Date With A Diva

There comes a time in a man’s life when he must summon the courage to approach a member of the opposite sex. Some are endowed with physical, intellectual or verbal charm that helps to mitigate the likelihood of rejection and give a tremendous boost to their chances of success in these endeavors. On the other hand, some possess a power far greater than looks, intelligence and charm. They possess money aka paper, cheddar, bread, mulla (Just but a few of its monikers). The problem with this power is that it tends to mainly attract platoons of gold diggers, divas and sometimes GDDs (Gold Digging Divas) a merger of the two. The kind who have been known to sometimes give financial conditions just to talk to them as if opening one’s mouth to expel air and sound has a price. If you are unfortunate enough to end up meeting one, just turn the other way and run. They are nothing but trouble.

Allow me to share my experience with you. It was just after I had completed high school. Four years of grueling academic torture were behind me and a world of limitless possibilities lay ahead. Knowing full well that an idle mind presented a vacant workshop for the devil, I made efforts to leave the house every once in a while just to keep myself occupied. This presented an opportunity to explore parts of the city freely all the while getting some exercise. Around that time Facebook had gained a substantial amount of popularity in my social circles and you could find almost anyone there. Whether it was through a search or a recommendation based on a confusing web of friends of friends of friends. It became the new platform to rekindle old flames and seek out or ignite new ones.

Being a “Kifaranga cha Kompyuta” (Indirect Translation: Child of the Computer Generation), I too joined the platform and managed to strike a conversation with a pretty lass whose beauty captivated me. For the sake of anonymity, we shall call her Lynn. Now Lynn was not an entirely new face as we had met years ago. We exchanged multiple messages on Facebook and I managed to procure her digits to facilitate easier and more direct communication. After sometime had passed, an agreement was reached to meet face to face and catch up. It was a day I looked forward to. The images I had looked at on her profile raised my hopes but I stayed grounded as I had no assurance that they matched the real thing. This was before Instagram filters but even then, one could not be too careful.

At long last the expected day arrived. I headed into the city to first meet my old classmate from high school who went by the monicker Saddam. The details of that meeting are a story for another day but I can tell you that I was his wingman. On conclusion of Saddam’s mission, I awaited a call from Lynn. I asked Saddam to stick around just incase I too needed a wingman on my endeavor to entertain the girl. Truth be told, it was also a ploy to show off the magnificent beauty that had been ensnared by my silver tongue.

Lynn finally arrived at our preset location and as she walked towards us, I must say she looked stunning. Allow me to paint you a verbal picture. She wore purple sneakers, tighter than tight black pants, a purple top with those weirdly small mini black jackets, purple and black eye shadow and a generous dousing of red lipstick that gave her lips a blood red appearance and she topped it all of with a plethora of bling like earrings and necklaces. The years had advanced her biology and my optical receptors had a field day surveying the “landscape” (Do not judge me. Beauty must be appreciated after all). A quick glance at Saddam revealed that he too had been captivated by my “purple beauty”. He even made this evident by whispering to me that she looked good. On her arrival she was met with smiles and proceeded to give me a hug (That was much appreciated). Luckily she had come alone so I could afford to relieve my wingman of his duties. “So let us go get something to eat”, I told her. “Ok, where did you have in mind?” She asked. To which I confidently replied, “Kenchic”. She gave me a sudden look of disgust as if she had just found out that I kill puppies and kittens for a living (Just to be clear, I do not). “Excuse me!” She said.

I enquired as to what was wrong and she informed me that she “Does not do Kenchic”. “Oh Sugar Honey Iced Tea”, I thought. I was dealing with a diva. Now let me give you some brief insight. Kenchic was a fast food restaurant that sold their food at affordable prices that were convenient for simple individuals with little or no income. It was the go to place for students looking to get a tasty meal without “breaking the bank”. She apparently thought the establishment beneath her and wanted to be taken to a more reputable place. Visibly irritated, she turned to Saddam and said, “Imagine he wants us to go to Kenchic”. To this Saddam simply responded with a smile. I looked at him bearing a smile myself but on the inside I was shouting like Kevin Hart going, “N****, HELP ME!!!”. He just kept smiling. In that moment, I felt like Mufasa in the Lion King movie earnestly struggling to hold onto the ledge with Saddam in the role of Scar looking down upon me and Lynn being represented by the fatal drop and stampeding buffalo. Him smiling and saying nothing was like getting tossed off the ledge to fall and get trampled to my death.

In the end I gave in and opted to take her to a Galitos that was nearby. Apparently, that was up to her standards. On entering the place, I took a quick look at the menu and realized I could barely afford any of the items listed. I could have just bought one meal and convinced her to share it with me under the pretext of it being “romantic” but there was just one little problem. She had invited Saddam to join us and he (despite having a good head on his shoulders) had said yes… FUDGE CAKE!!! Now I had to buy food for three at Galitos and had not come armed with enough money. My wingman at this time was oblivious (Or rather acted so) to my plight and I had to think fast.

Having no intention of peeling potatoes due to an inability to pay my bill, I opted to buy only sodas for the three of us in the end. And boy were they expensive (Kshs 90 each may sound minuscule now but at the time it was a lot). For that price they should have been able to quench our thirst for all eternity, but they did not. The transaction left me with just enough to get home. Once we were done I bid goodbye to my wingman (Suppressing the urge to strangle him while doing so) and escorted my “purple beauty” home. Why escort her? Because I am a classic man (And she just so happened to be heading in the same direction I was). After that day the communication gradually ceased. The girl demanded the Villa Rosa Kempinski life and I was not in a position to provide it.

Now you are probably thinking, cmon man you were being cheap. To that I say, you try taking a diva out when broke and unemployed and see how well you do. To the ladies, I say try going simple once in a while. Not every man who buys you a steak dinner with white wine can guarantee you a fruitful relationship. Sometimes, even a simple guy holding a plastic bag of githeri (A culinary amalgamation of Kenyan corn and beans) can give you a much more memorable experience.