The Smilodon E-Book

E.K. Ndanguzi

• Herausgeber: E.K. Ndanguzi
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

Jonathan wants to live his best life. He wants his heart calm, his vision clear, and his soul lit. But instead, he ends the only meaningful relationship he ever had and then continues to live in constant fear of everything else around him falling apart at any moment. His life seems completely out of his control despite his relentless efforts to attain order. Jonathan is unaware that there are forces he cannot see, influencing his every move and ultimately his life. His worst fears may also be about to be realized.
This is a story of a young man’s struggle with life as he lives with the burden of his childhood experiences on his shoulders until he eventually has to face the Smilodon that dictated his every decision.

Leseprobe

The Smilodon

Copyright © E. K. Ndanguzi 2020

All rights reserved

PROLOGUE

“Simplicity is the ultimate form of sophistication” – was the quote that immediately came to mind as Jonathan’s eyes darted around the interior of what was now his favourite coffee shop, The Shop, as he stepped inside on this particularly humid Saturday morning in Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania’s bustling commercial capital. I’m pretty sure that Leonardo Da Vinci would have been O.K. with a little less simplicity with the name choice, Jonathan thought.

The Shop was a small establishment with a four by ten meters of interior space and was situated on the ground floor of Diamond Plaza, an office block that was right in the middle of the city’s central business district. Because of its deliberate and overly obvious attempt to achieve an East African feel, The Shop’s décor screamed, “My proprietor is a Caucasian foreigner!” All the wooden chairs had seat cushions covered with Khanga - a vibrantly coloured East African cloth created in Zanzibar in the 1880s that had a unique mix of colours, designs, and messages. Khangas were if anything, the unofficial official cloth of the East African woman although also sparingly used by men for shirts. One wall was covered by an assortment of Tingatinga paintings; a tourist-oriented caricature art developed in Tanzania in the 2nd half of the 20th century. Another wall had shed-like rows of unpolished timber acting as wallpaper with two locally handwoven straw mats (Mkekas) neatly nailed on it like oversized paintings. The floor was concrete painted red, giving the place a very retro feel. It was as beautiful as it was simple.

Jonathan walked over to his favourite spot, right at the rear end of the coffee shop facing the entrance. He had a good view of everybody from there. He could also see a bit of the kitchen whenever someone opened the door to come out, as it was behind the counter on his right. The kitchen seemed small but it produced heavenly delights that truly gave life meaning.

He ordered orange juice. He was ten minutes early so he grabbed a newspaper and started to read while waiting for his juice and his girlfriend Emilie who was almost always on time. They had met face to face for the first time at this very establishment six months prior and then chose to make it their regular spot. The staff had now become accustomed to seeing both of them come in together, often asking about her whenever he came in alone.

“Here is your juice sir,” said the waitress displaying a friendly smile.

“Thank you,” said Jonathan while politely returning the smile.

“All alone today?”

“No, just a bit early.”

Seemingly satisfied with the response, the waitress dutifully disappeared into the heavenly delight factory that they called the kitchen.

Jonathan sipped on his juice while flipping through a newspaper slowly, not really focusing on anything in particular. His phone buzzed. It was an SMS from Emilie

“On my way,” it read.

He sighed as an image of Emilie appeared in his mind. She was breathtakingly beautiful, witty, and intelligent. He was truly in love with her, never having felt this way about any girl in his thirty years on planet earth. There was something deep and authentic connecting them. This had to be what they called love. He felt that she was completely herself with him, often unwittingly displaying her vulnerability to him which meant that she trusted him completely. He could see in her eyes her total devotion to him. When they were together, other things seemed…well…unimportant. Her presence simply put things into perspective. She is too good for me, he thought, but I would walk to the ends of the earth for her.

“Hey,” whispered Emilie, interrupting Jonathan from his mental pilgrimage.

Jonathan looked up. He hadn't seen her come in. She was dressed in casual khaki shorts and a slim fit, short-sleeved white shirt. Her dark brown belt matched the colour of her leather loafers and handbag. She looked fabulous but also a little despondent.

“Oh hi babe,” said Jonathan. “Didn’t see you come in. How was your day?”

“It was good,” she said, rather unconvincingly. “Found out that petroleum case is going to be dropped so it’s good day.”

Emilie was a Senior Associate at one of the top law firms in the city. She came from a family of lawyers with both father and younger brother being lawyers. Her father runs a successful law firm and had employed her brother in the hope that he would one day take over the reins after he was gone. He had held similar aspirations for Emilie but she deliberately chose to work elsewhere, away from her father's shadow in an effort to gain some independence. That independence had its drawbacks as in this case the plaintiff was a friend of her father that she had known since childhood who owned several filling stations in the city.

“Hey congrats and thank goodness!” said Jonathan. He admired her focus and determination. He knew she would make partner soon enough or even start her own law firm at some point. She just had it in her.

He ordered juice for her too and they chatted away for a few minutes. The Shop only had two other customers inside as it was a Saturday. Jonathan had asked to meet her here on this day purposely, knowing it would be pretty empty.

“Why don’t we just meet at my place?” she had asked. “It’s Saturday.”

"I need to go to the city centre to pick up something and I know you will pass your office so I guess it just makes sense," he had responded.

She looked up at him from her drink and back down at the table when eye contact was made.

“Ok, what’s up Jonathan,” she said, “You felt bit…off, on the phone. Is something wrong? ”

She paused to let Jonathan digest her words, and then she reached out instinctively with both hands to hold his. Then, just as quickly, she let go of his hands and withdrew back into her chair.

“Talk to me,” she said.

Jonathan glanced at her and took a deep breath.

“Baby, you know that I love you right?”

“Of course!” said Emilie with a sudden look of concern on her face, “what’s going on Jonathan?”

“Emilie, I don’t think this will work out,” Jonathan said, his eyes now focused on her hands avoiding eye contact. He knew this would be hard but he had still underestimated how much.

“Wh…what?” asked Emilie. “What do you mean? What is ‘this’?”

“I mean us,” said Jonathan swinging his forefinger back and forth, like a pendulum on its sides. “Please don’t get me wrong. You know I would never intentionally hurt you. I…I just don’t think I’m the man for you. This is really, really hard for me. I just feel that I must do this. I’m really doing this for you, to allow you to continue with your life. I really do love y—“

“Stop saying you love me!” Emilie hissed through her teeth. “Are you serious? You are doing this for me?”

She paused and looked at him, as if waiting for something, a smile perhaps, that would make all of this a joke or something. A sick joke but a joke nonetheless. No smile appeared, just an agonized look on Jonathan’s face.

What’s going on Jonathan? Did I do something? Have you met someone else?”

“No Emilie, there is no one else.”

“So there is no reason? What…you just woke up and decided it’s time for this to be over?”

He knew that he needed to try and explain things further. This would not make sense to anyone. They had a beautiful relationship. They loved each other. They were best friends.

“Baby liste -- “

“No stop,” Emilie said in a steady tone. “So Beatrice was right about you all along. This was just a fun ride for you. This was never meant to go anywhere, was it?”

Without waiting for an answer, she quickly, picked up her cell phone and handbag from the table and stood up.

"No, no, no! Don't leave Emilie; wait…" pleaded a Jonathan in anguish as the reality of what was happening started to sink in. She snatched her hand away as he tried to hold on to it. Clearly, she was not going to beg and plead. She didn't need an explanation. Her pride would not let her sit there for one more second.

Ignoring his pleas, she turned and walked out of the coffee shop and out of Jonathan's life.

PART ONE

Jonathan Matiku, like many typical young boys growing up, adored his father. Michael Matiku was his hero - the embodiment of what he aspired to achieve and be in his life. He was a kind, loving, intelligent, and very knowledgeable man who worked for a "very good" and "very big" company called BP or British Petro-something Jonathan had heard. He drove a nice big car called a Toyota Land Cruiser, a machine Jonathan never ceased to admire.

Michael and Jonathan’s mother, Joyce were married when Michael was twenty-eight, immediately after returning from his graduate studies in the United Kingdom. She was twenty-one at the time. Michael had met her at a friend’s wedding. She was a bridesmaid and one who caught every potential suitor’s eye that day. His attraction towards her was only exceeded by her attraction towards him. He, attracted by her astonishing beauty and she, attracted by what she had heard of him. Michael was considered somewhat a catch by most in their social circle, because of his education and accomplishments. He was determined to start a family before he was thirty so that he could ‘grow up’ with his kids and be involved with them as much as he possibly could.

As a devoted father, he would always find time to spend with his beloved son Jonathan. They were inseparable. Even as an infant, his father would take Jonathan on adventurous drives and have him sit in the back seat marveling at the world outside. They would explore different destinations every week on Saturday. Saturday lunch was also special - ugali and beans. Ugali was a blue-collar dish made from maize flour cooked with water to porridge until stiffened. It was an African staple, called Sima, Sembe or Posho in other countries across Africa. Jonathan fell in love with it as soon as he was old enough to eat it. Michael would take over the kitchen and prepare ugali and beans. It was their thing. On Sundays, they would have matching outfits to church or at the very least, matching shirts.

All this attention from his father, however, did little to conceal the aloofness and distance from his mother. It was as if the conventional African parental roles were reversed. Although a housewife, Joyce kept away from the house a lot. She would spend a lot of time at her friend’s hair salon nearby leaving Jonathan with a maid. This distressed his father a great deal and was the cause of many arguments in the house but his apparent displeasure did not seem to sway Joyce. It was as if her goal was not to be a mother but…to be married, and that was a goal she had already achieved. She was married to someone who was going places, who worked for a multinational conglomerate, they had two cars, they lived in a nice house and all her friends envied her. She had made it.

Jonathan felt the distance even more after his brother Richard was born when he was seven years old. He would come back from school and find the maid neglecting "little Richie" and so he would inevitably take the maid's role or his mother's role some would argue. His brotherly instincts to protect Richie were greatly heightened as a result. After school, Jonathan would immediately take the 30-minute walk back home to give his brother some much-needed company while most children would spend an extra 30 minutes playing and talking in the school playground.

When Jonathan was ten years old, Richie was taken to a nursery school a stone's throw away from his school so that he could look out for his brother, and that he did. Richie's school day ended at 2 pm while Jonathan's ended at 4 pm so their mother would pick Richie at 2 pm and drive him home while Jonathan would walk back at 4 pm as usual. She was, however, often late. Jonathan could see the nursery's parking lot from his classroom and so would always know if their mother was late or not. After a few instances of his mother's tardiness, he decided to sneak out of the school compound just before 2 pm and sit with Richie waiting for their mother while other children slowly emptied the school compound. This got him into trouble with his mother, Richie's teachers, and his teachers but he kept repeating it until his mother learnt to pick Richie up on time. She also made sure Michael never heard of it.

She was late again, however, about a week after their father had gone on a trip to the United Kingdom for work-related training. She was late. She had not shown up until 4 pm when it was time for Jonathan to go home too. To his surprise, it was their father's younger brother, Uncle Brandon who came to pick Richie up in their mother's car. He had never done this before. He looked rather distraught and it scared Jonathan. Richie seemed more confused than anything and kept looking up at Jonathan for some sort of explanation. Jonathan eventually asked about his mother.

“She is not feeling well, Jonathan. You’ll see her in a bit” he said.

What is wrong with our mother, Jonathan wondered silently as they drove back home. When they got home, they found several cars parked outside their house and a crowd of familiar and unfamiliar faces seated outside on plastic chairs. The crowd stared at them with sympathetic faces as they walked towards the front door. As they got nearer, Jonathan could hear what sounded like people crying inside. The crying got louder as they got nearer and nearer to the door. At this point Jonathan was panic-stricken and his eyes had already started to tear up. He was shaking. Richie looked up at him in terror and also started crying. Uncle Brandon continued to walk in silence leading them into the house.

As soon as their faces popped through the door, their sobbing mother started wailing loudly. Some of her friends who were sitting with her tried to comfort her and calm her down but their efforts were futile. She beckoned her sons to her as she cried. Jonathan and Richie rushed to her and cried with her not knowing fully, the reason for this outpouring of anguish.

“You…your father’s plane…. has had…an accident!” she said, “It…crashed into the ocean!”

∞∞∞∞

After a weeklong management training session at British Petroleum Headquarters in London, Michael Matiku was scheduled to fly to Nairobi for an interview with the Managing Director of BP Kenya, where he had been shortlisted for the now vacant position of Sales and Marketing Manager. This was a fantastic opportunity for Michael that would better position him for growth opportunities at British Petroleum. As Sales and Marketing Manager, he would be handling retail business development, business-to-business sales, credit control, and the overall commercial function of BP Kenya. He was still skeptical, however, because he came from a country where BP operations were relatively smaller and he was only handling supply and distribution, not sales per se. He attributed the vote of confidence and shortlisting to the current Managing Director of BP Kenya, Andrew Otieno. He was Jonathan’s immediate Boss for 3 years when he was Supply Manager at BP Tanzania. They had an extremely good working relationship that left a lasting impression on Andrew who went on with BP United Kingdom and eventually returned to Kenya as Managing Director two years later.

Michael was booked on an Ethiopian Airlines flight that would take him from London straight to Addis Ababa where he would connect with another flight, Ethiopian Airlines Flight 961 to Nairobi the following Saturday morning. His interview was on Monday. They arrived a little late, delaying Flight 961 so that it could be fed with passengers who were headed to Nairobi, Brazzaville, Lagos, and eventually Abidjan. Jonathan boarded the plane completely immersed in his thoughts of the Nairobi meeting with Andrew and his team, and ultimately seeing his boys on his return to Dar Es Salaam. As he walked to his seat in the business class section, he noticed a familiar face seated in one of the window seats of the first-class section but he just couldn't place it yet. He was a bold, bespectacled Indian man in his early fifties clad in a dark blue cotton shirt, a khaki journalist jacket, and khaki slacks.

He must be some journalist, Michael thought.

Michael settled in his chair, leaned back, closed his eyes, and tried to relax as other passengers slowly settled in their seats. Eventually, the plane was on the runway taking off and Michael watched through his window as Addis Ababa and it beautiful hills slowly faded away beneath the aeroplane. Once in the air, he started to drift off to sleep when he suddenly heard noises and scuffle at the back of the plane. He opened his eyes and looked around and saw three Ethiopian men in the mid-twenties running towards the front of the airplane. Everyone was taken aback. What was going on? As they pushed passed air hostesses towards the cockpit, Michael decided that this must be a hijacking. He was hoping against hope that it wasn't but it sure looked like it. He couldn't see the cockpit door but he heard them opening it and knew that they were now in direct contact with the pilots. It all happened very, very fast.

Uncertainty ensued for about thirty minutes before one of the hijackers went on the public address system and confirmed everyone’s worst fear.

“Ladies and gentlemen. We have taken over control of this plane. Do not try to be heroes and you will be fine. We have a bomb on board and we will not hesitate to use it,” he said.

The announcement was made in Arabic, French, and English so that everyone was clear.

Michael, much to his surprise, was not worried. They probably want asylum somewhere, he thought.

Thereafter, Michael would see two of the hijackers walk up and down the aisle visually inspecting the passengers but not inflicting any harm and then return to the front of the plane. After a while, they would repeat this exercise.

There was surprisingly calm in the plane, perhaps because everyone much like Michael, assumed it would all end well. After all, they really didn’t seem to want to harm anyone, despite their threats of bombing the plane. Practically no one had been touched.

They continued flying, but eastwards into the Indian Ocean and not towards Nairobi.

What country are we going to end up in, thought Michael, I guess my interview will have to be rescheduled. Maybe this incidence will work in my favour and get me some sympathy votes.

Passengers were left to speculate on what the hijackers wanted and where they were going. After what seemed like an eternity, Michael heard what sounded like the right engine shutting down leaving the deep sound of the left engine, which remained running.

What is going on?

The plane then seemed to descend to lower altitudes. After a few moments, the Captain went on the public address system and explained the shutting down of one engine.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot,” he said. “We are running out of fuel and have lost one engine already. We are going to make a crash landing”

What? We run out of fuel!

Screams and gasps could be heard in the plane indicating an appreciation of the level of danger by other passengers

"I would like all passengers to react to the hijackers, please. Thank you," added the Captain.

Michael was not sure what the Captain meant by that last sentence. React? Did he want to them to attack the hijackers? He looked around and no one seemed to want to do anything. There were only 3 of them, why was everyone so paralyzed?

Maybe trying to be a hero will cause more damage than good, thought Michael, they had mentioned a bomb after all.

The familiar-looking Indian man walked through the business class section towards Economy. Michael looked at him and noticed his left arm was prosthetic. Then it hit him, it was Mohammed Amin, the famous photojournalist who, through his photography and film, had brought the world's attention to famine and hunger in Ethiopia in the early 1980s. Michael remembered watching a documentary about the famine and about Amin losing his arm in a bomb blast in Ethiopia. This was not how he had hoped to meet this amazing man.

Amin walked towards the back of the plane. Michael could hear him trying to rally other passengers to take on the hijackers.

“There are only three of them,” he said. “We could take them. Come on!”

No one seemed to want to budge.

The plane continued to descend, sometimes swerving violently but descending nevertheless. Then, the other engine shut down. With power off, the air conditioning system stopped working. It started to get very hot inside, very quickly. The plane continued gliding rapidly towards an inevitable crash landing in the ocean.

Michael closed his eyes as if that would wake him up from this nightmare. This is really happening! I could die here today. Is this all my life was meant to be?

He started to pray for his family and himself as he took the crash landing position.

They finally hit the surface of the Indian Ocean, with an initial gentle tap followed by two violent bumps. Michael lost consciousness on the first violent bump. On the second bump, the plane tore into several pieces.

∞∞∞∞            

Michael Matiku was never to regain consciousness. On 23rd November 1996, Ethiopian Flight 961 lost 125 passengers and crew including the three hijackers. The crash had only 50 survivors and Michael was not one of them. He left behind a widow and two sons. Jonathan aged ten and Richard aged three.

When he died, it signaled the end of what was, except for their distant mother, a relatively happy childhood for both boys. The crash took away whatever minute portion of their mother's attention they were getting before. So distraught and depressed, Joyce retreated to herself, spending more and more time alone.

To Joyce, the loss of her husband was, to a significant degree, the loss of her identity. Who was she without him? What sort of life would she live? It didn’t take too long for his death to start affecting the household financially. She was a housewife. Without her husband’s income, she could not support the lifestyle she was accustomed to. She was used to being taken care of. She had to look for a job but she had no experience and a Business Diploma that she had never used. To further aggravate the situation, Jonathan’s private primary school, considered one of the best in Dar Es Salaam was also one of the most expensive and he still had two more years to go in it.

Michael's younger brother and only sibling, Brandon, offered to help Joyce with school fees but Jonathan had to move to a more affordable school. As for Richie, he stopped going to nursery altogether waiting for the right age to start standard one. That was also two years away. Brandon had two sons of his own and a daughter. The sons were ten and seven years old while the daughter was two-years-old. He had not graduated from University like his very academically inclined brother but got involved in the trading small volumes of foodstuffs in his late teens after high school, with relative success, later diversifying with a modestly successful hardware store that allowed him to support his tight-knit family.

Jonathan moving schools was one of many lifestyle changes that were made by the Matikus. They moved into an unfinished house that Michael had been constructing and sinking all his savings into because they could no longer continue to occupy company housing – although BP had allowed them to continue living there for a while, past the time allowed by policy. Their new home had no ceiling board, only corrugated sheets that collected Dar Es Salaam’s scorching heat during the day and dutifully tortured them with it at night. It initially had no doors or windows so they had to secure two rooms with doors, burglar bars and mosquito gauzes on the windows for the rooms to be used by Joyce and her sons as well as the kitchen that doubled up as the dining room when they put a Mkeka on the floor during meal times.

Because the bathrooms and toilets were not finished, an outdoor pit latrine had to be constructed hastily marking the completion of their new accommodation. It was a far cry from the executive housing of British Petroleum. To earn a living, Joyce with the help of Brandon, got a job as a receptionist at a small construction firm that often did business with Brandon.

Joyce was no longer the socialite and toast of the neighbourhood that she once was when Michael was around. She resented her situation deeply and tried to resist it with repeated attempts at keeping appearances - at her sons’ expense, spending the little money that she earned on clothes and socializing while often skipping meals at home or simply getting a loaf of bread and telling Jonathan to prepare tea for dinner. Her denial blinded her from seeing the pain and abandonment that her boys were enduring.

Jonathan had to grow up fast to adapt to the changes that were happening around him. After school, he would go to his uncle’s house to have lunch and pick up Richie who now spent the day there because Joyce would be at work. They would then go home together. As brothers, they grew closer.

Jonathan finished primary school two years later and was selected to join a public boarding school in Coastal Region, an hour’s drive from Dar Es Salaam. Richie was also about to start primary school. Next to losing his father, leaving Richie to go to boarding, was one of the most painful experiences Jonathan had had at that point in his life. Uncle Brandon would continue footing the bill for his education and expenses and help out occasionally at home. Richie started crying the night before he was to leave for school. As he was about to depart the following morning, Richie would not let go of him as they embraced. They both sobbed as a deep sense of loss engulfed them yet again.

At this tender age, deep in Jonathan’s psyche, a picture of what type of woman his heart would yearn for was already imprinted and it was what his mother wasn’t.

∞∞∞∞

Jonathan and Emilie's first encounter was online in a Facebook debate initiated by Marcus, Jonathan's best friend that he had met at University. It was late February 2014 and Jonathan had just finished writing an article for The Daily Times, an English daily that he worked for full time as a sales executive, selling advertising space and part-time as a writer with a weekly column called 'The Dot Com Corner' that focused on technology news and updates. Although he chose to major in Marketing at University, Jonathan had developed a keen interest in Information technology and telecommunications, as the industry grew in Tanzania and globally, and so, would research as much as he could on it and share with his readers every Saturday.

As soon as he finished writing inside his small apartment on the laptop given to him by his uncle Brandon after he had graduated from University, he checked his Facebook account for any activity. He scrolled down his feed and noticed a lot of activity in a Facebook group that he was a member of. It was called Team Tanzania, a group set up for anyone in Tanzania to join and socialize online. It had about fifty thousand members and there was a significant number of expatriates in it who used it to get general advice on how best to adjust to living in Tanzania or where to get the best services or products etc. Jonathan had been encouraged by Marcus to become a those debates, had just posted a photo of a book that Jonathan recognised as it was he who had shared the member, “not to miss out on the crazy debates”. Marcus, in an apparent effort to start one of photo and background story with Marcus a while back.

It was a photo of a book created by the Danish unemployment fund, Min A-kasse, in 2012. The fund, which provides unemployment insurance to its members, had been battling with a lot of bureaucracy so it conducted a research and discovered that unemployment rules in Denmark had exploded from 421 pages in 1951 to a massive 23, 675 pages by 2011

To illustrate the magnitude of the problem to the politicians who were creating it, Min A-kasse printed out all the rules, forms, and regulations, creating a book that was 134 centimetres thick and weighed 64 kilograms.

Although the size book was quite a sight, the flurry of conversation was caused more by the caption that Marcus had put underneath the photo. He had written, "Finally, a guide to understanding women"

All hell broke loose. Everyone and their neighbour’s aunty wanted to offer an opinion, with Marcus’ female friends vehemently attacking the post, albeit in what seemed to be a pretty friendly exchange.

Marcus remained adamant, "women are just too difficult to understand," he wrote on the thread. "Women will tell you they want an emotional connection, chemistry, respectfulness, romance, honesty, ambition but line up to date the biggest asshole in the room. They love bad boys. They don't really know what they want. I mean, do you want an adventure or do you want a meaningful relationship? Guess who they blame when the adventure ends – all men that have existed."

“@Marcus, you are being no different then, you are generalizing women the same way women generalize men,” wrote someone called Emilie Mosha. "I think most women want more or less the same thing. Yes, they do want emotional intimacy. They also want someone compassionate, honest, and ambitious. It's not unreasonable to want that and wanting that doesn't make you complicated."

“@Emilie, if that's what women want, why is it that when women become successful their main criteria suddenly becomes someone more successful than them? What happens to chemistry and emotional intimacy then? There could meet a nice, compassionate and trustworthy guy but since he's just a driver, he's not worthy. You don't see that with men. A billionaire could marry a waitress. This actually kind of explains why some successful women remain single and if you do get into a relationship with any one of these successful types, they will emasculate the shit out you. They will walk to work with your balls in their handbags every day. You'll see them start undermining you in small subtle ways, making decisions without consulting you, especially if that decision involves money they earned – it will be death by a thousand cuts until your soul finally leaves you," wrote Marcus

“@Marcus, that’s a bit extreme don’t you think? And you are generalizing again. Not all nice, compassionate guys are guys you automatically fall for. There has to be some chemistry and perhaps some intellectual connection. You have to be able to have a meaningful conversation. It’s just that men can’t stop searching for the next conquest and any successful, self-respecting and self-aware woman would not accommodate being used like that. I think men want control, control so they can do what they want, that’s why they are threatened by the success of the woman.”

“@Emilie, now I think it’s you who’s generalizing,” Jonathan finally wrote, entering the fray, “there are a lot of us who would cheer a woman on to pursue their dreams and be the best they can be. If we are partners, her success is OUR success just as my success would be OUR success”

“@Jonathan OK fine, not all, some.”

"I think relationships should be about giving, not just taking. No one is perfect. If you love someone, focus on expressing that love instead of on "what have they done for me lately". I'm not saying that you should allow yourself to be taken advantage of but if both parties also focused on giving, things would be easier because imperfections are minimised,” Jonathan added.

“@ Jonathan, I wish more men would think that way,” wrote Emilie.

“@ Emilie, it only takes one man. One man is enough,” replied Jonathan

After about 15 seconds of posting this, Jonathan received a message on his phone. It was from Marcus.

“LOL! Look at you go! She is out of your league Bro,” it said.

“Do you know her well?” Jonathan wrote back.

“She works with my cousin Agnes for some law firm. I forget the name,” Marcus replied

“Oh O.K.”

She sounds very…poised. Cool, calm and collected, Jonathan thought as he read through the thread. The conversation was continuing as he was reading. He clicked her name so he could have a good look at her photo and check out her profile. When he finally saw a larger version of her profile photo his heart skipped a beat. She was gorgeous! She only had two photos of herself though. One profile picture and another 'selfie' that she had uploaded with her mobile phone. Her page had only a couple of posts so she must have created the page recently, Jonathan thought. She did not put any information about herself. For some reason, he sort of liked that. He clicked his Team Tanzania tab to go back to the thread.

“Yeah not all of us are after one thing, some of us just want to go for long walks and talk about how taxation is theft, but still, I also think that book could come in handy,” wrote some called Mad Max.

Mad Max’s profile picture was that of Scottish actor Sean Connery in one of his Bond movies. Having an image of the slick and suave James Bond attached to the name Mad Max was an odd combination, thought Jonathan, much like devouring ugali and beans and then washing it down with…well…Martini, shaken not stirred.

“@MadMax, totally man,” Marcus wrote, “but honestly I lack the time and the energy to figure out my sisters so I will hold on to what my buddy @Jonathan might call, very pessimistic views on relationships. Keep it simple, keep it transactional I say. What are you in for, what am in for.”

Jonathan knew better than to continue engaging Marcus on this. It would never end. He decided he needed to go to sleep than realized that someone had sent him a friendship request. He checked to see who it was. It was Emilie. With a satisfied smile, he quickly accepted.

Three days later Marcus asked Jonathan to meet him for lunch. There was a new coffee shop called The Shop that had been opened recently and they had the best cheeseburgers in Dar Es Salaam according to Marcus.

Jonathan promptly arrived at 1:05 pm and found Marcus already sitting down, downing a large glass of lime juice.

Jonathan had barely sat down when she entered the coffee shop. At five foot seven, she was taller than your average woman and only three inches shorter than Jonathan. She walked like she was doing a catwalk, her hips swaying gracefully from left to right, her back straight with her head up with her attention fully on her destination. She had flawless light brown skin and short natural hair that had been dyed slightly brown. She looked like a golden African goddess. Her face displayed both innocence and confidence in equal measure. His heart skipped a bit. Emilie was walking straight towards their table. Marcus got up to greet her with a hug and peck on the cheek. Jonathan remained transfixed, not sure what to do. Marcus then pointed to the empty third seat. She was joining them!

Jonathan awkwardly extended his arm in greeting once she was seated.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she replied, smiling.

Jonathan and Emilie clicked right away. They both had a similar dry sense of humour that surfaced repeatedly where ever the conversation went. Marcus found himself uncharacteristically quiet after a while, noticing a definite vibe between them.

After lunch, they exchanged numbers so that they could keep in touch. Marcus, for the first time since befriending Jonathan, had introduced Jonathan to a girl that he wanted to continue seeing.

Once she had gone, Marcus explained to Jonathan that he had decided to ask both of them out for lunch because Jonathan had, “displayed signs of boyish infatuation that needed to be addressed.” Marcus always behaved as if Jonathan being single was, to some extent, his failure and so would often take it upon himself to arrange ‘coincidences’ for Jonathan.

“Why didn’t you try to get her for yourself,” Jonathan later asked Marcus suspiciously.

“My reputation has been tarnished thanks to my cousin. I’d get nowhere fast,” he replied

“Ah, I see. So you no longer think she’s out of my league.”

“Bro, she is still out of your league,” said Marcus, “but she seems to like you. Don’t misconstrue that as a desire for anything long term. She has her type of guys and it’s really not us. You can go in, have your fun and get out!”

∞∞∞∞

Marcus had a reputation for the ladies from his days at University. He had a certain level of confidence that intrigued Jonathan. It came from not being particularly bothered by other people's opinions of him Jonathan later learnt.

About a month after joining the University of Dar Es Salaam or "The Hill" as it is affectionately referred to as it sits on a hill overlooking the city, Jonathan went to have dinner alone at one of the University's three cafeterias. One of them had a bar outside and a pretty sizeable sitting area that was popular at night for eating too. This is the cafeteria that Jonathan preferred because it was the nearest to his room and so that he could eat in the fresh air. It was pretty full that night as it was on many nights and he found himself unable to figure out where to sit. He stood still for a few moments surveying the tables for a friendly face he could follow when someone called him.

“Hey bro!”

Jonathan turned around and saw an athletic-looking fellow beckoning him over to his table where he was seated with two girls. There was one empty seat.

“Karibu,” he said, pointing to the empty seat, “We can accommodate one more.”

"Thanks, man," Jonathan said as he sat down at the table.

“I’m Marcus but back home some people call me Malu. I don’t really like it so stick to Marcus. This is Kate and this is Agnes,” Marcus said while grinning and gesturing to the two beautiful girls with him.

“Fresher?” asked the girl introduced as Kate. She was very shapely and her very tight t-shirt and jeans accentuated her figure even more.

“Yes, I’m taking B.Com. Are you all freshers too?” Jonathan asked.

"Second-year Law," Kate replied.

“Final year Law. You and Malu are the freshers on this table,” said Agnes with a triumphant smile on her face.

“BA Economics,” said Marcus extending his hand for a handshake.