Her hair was as black as coal.  On her ears were enormous, gold coated bright earrings.  Her eye lashes lacked eye shadow,  not because she couldn’t afford it but because they were prettier without.  They were also white,  with faint traces of blood,  definitely because it was past midnight.  She was s little bit off the ground but she couldn’t topple.

In her hand was a Tusker Malt with an untouched one on the red,  metal legged table. She had a polka dotted top and a half black sweater.  It lacked buttons but not class.  It had a silver coated shell on the top right shoulder. She had a silver ring on her right index finger and another one on the left finger. Her mind seemed to wander far at times but her beauty and statement presence remained alive in the black and white coated walled lounge.

On the screens was Aaliyah and at times Mary J.  The tunes kept the ladies in the dance floor. The men nodded in approval as the clumsily dressed dumsels swinged in their seats. Some screens had guys in shorts chasing leather but no one gave a damn.

She kept staring at her Samsung phone which I couldn’t quite decipher the model. It kept engaging her when her companion was out of touch. Covering her silky,  soft,  beautiful,  African thighs was a tight fitting,  grey,  designer trouser.  It seemed to recognize what curves to accentuate and which ones to leave to the creative talent of imagination.  She wasn’t big bodied but that trouser did more justice to her body than Ocampo did to the PEV victims.

As she crisscrossed her legs I had a glimpse of her high, speckless black boots. They definitely knew how to keep it real. I envied their companionship with her pants. If only I could get that close. I never thought for a moment I’d wish to be a shoe. Tap  tap!’ Her well manicured nails furiously landed on the poor Samsung. Now that,I did not envy.

She must have noticed me, for she abruptly brought my train of thought to a hazardous halt. I saw a thin smile forming on her somewhat drunken face. I smiled at my drink, attempted to wink. A little more seductive.Her no doubt designer lipstick made her lips fuller, inviting I daresay. I could swear I saw a her face flush. My confidence slowly building up,  call it liquid confidence.

On standing up I realized she was tall. Taller than I had anticipated. She had Miss Kagame’s height, ThisisEss’s beauty, Angela Angwenyi’s infectious laughter  and Naomi Camplbell’s poise. As she swung her hips fromright to left, the beats seemed to agree and bow down to her rhythmic moves; her man obviously clueless chatted the night away with a fellow potbellied sponsor unaware of the effect his lady was having on the world.

As the speakers blasted Strength of a Woman away, as the night’s darkness got thicker with every erupt of a beat, as veins all over transported and absorbed litres and litres of liquor, she continued to disappear into herself oblivious of the neon rights or my downright ogling.

One last sip, me thinks I’ve had enough. I stand up in my drunken stupor,eyes on the prize. Lights off!what the hell? ? Lights on. Her presence a mere silhouette now. Then I feel a soft finger on my neck, one of those nails I admired from a far taking a stroll on my neckline. All was not lost. At last I turned, she blessed me with her angelic smile, “Hello…” I mumbled…

Since the devil is a liar (can I hear shindwe), out of nowhere the guy decided that the night was ripe enough to take a walk. Ancestors, in their undue wisdom saw that it was wise to snatch her awesomeness from my so deserving eyes. As my lips gobbled down the cold, bitter concoction of a drink in my glass, her departure suddenly made me feel ‘sulky’. I felt cheated and lonely. They suddenly had nothing worthwhile to stare into except oblivion and clumsily dressed ladies of the night.

Then the unexpected happened.

Upon her departure, the black, red stripped couch opposite me was occupied by an individual who represented everything wrong with humanity. In place of her awe-inspiring beauty was a pain stricken face absent of drive and self confidence. Priyanka Chopra was replaced by  Dildier Drogba. In place of her sweet smelling exotic cologne was bint el sudan.

The world had conspired against me. As I looked at she who had replaced my shining star in a hopeless night I felt a pain and a loss I hadn’t experienced in my 758 years of existence. I suddenly felt nauseated. I wanted nothing but to do with sitting opposite this creature.



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