[For DK, who has tired of the 'succinct'... :P]That an unlikely story should begin with a car radio blinking the improbable time-5:90, over and over seems somehow apt.
Her stumbling from the taxi, bruising her knee, ripping her jeans, and breaking a toe-nail would follow as minor catastrophes. Not enough to elicit more than the quirking of an eyebrow.
No wonder that when she swore at the taxi-conductor, with that manner of inevitability, she displayed none of her usual vigour. It was almost pleasant.
She was going to meet a him. Of course. Any good story must posture at some point-a male and female, to hold the majority's interest.
We shall sidestep the norm, and endow our heroine not with elegance or style, slender form or ethereal grace but healthy curves, earthy tongue and a singular disregard for society's expectations. Ah, but to pay respect to custom, we shall deem her naive youth. She was young, and therefore must be naive. Must.
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The room was bare. With that sparse intensity of motel rooms. The décor consisted of a large bed in the centre, with a plastic chair by the side of it, almost as an after-thought. The floors were red; the walls blue and in the second-floor windows, hung gauzy curtains of a gaudy gold. This seedy room could not pretend to be more than it was-- a scene for consummation. As if to confirm this thought, the room's occupant saw out of the corner of her eye, the torn wrappings of a
Lifeguard condom pack, clinging to the chair's back.
Our heroine smiled. Emma was a sweet boy. Admittedly, he was sweet...on
her, but he was harmless. They would only talk, as he had suggested. They were friends. They would spend the night together catching up on old times, and next week she would leave for 'outside countries.'
In a lodge? So what? She could hardly ask him to sleep over at her house-- what would her mother say? He had asked her to wait for him in the room, while he finished off some work for his older brother and created an alibi for himself. And so now, she sat on the kinky bed, with the doubtful towel and
lesu draped on it, courtesy of the thoughtful 'hosts.'
She stared at the room's door, and the tooth-brush that served the purpose of door-knob/ door-lock. She smiled again.
The Charmi Inn, Wandegeya.
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Tired, over-worn
Bata school shoes. They were the first things she noticed when Emma stumbled in to the room a couple of hours later. Darling school-boy. She had to stifle the laughter. He carried chips and chicken in
buveera, two bottles of Rwenzori mineral water, a couple of toothbrushes and a small tube of Colgate. Prepared, wasn't he? This time she laughed outright. She could not tell, of course, what else he was carrying so eagerly in his back-pockets.
He offered her the food. She ate. He watched her eat, with unwavering concentration.
She shrugged off the puppy-eyed adoration. She was used to it.
Between bites, they talked.
She spoke of bringing home a
mzungu, and he jerked like it was a physical slap.
"I will wait for you," he said.
She decided to ignore the sombre tone.
He got up abruptly, announced that he was going to take a shower.
He took his shirt off slowly, while continuing to speak to her, such that her eyes were drawn reluctantly to his chest and...
"It's late, we should go to bed after I take a shower," he said.
Her mind registered only his ridiculously sharp nipples.
He took his trousers off.
And then it occured to her, that maybe she ought to be nervous.
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