STRANGER THINGS

When I tell people that I had my first phone when I was in class five (crap, grade five), they are amazed and amused. Envious? I don’t know. Maybe. But it’s implausible for them because most people my age had their first phone after form four. Some after class 8. There’s no competing with these Gen Alphas who are literally born with one hand on a tit and another on an iPad. But in my time? A ten year old with a Nokia 6300. Woah!

That’s because I have a cool dad. It was a hand-me-downs from him. Thing about him, he loves cool gadgets, especially those days. I think it was his youthful vibe at it’s peak. Today, as long as he can call, SMS, WhatsApp and access Facebook, no pressure; iPhone ni wewe.

That Nokia in the metrics and class of those days compared to today was a smart kaduda. Buttons yes, but mjango it could browse. It was premium for a small boy who was cognisant enough to realize the sunrise of modern day handheld internet access. It was simply a season to discover. It was right about that time when I got my own line too, need I mention. Fun fact, that’s the same line I use to date. If only some of you were as loyal as my Safaricom line – and no they did not pay for that ad. Now that I thought about them, those were the days they were the better option.

And speaking of lines, just the other day, the librarians in my mind were dusting some shelves and came across memories of old networks from back in the day. They were like, “Ah mjango you’re gonna love this one.

You remember the line called YU?”

“Alaaaaa! Eeeish Yuuuuuu! I haven’t thought about YU for years. That network had mad offers. Those were the days browsing was next to free.”

“Mahn! And the TV adverts were very catchy. And then there’s Orange.”

“Goodness! Damn! That was old Telkom. Yoh! I had every possible line back in the day, lol!”

“Alafu Zain bro!”

Now I was folding my hands and shrugging in disbelief like Mr. Ibu. “Yaani it’s how we forgot the number of times Airtel rebranded over the years. And before that they used to be called Celtel, right?”

Later, the Nokia 6300 proved to be a dying dinosaur. It reached a point for you to shut it down, you had to remove the battery. It would power itself back on when you insert the battery. So in dad’s spirit of love and advancement, he bought a new phone for me this time. Alcatel OT 305. I will never forget. Some of you have never even heard of a phone model called Alcatel. This particular model was aggressively advertised, I felt privileged. The best part about it was the sound system, both on speaker and earphones. It was fascinating because that was the time I was discovering my love for music and KISS 100 was doing well to support that. Bless you Shaffie and Kalekye.

So sometime in class 7, I’m sure my ol’man doesn’t know that I went with that phone to school. That was before I joined boarding in the same school later that year. My boarder friends were on the roof! It was like contraband in prison, priceless. I could see them go through the songs on my playlist and their expressions were like junkies who had not had a fix for a long time. The part of me that didn’t understand how they were feeling would soon slap me back after months in boarding school.

So of what use is a phone as a teenage boy when you have no girls to talk to? Enter Leo, my classmate. In school, he didn’t look or carry himself as the ladies’ guy. Everyone knew he was a lowkey richkid though. We got to hang out a little bit more beyond school since he lived a bike ride away from me. And sometime after we joined high school – when girls felt more like the air we needed to breathe, he was like, want a hookup? Damn right I do! I’m not sure whether he thought we’d hit it off, but that wasn’t my problem. Her name? Dox. It was time to rock my entry with ‘Xaxa’. If you didn’t text with ‘X’ in place of ‘S’ back then, you were not cool.

How we used to buy 200 SMS bundles for 10 bob and deplete them in a day or less – should be studied.

The trend back then was we start to chat on SMS, we exchange Facebook profiles so you can get some visual motivation. But Dox gave out a different type of energy. She was something alright. Now that I think about her, she has a skin tone like mine, a light skin who doesn’t accept they’re light. Because there are others lighter than them who qualify for the light skin medal. But the overall tone is light. She was also easy on the eyes with a red-carpet smile. Though I was dating a goddess at the time, Dox wasn’t the type that gave off romantic energy. Not to me. We hit things off on a different frequency.

At the time, smart phones had started to wash ashore on the market. Having a smart phone when you were a teenager was a silver spoon of a kind. It was the sieve that separated the chaff from the gold dust. As a boy who had started owning phones at a younger age, some of my peers who didn’t benefit from the same parenting luxury were slapped with smart phones for either performing well after class 8 or for simply growing up to that level. The advent of these smart phones followed closely with that of WhatsApp, and I must have thought to myself, the pressure is getting wesser, especially since she kept on suggesting we should move over there.

I couldn’t access WhatsApp because well, a phone with buttons couldn’t house that green app. I had a phone I inherited from my mum, another Nokia which was a touch and slide phone. The pressure pushed me to try and configure WhatsApp in it by all means possible.

Now back to Dox. She was my best friend, that was when I used to have female best friends before y’all ruined it with Bestie Bestie. She came from a good family, evident through a number of things.

One, she had a Samsung smartphone.

Two, the school she went to; an international school. Those that kids are dropped and picked with choppers. While I was in a high school that you had to rush and brave storms of boys’ sweat to get your bowl of Ndua (fermented porridge), they were close to having breakfast in bed. Okay, I exaggerate, but they had sausages, bacon, sandwich going with your hot beverage of choice. In ours, having a phone was a capital offence – you’d consider hiding it in your crotch if it came to it. For them, phones were allowed but only on particular hours. We both had lockers but ours was a desk, and theirs was a lockable compartment in a hallway – upto now I have only ever seen that in movies.

Three, the fact that she lived in one of the leafy suburbs in Nairobi. That also meant she didn’t have as much freedom to go wherever she wanted. The mum was quite strict and the only way she could go out was if she lied, sneaked or planned extra well to justify the course. Bottom line, money wasn’t the problem, opportunity was. But, someway, she still managed to find her ways out. I on the other hand, had my freedom almost fully handed to me. The only rule was, “Say where you are going and if it’s not related to church or school, sort yourself out.”

This mjango, was a problem. We would chat, laugh and share confidential conversations about the people we were seeing – into the late of the night. A genuine love of friendship; having found a soulmate in a friend. The greatest desire we had was now to get the opportunity to meet in person. She wasn’t the problem, I was. Those were the days of festivals like Colour Fest, almost all my friends had attended one but not this shooting star from Indangalasia. The number of times she pleaded for us to meet up and go to an event were umpteen. It was not for the lack of trying on my end – I simply didn’t have the means. Sometimes I’d be frank with her, but other times, the need to save my background from a tainted narrative would be imminent.

Not all days were bad. Sometimes I had some saving that would afford me a meet up in a joint – which was my ideal form of meeting up if you ask me. Crowded places, with loud music, with everyone high on energy and most high on other things – they are electric yes, but unideal for me. I don’t mind experiencing that, only that those opportunities are rarer in my life and my preference for the calm and friendly alternative doesn’t help increase those chances. But on such days when I thought I was ready to meet up, she wasn’t. For close to four years of being friends, we only just ever knew each other virtually.

There was another bearing in the wheel – we weren’t exactly two peas in a pod. I mean, there are these people you meet and get along so well intellectually. Your conversations are lit and you could spend the entire evening burning brain matter over your world views. They get your humour and you get theirs too. But being intellectually compatible doesn’t guarantee compatibility in other areas which are not exactly negligible either. Things touching ways of life; beliefs and behaviours. Some of these environments I would have gone to in the name of hanging out with friends like Dox would have exposed me to the indulgence of things beyond my cup of tea. Key word? Exposed – because the partaking of it thereafter is a personal choice yes, but it still comes courtesy of an exposure – a pressure of a kind. There are environments that are breeding grounds for temptation and that’s why if you want to avoid something, best you start by avoiding the environment that sponsors it.

It wasn’t clear to me why we had a falling out with Dox eventually. It’s just one of those things you cannot explain – and if you could explain, you start to forget the justification you had as time goes. And the more time you spend apart, the more your worlds drift. You are both growing in your own ways but you are not growing together. That means later in life when you meet, you will not have an evolved mentality towards each other. You will still see him as the kid you used to play playstation with. The girl who loved church and was holier than thou. The classmate you used to pick on because he had a soprano. The buddy you used to go chics’ hunting with. The girlfriend who would rock parties and twerk on every Tomboy, Dick and Harriet. The Dox who loved me as the friend she could have smart conversations with – and couldn’t wait for the day we’d finally meet so we can hangout until we are sick of each other.

*****

I missed her over the years. The WhatsApp number that was once hers, the profile picture showed that it had been taken over by some folk that looked like a Wafula or Wekesa from Shimalavandu. I once DMd on facebook but that looked like chaff upon the wind. I sorta moved on. In 2023, I was working in an office in town and on one of the lunchtime doomscrolling sessions, I came across her profile on Instagram. I would have dwelt on, ‘If we were good friends, why didn’t she bother looking for me either,’ – but I chose the higher ground.

To my surprise, she replied after a few days and she sounded happy to hear from me. I was keen to move the conversation away from IG but she said she wasn’t on Whatsapp. Fair enough. Unusual, weird, but fair enough. It’s how I was engaging her like the old buddies we were – trying to bring back the bestie vibes. We talked about what we were upto and she said nothing much – just hustling.

We talked for a while before she went mute, again. This time, I knew better than to dwell there. I had started noticing a pattern now. Almost a month later, she messaged me and I thought, would you look at that! She quickly took the conversation to, “What are you doing on Friday evening?” I was impressed to say the least because finally after all these years and after our recent virtual reunion, she was being deliberate about our long overdue meet up. She proposed that there’s a new bar and restaurant that had just opened somewhere in Lavington, and she would love it if I showed up, “We can get to catch up, it’s been so long.”

I was feeling a little bit under the weather, but I was not going to pass up on that opportunity. Many were the times in my younger ages where I missed out on such, now, I am grown man blessed beyond two cents – there was nothing holding me back as far as means is concerned. She also said she had a coupon that would get us food and drinks. My mind was on the food really. Passing up on free food too? Issa lie! But really, I was in it for Dox.

I spent time trying to commute and get the directions right. I arrived, on the agreed upon time. As I expected of her like all other women, she wasn’t there before me and she wasn’t going to be on time. However, what I didn’t expect was for her to keep me waiting for two hours! I had to order Dawa because if the waiting wasn’t going to kill me, my cold would.

The ambience was nice, I have to admit. I chose the outdoor chilling space but as the night aged and the cold persisted, I had to move indoors. The room lit yellow with bulbs shining with class and demure such that you can even see their filaments. On one end was the bar and I sat far enough near the corners of sobriety. My eyes were moving to and fro the incoming movements to try and catch Dox’s entry. I imagined I’d recognize her easily because I have seen her enough times on pictures. But all who came in were just more and more GenZ’s. Everyone had a youthful vibe such that anyone who was older was easily noticeable. Like the weighty muzungu seated on a table by the wall across the room making conversation with a dark lady. She was younger than him, as you’d expect. Once again it was an opportunity to confirm the theory on the streets that white men love dark girls who are not necessarily easy on the eyes.

I gave up on looking out for Dox and gave her an arrival timeline in my mind after which, I’d call it an evening. In all my calls she kept on giving timelines that she never met. When she arrived, she called to ask where I was seated and she came over. I was determined not to ruin our first meet up with grumpiness so I shoved it under my seat.

She looked different. I didn’t expect her to be lighter than me so in the scale of recognition, I had already failed in that. I also felt like she was smaller bodied than the memory served from her pictures. That observation is usually followed by thoughts on if this person is really okay. Has life been kind to you or you’re just detoxing? And then the tattoos. Anyway, the face and especially the eyes were just as I knew them.

She suggested we switch tables to one near the bar. As it is with clubs, the music gets louder as the night goes. The place was getting packed and shouting became the new talking.

We chatted a bit and in between she was making and receiving calls before her friend showed up, I can’t remember her name. But this one made me compare even further on the body issue. But again, none of my business. She was darker, in a black stunning dress, nice face beat and looked like she knew all of Victoria’s secrets. She had the aura of an elegant baddie. Dox on the other hand, was just in a t-shirt and jeans. She insisted that I order something to eat and considering how much I had been kept waiting, it was going to be my consolation. Especially because of what was about to go down.

The entry of this friend was the game changer of the night. I suddenly turned into the third wheel. Our table was now a perfect TukTuk. Even in their conversations, I was the supporting wheel; throwing in a chuckle and a ‘yea that’s true’ – from time to time. The conversations were quite interesting, I must admit, but I didn’t feel like they were accommodative especially because I barely knew any of them in person. I was also conflicted because well, she said we’d have time to catch up. She came late, now the clock and music are too loud for any meaningful conversation – and her friend was in the mix too – she was more familiar with her than she was with me. It had been years and I had overrated our virtual bond. It wasn’t serving me at least. I was nothing more than an old high school friend.

I know nothing about her life since then and she knows nothing about mine. We have never had the opportunity to properly break the ice especially after this long and certainly, it couldn’t be done in such an environment. Very quickly in fact, the differences in our ways of life was about to make a grand appearance when the waitress asked to take our drink orders. Soon, I was in close proximity with a Johnnie Walker - Black Label bottle than I had ever been in my life. The only defense standing in between me and that man in a Tuxedo and a walking stick – was my bottle of Coca Cola.

I knew better that given the circumstances, that night was going to get even more awkward if I remained there as the sober one. My best play was to craft an exit before spirits could drown themselves in spirits.

I tried not to feel so bad that the meet up was not turning out as planned. While I did acknowledge to myself that she promised to have us catch up and now she had invited circumstances that couldn’t allow us to do so, I tried to be a big boy about it. Maybe in her eyes she did try to accord me some attention by engaging me. I could still feel some warmth I’d feel from her back in the days. But for some reason, they were frosty conversations punctuated by awkward moments of silence. Thank the DJ for the loud music this time, I guess. I had to admit to myself that time had really made us strangers.

Hearing their conversations gave enough crack space to perceive her way of life and her friend’s too. Now they? They were two peas in a pod. I couldn’t pretend to have experiences to chip in to their ‘moments when they were high’ stories. I even can’t name one peddler. I wasn’t going to embarrass myself by daring to laugh even a little too louder as they literally got into story za jaba – lest they asked me if I also chew. Because the most I know about jaba is first the lies y’all tell out here and the tiny bite I once took in 2014 when Kasisi, one of the senior boys in our highschool crew passed a stem to me on our way home from school – because he thought sharing is caring.

I was not going to allow them to read the looks on my face as her friend spoke in heavy sheng – and I was having an internal conflict about how she doesn’t look like the manner she speaks. “You’re too elegant for that amount of sheng baby girl.”

Shortly after, she’d probably hear my thoughts loud beyond the music – of me bewildered by her expressions on the preferences she has of men who jabarate. She doesn’t mind them as long as they do so neatly and hygienically. Her best example is her boyfriend who does so neatly and she even kisses him as he does.

I had to flash that imagination with a sip of my not so strong drink.

Sigh. The third wheel eventually had to stop living in denial. It was time for him to learn and accept the adult lesson that not all friends from your childhood can make to be friends in your adulthood. So don’t force those friendships. You’ve grown into different people and if you force it, you will soon realize the hard way that you don’t share the same values and ways of life. You will not necessarily enjoy reconciling how you knew them then and who they are now – because the thing is, y’all are strangers.

“Dox, thank you for the food and hangout. I live quite far, I better leave before it’s unsafe to go.”

“No worries. Thank you so much for coming. And I’m so sorry we didn’t get time to catch up.”

“Ah! Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’ll look for you we have a proper and calm sit down.”

“Looking forward to it...” I surely did. So much that after she didn’t text for a while, I reached out on IG. (I realised why she wasn’t on WhatsApp after I saw the phone she was using. Now I was the one pushing for WhatsApp.)

After some time, I went back to check for a reply and saw that she had actually seen my message. As the days went by, the reckoning solidified – the girl technically was in business. She was a promoter and the deal was to bring as many people to the joint. I was wondering why she was constantly calling people while at the table and asking them if they were coming. Looks like I was just part of some statistics.

Silly me.