Unexpected: Finding Love

testing waters

Despite my non-existent social life back in my homeland, my brain requested my body for the need to engage in entertainment activities. That evening I dragged myself to a bar that is nearest the stage so I could just walk only a few kilometers to the bus.  It was time for me to view the dynamics of Kenya’s evening lifestyle.

When it comes to the nightlife Kenya is regarded among the best in Africa competing with south Africa. This was to get my head out of the gutter. I needed to find a life partner, and what better place to start than a club?

My parents nag to find a man was eating my nerves. Their claim that I was to old and that I needed to settle down was racking my brain in a negative light. What if I fail to find a man to refer to as my husband? Twenty six was not old in this generation but with their primitive thinking on that a woman should be done with education, married and settled by the time the are 25.

Furthermore, who needs a man to survive? The urge to be independent for the rest of my of life settled in my brain comfortably, hounding me to just say “fuck it” to their demands.
The club was vibrant, music radiating in the highest decibel known to an average human. The contrast to my normal life sent alarms to my brain. The thought of turning back and walking out of the place badgered my entire being. The unfamiliarity of the place added to the thought.

This was not my usual scene, I would rather be in bed sleeping and watching k-dramas like a hopeless romantic person I am. Suppressing my nerves, I made my way inside, pushing through the massive crowd of sweaty bodies.

Reaching the bar area, I waved to get the bartender’s attention and then sat. I ordered three shots of vodka. It’s the price that got me, ksh 50 each shot. The shot glasses were so small as well. This was a plus since I didn’t want to get drunk, it was a little something to calm my nerves.

Waiting for my drink to be served, I surveyed the club, looking for any interesting faces. Well nobody wants an ugly looking guy as their life partner.

The scenes before me were interesting as people gyrated to the music with someone’s pelvic region on another’s matching the rhythm of the now playing song ‘Badder than bad’ by Fuse ODG. I knew this from before I travelled to the states that dancehall music is highly appreciated in Kenya which was opposite of what I was listening to in the recent years. ‘I truly missed this ‘, I couldn’t help but think. The memories of how we would confluence in the entertainment hall to dance to this kind of music back in high school, came flooding back.

“Why aren’t you joining people on the dance floor?” well that got me out of my short reminiscent. My head turned to the right where the inquisitive sound was from. Seated a seat away was a man holding a glass of amber-brown liquid, with a bottle spelling ’Johnny Walker’ resting on the table. The man was good looking, but one would refer to his looks as mediocre if you were to compare them to the guy I saw back in that hotel.

“Not interested, I don’t know how to dance the way they do.” Finally I answered before he could consider me snobbish. True to my statement, one would never find me in such a scenario. Being in a club was also kind of weird to me.

“It’s all in the hips, you know. The only thing one needs to move is the hips following the rhythm of the song” he continued to engage me in the discussion he started. There was no harm in it, but I prefer my solace as I admire and judge people in the club.

“Easier for you to say. Do you know that some people have a very stiff body and waist line? It’s not something one can force out, or you will be the laughing stock of many.” I told him, as I drank the last glass of my shot.

“well… I can’t refute that statement. Anyways that shouldn’t bother people from having fun right?”

“Right” I said hoping that was the end of the discussion. I turned my head back to the crowd for a last survey but nothing caught my eye. The place was filled with many campus students, few working class people could be spotted in the crowd. Deciding that that was my queue to leave, I placed cash on the table waving the bartender to pick it up. With a nod indicating that he has seen me place the money, he came to my direction to pick the money.

“It was nice meeting you…” turning to the guy who tried to engage me in a conversation, I said.
“Evan. Nice to meet you too…” 
“Nelly” with that I picked my bag and headed for the exit. But before I could move any further, Evan stopped me with a request to add my phone number to his phone, which I reluctantly agreed to as I saw no harm in having friends. He called my phone to ensure I saved his number. After his thanks and a ‘I will text you later ‘ I was able to leave and board a bus home.