LOVE BINDS. PART FIVE. III: WHEN HELL FREEZES OVER.

“There you are Sam! I’ve been looking all over for you. You haven’t taken your meds the past few days and you know very well the doctor said you should take them every day.”

The words spewed from a panting Channing Tatum knock off. He seemed to know Sammie and gave me a half a nod as he tried to talk to Sammie.

Wait.    

           

Did he just say meds? It better not be meds- meds of the antiretroviral variety.

We always used protection when we had sex, but you never know. I hadn’t gone for testing from before Sammie. I hoped that’s not what Fong Kong Tatum meant. Where was Mwiinga’s God when I needed him? Sammie was mumbling something about coffee again.

“You must be Sammie’s friend, Ish right? I’ve heard a lot about you.”  Not so Magic Mike shook my hand.

“It’s Ishmael” I said a little louder than intended.

“Sam, Go wait in the car while I talk to Ish-meeeeeel.”  Wow. He was irritating.

He introduced himself as Jack; he went into the sordid details of how he and his wife met Sammie at the arrival lounge of KK Airport, she was almost detained because of exhibiting irrational behaviour. According to Jack, Sammie was a mild schizophrenic and similar to the day they met at the Airport, she had skipped her antipsychotic medication. Jack and his wife were missionaries also originally from the States and had been looking after Sammie for almost 3 months.

 Ladies and gentlemen. My crazy ex-girlfriend.

Literally.

Sammie was in Zambia to see me, but that still didn’t explain how she knew about Bison and Chomba. It didn’t explain how there was something about me that only future Sammie would know. I needed to complete the puzzle but there were a few missing pieces. Jack looked embarrassed as he explained Sammie’s elaborate delusions of aliens and time travel. The world that existed in her delusions was real to her and only her medication could tame her. We exchanged contacts and I went back to face my bitter bill.

Bison was long gone, an apathetic waiter was clearing the table where I expected to see her dining with Chomba. I stepped back into the hell pit, lo and behold my “date” Dirty Angel turned into Hell’s Angel. She was gyrating her hips on another man’s lap, she was quite the industrious dancer and still found an arm to signal a waiter in my direction to give me the bill; her multi-tasking skills were impeccable. I wasn’t getting laid that night. I just wasted K2500 on a random ratchet and I didn’t have the energy or funds to try another one.

A week went by from my unearthly encounter with Sammie. Jack texted me once, he updated me on her condition and assured me that he would tell me when it was a good time to visit. Sammie had turned into something straight out of Criminal Minds. I was back where I met Hell’s Angel. Alone this time. It was the best way to avoid trouble, sit by the bar at an ungodly hour and watch the NBA playoffs. Sammie always made me stay up late and watch with her. The habit rubbed off on me from my days with her in Kenya. Besides, the owner of the place promised me a few rounds on the house, apparently the night I splurged had been rather slow for business and this was his way of saying thank you. There was only one thing that tasted better than a beautiful, cold beer and that was a free one.

“My my, they really let anyone in this place.” I knew that voice, it was a little raspy, phone- sex operator sexy.

“My Bison, I’ve mi-” I turned to say.

“First of all,” she cut me off.

 A girl meant business when she said ‘first of all’ and you knew you’d have to zone out for a lot of it because these hormonal beings are crazy. Not Sammie crazy. But still crazy

“I’m here for Game 6” she pointed at the screen and sat next to me.

We watched the game in silence- not the awkward type. She sipped her drink ever so lady like and occasionally stared at me.

Yeah.

She likes me.   

The game ended, she continued where she left off, without a single comment about what we just watched. “I’m only here ‘cause there was no power at home and I really wanted to watch the game in peace.”

“I guess I have ZESCO to thank then.” Please let this joke work. It was a bad joke but at the hour it was the best my brain could manage.

“Chomba’s not my boyfriend, he is gay, you can stop with the jealous act,” her language toward me improved greatly from the last time we spoke, I was hopeful.

“Chomba however told me that guy’s gay and he likes hitting on guys by offering drinks on the house.” She said as she pointed at the bar owner. I was wondering where she was going with the bit of gossip. I glanced at the owner and he was looking at me intently the way guys watched a girl before slaughter. Instinct told me to stand up and run.

“Call me next week, we can catch up, you know. Without the tears.” She said and walked away. I couldn’t see her face but I knew she was smiling and I was smiling too.

When Mwila-An passed her bar exams, her fingers dialled her mother’s number fervently. She made it. Cleared them at the first try!! The excitement could only be matched by the time she cleared the boys at Street Fighter when she was a kid.

“This calls for a celebration! Your father would have been so proud baby girl! Have you told Ishmael?!” Her mother said. Mrs. K knew there was an unresolved issue between them but it was a great moment in Mwila-An’s life, a moment bigger than whatever grudges stood between them.

Being admitted to the bar simply meant more work, work she had been ready for her entire life. Her mother was right, she needed to tell Ishmael, talk to him about the strange turns her life had taken in the months she had cut him off. Mwila-An spoke to Ishmael in the way one wrote in their diary. That was disturbed when he stayed in Kenya for a year and it was being disturbed by petty fights. Arguments were petty when compared to grandiose of their friendship. A relationship is what she would have had if she went on with Chomba. Chomba was kind, funny and made parts of her come alive, parts of her that were feminine, girly and attractive. However, there were parts of her she knew Chomba would never understand simply because he wasn’t Ishmael. Ishmael knew her in a way she couldn’t understand or explain; if she knew the way she would have simply built the same thing with Chomba. Ishmael was there for most of her becoming. He knew who she was because he was there. She needed to tell him about the Bar. He needed to be there when she took banal graduation pictures. She knew she would ruin the pictures by smiling too hard and her elderly mother would get tired half way through, but she needed Ishmael there, cracking his jokes and just being there the way he had her entire life.