Teenagers and the Church Excuse (Part II)

By LEONNARD OJWANG

Part II: Blending in

Ironically, the last 4 digits of Teresa’s number make my year of birth. That is not only coincidental but also intriguing. I feign a smile and shrug off  my shoulders in bewilderment, trying hard to convince myself that this is as real as it is. Mentally, I draw a plan with an aim of isolating Teresa from the park and having her for myself…. even if it is just for a mere 5 minutes. Every so often, I rehearse the romantic lines in my mind – the lines that I am so convinced will dissolve her heart to consider me as a viable lover. Plus, if she is kind enough, she would not hesitate to give me her love, her heart and her time, as a birthday gift, and as a welcome gratitude after being away for so long and still came back single but more mature.

I can feel all these butterflies flowing though my blood; nudging me, trying to infuse me with their insincere urges to hold her hands. Her soft lips – the lips which have been shaping some words and eliciting some captivating sounds into my ears – are really driving me crazy. I really need to taste them – tonight. At the back of my mind, I momentarily play the scenes from a romantic movie “Ghost” acted by Patrick Swayze, Demi Moore and Whoopi Goldberg, and promise myself that if she decides to test her smile against mine, her kiss against my tenderness, and her warmth against my patience, then this night, tonight, this time, I will transform myself into Patrick Swayze and she will be my Demi Moore. Just for tonight. I will softly run my palm across her soft cheeks, stroke her lips with my fingers, squeeze my face against hers, and just let the moment flow.

To get her full attention, I pull out a copy of my air-ticket and engage her in conversation of how it is like to fly. Ken, with his big mouth, joins in. I hate that. I pass my fingers through my hair trying to get another story that could alienate him from our conversations. I feel angry that Ken hasn’t realized how hard I am trying to become relevant both to Teresa and stay in line with the Christmas mood. “Please, can’t you leave us alone,” I whisper to myself. “There are so many noisemakers around here, can’t you join them.” I am getting frustrated now.

We stop outside the Spree Club, which is adjacent to the newly opened club called The Signature, where Teresa meets some of her friends waiting to go inside and rove the night away. A few yards away, some youths who were just with us in church a few hours ago are drinking some blessed beer. A few girls surround them, dressed in some tight “spaghetti” tops and the new fashion “pencil” pants. I stand by Teresa, like a bodyguard, hoping against fate that she will tell me to do ‘something’ with her. Like for example, “let’s go and sit somewhere,” or “let’s go and dance,” or even, “let’s go to Nakumatt together and just look around.” “Say it, Teresa!” I shouted within my soul.

Ken, who has been following me like a dog hasn’t given up hope. That is the time I wished he evaporated. He tells me something, but I pretend not to hear. I have resorted in frustrating him to make him realize that I no longer need him now. We can meet tomorrow and continue with his stories, if he so wishes. 

I look around, and I can see that some of the youth shouting obscenities at each other, the drunken little lizards sprawling on the tarmac and the half-naked girls at the end of the corridor were the same that had innocently lined up at the gate of the AIC church with all the saintly appearance that could convince Jesus to come back the next day. I drag my mind painfully back to Houston, Texas, and remember all the beautiful girls I had seen lining up at the airport waiting to travel. I find myself wondering if they too are hypocrites, have double lives, and if they too are as gullible as my friend Ken. There is a high likelihood that they are.

Teresa turns to me and says, “I have to go now. We will meet later.” Then, my mind jumps into the future, and switches from the usual slow Pentium IV it is known to be to Windows Vista. So, I had to do something.

In the US, we don’t let time and opportunities pass us in vain. No. I had to do something very fast, even if it meant being in bad books with my friends. “I want to buy you some coffee at the Blackball Pool over there, and then I will pay for you a taxi to take you home.” I threw that offer at her and watched her reaction. She dithered, as her face twitched and coiled. Again, in the US, we don’t offer options, so I quickly added, “Let’s go!”

From the edges of my eyes, I can see Ken starting to follow us. I make a half turn and tell him, “I will find you here. Just wait for me.” Again, in the US, directives are not up for a referendum, we simply say what we wish should be done for us, and it has to be respected. Ken did just that – he respected my wish. For that, I will take him for nyamachoma at the Choma Zone tomorrow, I promise myself.

Now, here we are, Teresa and Leo, facing a lifetime wall against a lifetime chance. We walk past the hordes of drunken youths forming small pools on the verandah for back-biting their peers. Blackball Pool is directly opposite the Spree Club. The marvelous trip from the club to the coffee café is reverent and could just be just that – a once-in-a-lifetime’s trip. My mind is frozen with Teresa’s image such that I feel the cars and taxis that adorned both sides of Oloo Street are non-existent – I can only see objects giving respect to two teenagers trying hard to sweep each other’s heart. And like two tennis players bouncing the ball at each other across the tennis-court, we keep bouncing soft glances at each other trying desperately to understand the moment and the reason.

Teresa gets into Blackball Pool first, wades through the tables and sits at the far end. Overhead, the TV is still pounding some late night Christmas carols. When the neon lights hit her face, the angels of love shower my heart with lust. Gosh! That beauty is angelic; that smile is a killer; and that shape is magnetic. I have been following her like an idiot, in fact, like a robot, without knowing why. It is like I am hooked to her. All her being rushes into my heart with the urgency-of-today. This is a girl I feel I want to own, to be with, and to share my life – at least the first part of my life.

The rickety chairs in Blackball Pool are no doubt the best in Eldoret, and the large mirrors on either side of the walls give us a chance to remotely look at each other. With my left eye on her face and my right eye on the mirror, I can see she isn’t just a gift, but a piece of art. I am overwhelmed with the stupid thought that the fineness of her eyelids, the clarity of her eyeballs, and the softness of her lips are all up for grabs …… by all the men who qualify – and on this jovial night, all men qualified. Tonight. Something convinces me that somewhere, another guy is planning to meet with her and try to win all this beauty. You know, as well as I do, that that is very true. But I already have one foot ahead of everyone right now, so I thought. I try to marshal up all my seduction credentials to put up my case why I am a better dude than whoever has ever come before me. I really try to convince her that after me, there will be none. Gosh! The lies men say. I wish you could see me – the way my lips are drying up as I try to sell my desires, my inability to stay composed and just show my true manliness, and the way I become more of an interrogator than a story teller.

I quickly realize I stand a higher chance of asking her out if I can hold her mind to this moment, if I can offer her some uniqueness, and if I am able to bring her excitement by being the spontaneous guy she appears to have in her dreams. As many men would do, I keep switching between my truthful being and my proud personality, and still be able to control the conversation. And at some times, I inject some truthful lies to capture her fascination, and give her mind some news to chew and ask for more. I tell her that Tiger Woods is my neighbour, and that I learnt most of my dance moves from him. But because the ‘Tiger Woods’ I am talking about is a Christian, we only dance to gospel music, whose lyrics I know are soft and easy to follow with any kind of dance style. That portion had to be church-focused in order to remain in contention. I also inform her that Tyra Banks gave me an iPod during her show, which still has the marks of her lipsticks. I would give it to her as a New Year’s present. Again, to be relevant, I have to let her know that the lipstick were hand-delivered to Tyra Banks by her pastor as a gift for her charity work in the Church.

Somehow, with my inner eyes, I can see her melting and twitching her soul with pride. Like the synergistic taste of sugar blended with salt, I had to add that when Oprah Winfrey gave a speech about how to love and care for family and friends, she mentioned my name as an example of someone who has shown utmost love for everyone around me. A blend of Tyra Bank’s and Oprah Winfrey’s stories fumed her with the desire to associate with these wonderful women. At the moment, I was that only bridge for more of these women. 

We stay for more than 1 hour yakking about our fears and ambitions in life. Most of these stories are not relevant, but are absolutely necessary. It is from these yakkings that I also learn that she studies at Moi University, Chepkoilel Campus, Eldoret. I think that is where she learnt how to dress very well. But because she stays off-campus when the college is in session, she  has two places she could spend the night – either in Kimumu Estate where she has a rented house or in Kapsoya Estate with her parents. I try to convince her to spend at Kimumu to avoid waking up her parents to open the gate for her, and she reluctantly agrees.

So many things have gone according to plan. Now, here comes the time she has to go to Kimumu. As a good gesture, I will go with her by taxi, and then I will come back to town to meet with Ken and the group. That not only happens in any civilized nation, but also in a third world town like Eldoret. But, some minor plans can be introduced in the process. Being a spontaneous guy, I think I can get away with it, and squeeze the remainder of the night away at her place. Wild ideas assail my mind now. I’m really tempted to call Ken to bring me condoms. No. That may be my misfortune if I do. This is a sacred lady who has a flesh just like all the other girls in church and would want to enjoy the flavors of the flesh without anyone raising an eyebrow. I present that kind of opportunity to her. However, I still have to convince her that I am for real – that I will not begin jumping like popcorns on a hot pan to my friends and her mates about our night together. Plus, I will be leaving in a few weeks time, so she will have the rest of the year free of other embarrassing scandals, if this turns to be a scandal anyway.

So, mentioning Ken’s name will be a complete turn-off at this stage. Getting into the nearby Marketview Chemist to buy a condom will warn her that other plans are in the offing. I also don’t want to leave her alone and give her a chance to come back to her usual senses. Right now, she has been infused with my presence and I have filled her ventricles with prospects of a fun holiday. I must keep that motor chiming. I scratch my head and think some more.

Quickly, I realize I can use the taxi driver. Well, he is chubby but presentable in physique. His Arsenal sweatshirt is reason enough for us to be friends. It doesn’t matter to me now… I only need a conduit.  I inform him that I never negotiate prices, and so he simply tells me what he wants me to pay – Kshs 200.00. I ask him for his number, which he gladly gives me. I give him KShs 210.00, and send him a quick text message to use the extra KShs 10.00 I have given him to buy a pack of condoms at the nearby Chemist. He looks at me quizzically, and after exchanging some few eye glances, he does so. While at the Chemist, I send him another text: “Give me that thing secretively when we reach. I will give you Kshs 50.00.” Then he replies, “Ni sawa (It’s okay).”

 At the back of the taxi, I get a chance to sit closer to Teresa for the first time. The thought that I am moving away from Ken and the like is reason enough to give me an erection.

The time now is few minutes after 3 am – the wee hours of Boxing Day (Dec 26^th).

**** To be continued*****

Tags: church, love, relationship, teenagers