Always

Eleven

Eleven

It’s still freezing but I have gotten used to the weather. I have been here long enough to get used to driving myself around without getting lost. But the more comfortable I get in this foreign land the more restless I become.
I just had Ugali yesterday but here I am cooking it again. I never even liked the dish that much but since I’ve been away from my country it feels like anything Tanzanian needs to become a part of me. I think I'm home sick but I would never say this out loud. How could I miss that place?
But to be fair, it was home. My home. I mean, it was home. I’m sorry I don’t mean to repeat myself but the thing is, I never considered it home when I left. It had simply become a place that I resided in. I told myself that home is where your heart is and my heart was in this continent. So Ireland should be more of a home than Tanzania was, but you see, the people back there spoke my language. They shared my history. They shared my culture. As a community we had certain things that bonded us. Here? I am the visitor. I don’t even have to speak for someone to know that I am a foreigner. It’s in everything I do. 
I tell myself that the cold has a lot to do with it but I doubt I will feel any more at home when spring comes. Already I can’t wait for summer to get here so I can go back home for three months. Already I fantasize about the sun and fried sardine sold on fish stands.
The thing that is most problematic is that I feel so isolated being so far from home, so far from the places my mother once walked, so far from where her body is buried that limiting myself from people and physical contact feels excruciating. So this is why I am not just cooking Ugali for myself but for Ridley and his room-mates as well.
They invited themselves over and I let them. I have been letting them into my life a lot actually. They are around me enough to notice that I spend a lot of time talking to a person who I never talk about. I don’t even have to tell them who this guy is because it’s written all over my face whenever he calls.
            I know the rules. And they are that I must not be memorable, nothing should stand out lest it hurts me when I finally make my debut in Nikolai’s world. I know that I am breaking them, especially where Ridley is concerned but I can’t live like the girl who should be forgotten. I can’t do that when I fear that I am already too forgettable as it is. I fear that Niko is all I have. I fear that letting him be everything to me might only set me up for the inevitable.
            “Hello,” Stella, the girl that is always hanging around Ridley and his roommate calls. She is already inside my apartment, I bet Ridley opened the door because he knew that I left it open during the day and he likes barging into peoples’ places. I hear the rest of the guys talking as Stella’s high heeled feet make their way to the living area where I am. The book shelf I got recently sure does create an illusion of a foyer for my door.
            “Hi,” I say as I turn the wooden spatula so I can really mix the wheat together.
            Stella is an inch shorter than me and she tends to talk too fast for me to comprehend her even when she speaks in Swahili. But I like her none the less. I mean apart from her heeled boots. She is in her customary attire, dark t- shirt and jeans.
            “This smells nice,” she says and the guys follow behind her.
            My place is too small for all of them but I have come to enjoy their company. Every once a week they come over and we eat. On other occasions they manage to get me to go out to pubs with them but those are extremely rare occasions.
            “Hey lady,” John says. John has been here since he was sixteen so he doesn’t seem as out of place as I do. o
And his parents live in the next town so he only needs to take a long drive and see them when he gets homesick. He is also the cook on Wednesdays, he cooks us his specialty which is Jollof.
            “Hi, hi, everyone I will only be a minute.” I say raising my head to look at all the five visitors that I have, there is Ridley, John, Mike, Rupert and Stella.
            “It always amazes me how cooking can be such a work out when you cook that – what is it?” Ridley says.
            I ignore him. I have to make sure I don’t let any of the wheat form pebbles within. The table is already set so all I have to do is cut everyone a peace of Ugali when it’s ready. They have had this a few times already so they all know how to eat it.
            We have a nice dinner that is filled with enough laughter to warm my heart. I almost don’t want them to go when the time comes for them to leave.
            I am honest with myself so I admit that I am lonely. I never thought that I could feel this way even when I am surrounded by people. It always felt like it was something that I felt because I was alone. I mean I have been alone for a while, it feels like that because I’ve only ever had my mother and she wasn’t the same woman she used to be for a while. But here I am, with a man who loves me enough to afford me all these luxuries and perhaps I can go as far as to say I have friends who care for me both here and back home. But still. I feel lost.
            “Bye guys,” I say walking behind them on our way to the door “Thank you so much for coming,”
            “Of course, Mtanzania.” John calls me that and in return I call him Mnigeria. I taught him. I was so glad when he showed interest in Swahili. He turns around and then waits for me to step next to him before he places his arm around my shoulders “It will be alright.” He whispers to me.
            “You think so?”
            “Everyone gets homesick, you’re not the only one. All these people miss home even if theirs is only a few kilometers away.”
            I smile appreciatively at him.
            The thing is, I keep wondering if there is anything left for me to go back to in Tanzania. The answer is always the same, there's nothing there and perhaps that is reason I feel this desperate need to miss it. Perhaps all these feelings are my way of saying goodbye. But could I leave it behind the same way I have left everything else behind?
            I've been caving and staying up just to talk to my friends at the Open University,  which was good because I can now confirm that Saleh and Aisha are dating. I even called Jamila and talked to her for hours. It was just silly girl talk but at the time it felt like I needed it.
            I finish putting everything away and then lay on my blue couch. 
            It’s time for our usual skype calls but the thought of talking to him exhausts me.
            Sometimes I think that this relationship that we have is too much for me. I mean, I barely know all there is to know about our circumstances and the reason behind our situation and I feel this burdened. But then I think of where I would be of it wasn’t for him. I think of all the things that I have because of him and I know that I can’t end it.
            I tell myself that the reason I am so inclined to keep being with him despite of everything is because I love him so much but I can never be completely sure. I hate that I can’t even trust my own heart to differentiate between gratitude and love.
            But I do know that I love him. So I call him.
            I smile when I see his face, I smile when I hear his voice. I actually feel the happiness I feel from just this simple contact with him seep through me. It feels like a warm sunny day in the middle of winter.
            So of course I tell him “I love you,” when the time comes for us to say goodnight, and he says it back because he does love me. I am sure of it. And he never has to wonder if he is confusing anything with love.
            Days turn to weeks and weeks turn into enough months to welcome spring. I wish I could say that I have gotten better but the only change is that I cry myself to sleep these days whenever I hang up after talking to Niko, tears well up in my eyes. I want this phase to be over but I just seem to fall deeper and deeper into this stupor. I am confused and so certain at the same time.
            The only positive thing about it is that this phase or whatever it is has given me more time to focus on my studies.
            On one Friday night, Stella is able to convince me to go clubbing with them. I am reluctant to go but I go with them. And it isn’t clubbing exactly. We are going to this pub that has a really cool DJ and cheap beer. I dress in tight dark green dress that goes all the way to my thighs and black heels. My hair is in braids so I just tie it up in a ponytail. I let Stella apply make up on my face, I wonder how she has stuff for my skin tone.
            “Look at you,” Ridley says when I step out of Stella’s room.
            “I know, I feel like I’m wearing a mask.”
            “A beautiful mask,” Stella chimes. She is in black short shorts and crop top that show cases her impressive midriff. She has done her make up to accentuate her high cheek bones so her face is more angular than it usually is. She looks stunning and not at all like the tom boy she is.
            We’re in our usual group of six, we are loud and obnoxious, the same way all groups of friends are. I laugh with them and I even go as far as to swallowing a few mugs of beer even though I hate the taste but I do it all in the name of fun. The guys take turns dancing with us. John manages to meet a girl who is also a Nigerian when we are there.
            It’s hours later when we are sitting in our stools, Ridley is on my right and Stella is flirting with Rupert on my left. Mike and John have both disappeared.
            “Why aren’t you with anyone?” I ask Ridley. I have noticed him spending less and less time with girls recently.
            “Why aren’t you?” he asks and I can see where this will lead to, I want to grasp for something else to say to make sure he doesn’t come on to me. I mean I do see the way he looks at me but I don’t want to hear it out loud.
            “Rid, hey man.” A big burly guy with shoulder length hair slaps his big beefy hand Ridley’s shoulder “Hey,” he says again as Ridley turns around to face him.
            “Noah,” Ridley says in a somewhat strained voice “Hi,”
            “Who is this?” Noah says, I notice then that he has Ridley’s eyes. And they aren’t just Irish blue or anything. They are basically the same shape and color. They even have the same vibe to them “Hi little lady,” Noah says to me. 
            “Hello,” I say waving a hand at him.
            “Waridi, this is my cousin Noah, Noah this is Waridi.”
            “War- what?” Noah says unable to say my name.
            “War-ee-dee,” I say.
            “Are you a singer?” he says to me “You look like one, here.” He gives me his business card and I take it even though I can see Ridley shaking his head “I have a studio on the other side of town, you should come by.”
            “Oh,” I smile trying to read card but my brain is too hazy for me to make out anything in the dim light “I can’t sing,”
            Noah scoffs “Nonsense, everyone can sing.”
            I smile at him and pocket the card.
            It’s three hours later when we leave the pub, I have five missed calls from Niko. I think it’s the alcohol but I just don’t feel like calling him back. I don’t even feel like texting him. Somehow I feel like I need space to breathe.
            “You can sing you know,” Ridley says to me as we all get into Rupert’s car.
            “What?”
            “I always hear you hum when you cook,”
            His words make me blush hard, because I remember when Niko told me that. He told me to pursue a career in singing and I laughed it off as an exaggerated compliment.
            I wanted to be a singer when I was younger but somewhere along the way I found myself simply listening to music instead of fantasizing about making it. But what does it matter anyway, I think everyone has wanted to make music at some point in their lives.