You have probably noted your dreams down in a well decorated pad, in careful handwriting, one that you use only when it is something very important. You use a pen that was given to you as a gift or one that’s unique from all the other pens. You feel that if you use rare materials to write your dreams down, the faster they will be realized.
You tear the paper out of the notebook, fold it and keep it under your pillow, where no one but you and God - who will help you achieve those dreams - can see. Sometimes, you get the paper out, and reading through it, you wonder,
‘How will I ever achieve these dreams?’ You are a man, and one of your dreams is to find the right woman who you will spend the rest of your life with. At some point in your life, you feel Karen is the right woman for you.
But you know Karen will want to be with a successful man. A successful man is one who can make more money than his wife can spend.
You wonder how you are going to keep Karen. You remember you lied to her, told her that you had so much money, that your father was a minister, your mum a doctor and that your siblings lived in the United States - but you live with your auntie
, have no siblings and you never knew your parents. The other items on the list are, building a mansion, buying a car - a 2000 model Nolan to be specific - running a few businesses and not having to work for anyone again in your life. All in all, your dreams need money to be obtained. How on earth will you find that money before
who is able to indulge her every whim? You think of talking about your future plans with Karen. Maybe if she knows your ambitions, she might after all stay and support you. You call Karen on your katorchi phone and set a date with her, now, you’re all geared up to talk to her about both your futures. Your aunt’s place is in Buwate,
Najjera, though she is usually up-country on official duty.
It’s a two roomed self-contained house with a kitchen and living room, garlanded with different species of flowers placed inside cracked plastic buckets, running round the house near its green sadolin colored wall.
Plants with tendrils emanate from the broken concrete on the verandah and cling onto the wall accompanied by ivy.
On the inside, the floor is maroon in color with a few cracks peeping through.
The living room is completely free of dust.
There’s a large wooden chair that seats three and two others that seat one. Their cushions are maroon and white, complementing the floor.
A wooden yellowish table set stands in the middle of the room covered with hand knitted cloths, an empty flower vase sits on the main table.
Pictures are stuck on the walls with tape which has been worn out by air over time. You leave home dressed in the black trendy skinnies a buddy gave you and the red collared illfitting t-shirt you are fond of, which bears the words: I AM A BIG MAN. It’s a good luck t-shirt even though it sustained an injury through a nail hanging on the wall in your room.
You cover it up with a jacket, pick something under your pillow and place it in the jacket pocket. You fit your feet into the sandals you always leave by the doorstep, pluck the key from the inside and make sure you lock the house on your way out.
Twenty minutes pass while you’re in a taxi and you find yourself at a cheap bar in Kiwatule. The bar - which has room for only ten people at any given time - holds an old black and white Panasonic TV that serves as the only entertainment. Judging from the bar’s shelves, the drinks are as good as done. The light source is a blue bulb; its soft glow is responsible for the slim cosiness of the bar. To 13 your surprise, Karen is already there, sipping on a Sprite.
She perceives an image of you, gets up to massage your body with a passionate cuddle that you’ve missed.
You both get ensconced in the chairs. You waste no time in trying to achieve the main goal of the meeting. ‘Hey baby, I have been meaning to talk to you about something’. You look down at the table and wonder how you are going to start.
‘Hey, you’re frightening me, is it something that could destroy us?’ She is filled with consternation, her face is all crumpled. How are you going to make a clean breast of whatever you perjured before and at the same time tell her about your dreams?
‘No, no, it’s nothing to worry about. Everything is Ok.’ You look at the relieved face of the beautiful woman seated across the table and suddenly you wondered how you’ll be able to confess what a broke-ass you are?! But you have to say something, to cover up what you started. ‘Honey, I have been meaning to tell you that you are the first of my dreams to be achieved.
You are glad something came out right, and you hope it will be taken right. ‘Are you sure about that Sam?’ She smiles that smile you always see whenever you close your eyes and think of her. ‘Prove it!’ she says.
You’re glad she actually asked you to prove it
. Even more glad that you carried along with you the paper on which your dreams are written. ‘Here, read here’
. You show her the paper, folding it such a way that all your other dreams are covered and she’ll only see the first one you wrote which is: To find the woman of my dreams. You even show her the date you wrote it which was almost a year ago.
‘I now believe you, sugar’, she smiles again and lifts her hands from her jeans wrapped thighs to rub her arms, making a cross on her chest; the way she does when she wants you to hold her. You move with your seat to be closer to her. You lift her off her chair and cuddle her. And you wish the evening would never end. But it’s late, and she has to go home.
Most lovers prefer to walk rather than use a boda-boda, especially when the distance is a short. You walk with your hand entwined in hers. You tell each other sweet nothings and before you know it, you have reached her doorstep. You peck her on the neck and say goodnight. You head back home but this time you use a boda-boda. The distance being longer
. When you arrive home the first thing you do is bang heavily on the door with your knuckles, as if it bears the fault for the lies you told Karen. In some way, you convince yourself that tomorrow you will find a way to start bringing those other dreams to fruition.
The night is fairly peaceful. The next day, it’s a Friday. In the afternoon you set out to meet your buddy, Nicko. Nicko is a hustler; you know that he will find work for you. You board a taxi to Kisasi and you arrive at Nicko’s in under ten minutes
. He stays with his dad on the first floor of the famous five storey Yellow Apartments, separated from the murram road by a large fence. The apartments have maintained their vivid color, despite the ever settling dust shuffled about by undecided winds. ‘Hey, Nicko’. You shout out to him as soon as you walk through the gate
. Nicko looks through the living room window to see who is calling him. ‘Hey Sam, my man, t’sup ma boy’. He greets you as soon as he reaches for the door.
You shake hands and knock shoulders. You follow him to the living room and before you can spell out your problems or sit in one of his battered chairs he says excitedly, ‘Something has come up, you can’t miss it.’
‘What’s that man? Fill your boy in.’ You are hoping it’s a kyeyo of sorts as you squint at the environment. The apartment house is a mess; with dirty utensils under the table, you can hardly tell the original color of the paint on the walls, whether it’s cream or brown as both shades are visible. There’s a smell of something fermenting that you can’t quite recognise, it’s pinching your nose so you’re being forced to stop breathing at certain intervals. Dust is a steadfast companion to the cupboard, also to the window
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