My love for music couldn’t go unnoticed in her presence. She smiled. ‘Was my voice that sweet?’  I kept asking myself. That was rhetoric’s of another day, as for this day, I wasn’t going to let go of it.

Song of Lawino is a poetic story. A story of love, maybe. See it as a love song, sang by Lawino. And the more I read it, the more I dream of falling in love. Ooh Clementine, the description of your beauty makes me wish and dream of being in love. Only that I fear. Fear of being a side kick, that when his breaks fail, I lubricate his bearings. For how long?  Fear.

Then I remembered Michael Jackson singing hold my hand, then the more I wished it was my hand being held. And one of the opportunities struck, a date with a beauty of my generation. She has as always been my crush but fear had always swallowed my manhood, I couldn’t ask her out. My glances paid though, she asked me out. Perfection. I had been dreaming for since. This was a taboo still, a woman asking a man out only happened once in Ogola’s book The River and The Source.  ‘She be my Wandia,’ I told myself.

Love is a story, one need to sit down and be narrated about it. I tried, I will call her Wandia. I grave for love, only shown in Telemundo. Or the love of Majid Michael in Passion of the Soul. Love me in fantasy and don’t hate me in reality please. It is my dream of live to be loved.

She promised me java. I smiled all the way to my apartment. She didn’t need to know where I came from. I had to keep this a secret for now though I knew; soon my bedsitter house will be no more a secret. I choose to dress to my best. I didn’t have the best attire for the occasion. Basically, I am poor in dressing myself. I remembered my friend, who dressed in the latest Gucci clothes, as for me, nilikuwa nashikilia tu. Mitumba from Gikomba was enough. By the way, how can a peasant son dress to kill when I go for nights without food?

Love makes you do crazy things. Nobody can explain this better than hart the band. And so, as I strolled down the roads, on my playlist, Uliza Kiatu was playing; repeatedly. I wanted to make sure it was real and so, I kept looking at myself, to confirm if it was really me, heading down to a welcomed date. My mind drifted to past scenarios. A lady surprises her lover with a Mercedes car, when another takes his life just because of a jilted love? I had done a photocopy of my heart, precautions are good sometimes. And so, down the road, headed to Java house, I strolled with my photocopied heart. Fear.

This was not going to be one of the biblical stories; Jacobs’ story has always been my inspirational love story, believing only that it occurs in the fantasy world. And so, I had done the unthinkable, called my three friends to loan me some money, you know, vindu vichechanga. You it is called, protecting posterity.

‘Kijana, ogopa wasichana wa Nairobi.’ My grandpa words rang in my mind.

It was not the right time to heed to his words. Alikuwa kwa ncha za vidole, my Swahili friends will say. So turning back now would be a dream of another day. I stood facing the doors of Java. Men walking in pairs were ushered in, I shivered. Had she arrived, or this was going to be another day to be eaten by the cold. My okoa jahazi couldn’t allow me to call or text her. My kaduda phone couldn’t allow me to enter the restaurant. So I choose to wait in silence. Let the music continue warming my ears. How I wished my phone could handle more songs. I coyld be listening to the likes of Size 8 songs, mke mwema type.

I saw her being escorted in. my eyes opened. I had almost joint the other side of the world, sleep. She beckoned me to follow her in. I was tensed. This had never happened. Maybe this is what that in love experiences. The place was not that crowded. Music of the rich was playing. Classic music others were at the dance flow. Either dancing alone or dong a salsa.

I sang to the tune. I knew I was a blessed dancer. I had spent almost half of my teen hood dancing. This got her off-guard. My love for music couldn’t go unnoticed in her presence. She smiled. ‘Was my voice that sweet?’  I kept asking myself. That was rhetoric’s of another day, as for this day, I wasn’t going to let go of it.

‘This is going to be my best night,’ she whispered.

‘Me too!’

Surely, her welcoming me for this treat had already made my night.

And as we welcomed the wee hours, we choose to call it a day. And as we bade each other bye at the door steps of her house, I went away smiling. Not because of the night but the dooms of my mind. Is this how love develops?

Fear gripped in again. What if I am not her type? This brings me back to reality. What is love? Can Chris Martin answer it better than i? Or he was just sing? Or what does it mean when he said, ‘…you only need the light when it is burning low, only miss the sun when it starts to snow only know your lover when you let her go…’?

So , is love equalled to fear?

 

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