Jamani,” I said as I took the space by his side. “I left Monica a while ago. You needed to see her face when I handed her the $25. If she had seen a ghost, she wouldn't look any scarier. Hey man, what did you do to Monica?”

“Shiii, keep it down,” whispered Jamani. “She shouldn’t know I did it, but supposedly an unknown Godfather or gang leader. I will give you the low-down gist at the factory tomorrow.”

That felt like an eternity. I couldn’t wait.

During break at the factory on Sunday night, Jamani pulled me to a corner. I wondered how he came about the Samsung Galaxy S in his hand.

“Watch this, ” he said and clicked on the play button on the phone's screen.

“Jeez!”

“Hey Homie, why are you acting like a Jew boy? It’s just a man and a woman having sex. Look closely.”

This my kenyan friend will someday be my undoing. What have I to do with pornography?

I did as I was told and it turned out to be Monica in a fast-paced intercourse with a young man. His face looked familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I had met him. I was about asking Jamani when it struck me.

“Is this not Siya…,”

“Siyabonga.”

“Yeah.”

“That south African dude whom butter can't melt in his mouth.”

“My-oh-my,” I expressed in surprise. “But Jamani, how did you come about this?”

“How much will you pay to learn from the master?” he bragged and began unraveling the mystery. “Remember some nights back when we arrived here and I suddenly began shivering and throwing up Thaddy had to get the company’s bus to return me home?”

“Yes.”

“On getting to the house, I walked over to Monica’s room to see if she would have some relieve medication. I was about knocking on her door when I heard her moaning wildly. I concluded it must be Steve in there with her. After all she’s his woman. Few minutes later, in a corner where I coiled by that second window frame,”

“the one directly opposite the exit?”

“Yeah.”

“I was surprised when the supposed Steve came into view and turned out to be Siyabonga. He left the house in a hurry he wasn’t aware of my presence. I concluded that must be the reason why Siyabonga always arrive at the factory long after the rest of us have settled in.”

“Interesting. I knew some hanky-panky must be happening in that house. I can’t take such past you, with Azizah always doting on you.”

“Azizah? That baldheaded skinny girl? ”said Jamani with disgust.  “I'm surprised you don’t already know my spec.  I’ve gat my eyes on that big booty Half Tanzanian-half Portuguese Chic. She runs me crazy with the way she twist that thing around the house.”

“Vivian?”

“Yeah man.”

“Jamani, I have seen Steve come take her out on occasion. I hope you don’t bite more than you can chew?”

“Nah. This man is always ahead of the game. Don’t worry, I will keep letting you in on my escapades.”

“If you say so. I just wouldn’t want to have a castrated Jamani, I've got no extra balls to spare.”

We bursted into laughter.

“What about Fatima? That girl really likes you. I perceive she’s a good girl.”

“That's the problem. I don’t like them good. Fatima is that kind of girl that will drag you to the altar, supply the rings, and all you'll just have to do is say ‘I do'.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“At thirty? I've still got many years ahead to catch some fun and throw my hook around. Maybe at forty, I could consider being pinned down by love or marriage. Speaking of which, it was Fatima who helped me with this phone and a recorder.”

“I was going to ask how you got them.”

“But there was no way I could have slipped the recorder in and out of Monica's bedroom without Azizah's help.”

There was a moment’s pause of staring at each other. Jamani could tell what I was thinking.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got that girl wrapped around my little finger she wouldn't tell on us.”

“Are you sure?”

“Trust me.”

It’s been over a week since Jamani borrowed Fatima's gadgets. Returning them as agreed was already long overdue. He would have stretched it till weekend, but that would be taking the girl's kind gesture for granted. I was over the moon when he asked me to accompany him to Mame African Cuisine on Wednesday. Since the last time, I haven’t again set my eyes on Cecilia. Nevertheless she had been everywhere around me: in my dreams, in my thoughts, in every beautiful girl that passed by I could sketch her with my eyes closed if I were Picasso. It was high time I made the move. I could chase and get a ‘get-thee-behind-me-demon’. It’s the way of girls. They often end up in the arms of a persistent demon in the long run.

Whatever, I needed to air my mind before I went crazy.

When we got to the restaurant by 3 p.m. that day, neither Fatima nor her mother was in. But there was sexy Cece, here and there and everywhere like the other time as she attended to patrons.  

Jamani knew Fatima’s movement he could bet a fortune she would show up in the next 30mins to an hour. We decided to wait. While we did, I offered to buy us lunch. Mere watching Cecilia as she did her duties was thrilling. I was waiting for an opening, for her to take a break. If none was forthcoming, I would be forced to walk up to her and ask for a minute of her time. I wasn't going to leave until I had gotten the burden off my chest. Even if I wouldn’t get an outright 'Yes', a green light would do for now. 

Mame African Cuisine had lived up to expectations with her tasty salad and fish. I had almost emptied half of the meal Jamani was yet to take a morsel from his  semolina and egusi. As he washed his hands at one of the lined up basins by the entrance, I lifted my head, lo and behold, it was Cecilia, walking towards me, looking pointedly at me, all smiling. At first it felt like a trance, or a hallucination. I blinked and realized it was for real. It could be the opportunity I have been waiting for. I sat up as she came closer.

_What does she want to say?_

I was still wondering when she walked past me to the patron at the table behind, a fiftyish black woman who noticed her allergy; cray fish in the soup she was served. As Cecilia was returning the plate for another, Jamani was coming over for his food. 

In a spontaneous glance over his shoulder to a patron who hailed from behind and facing his front, 

“Watch it,” Cecilia cried out but too late.

It was soup bath on Jamani. The red, oily soup soaked deep from his chest, trickling down. He was lucky it stopped few inches to seeping in below his belt. 

“I am sorry,” Cecilia said over and over again, almost crying.

Jamani stood dazed and speechless. Together they walked to the front and off to a corner that led to a dressing robe. 

A while later, Fatima walked in, went straight into the open space Jamani and Cecilia entered earlier.

Cecilia took Jamani's long sleeve which had been badly soiled to the laundry to be washed and spin-dried. His inner white T-shirt had not been spared either. While he sat on the edge of a bed in the small room, Cecilia offered to get it washed as well.

“You will have it back in the next 15 minutes,” she urged.

Towering over Jamani as she helped him to get out of the shirt, Fatima emerged by the entrance.

“Jam!” “No, ” she said, shook her head and left hurriedly.

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To be continued same time, next week. Hope you enjoyed the read? Please leave a comment. Thank you.🙏🏻