FIRST CAME YOUR EYES

THE BUREAU

There's a word in Lingala that JB used to hear when she was a child that always intrigued her.

Bureau.

Her aunts seemed obsessed with the word that meant desk in french or office department. Her aunts loved evoking people's names while speaking of these desks.

Why were all these adults obsessed with desks?

It was only when she grew that she seized the first, the second, and the third bureau as a way of saying first, second and third mistress.

Some men had enough money to have up to five bureaux. The number seemed insane for JB, who wondered what type of food they ate to keep up their stamina levels when she became sexually active.

JB didn't see herself sharing her body or time. It wasn't just about her health but self-respect. Even when friends prompted her to juggle, JB tried to contempt the two men she saw in her presence. She met them in public spaces and avoided any physical contact. She had absolutely no intention of entertaining them in a bedroom.

The woman quickly understood she could not play even if this involved no sex. She was a woman for one man and expected her love interest to see things the same way. Thus, she avoided any man who had the reputation of having offices in every city.

Curtis was a clean slate. Many attested the man wasn't one to flirt. His socials were clean. One couldn't even catch a woman's shadow in his photos. The Congolese gossip phone was a vast network that had headquarters in every country, and no rumor or tale filtered concerning the man.

JB had done the test many times by evoking him in random conversations, and every time she got.

"Eh, eh, tikka tikka, mobali wana aza somo trop. Bongo é koloba é ko sopana [eh, eh, leave that, that man is a wonder. Money is speaking and spilling]."

"Malgré wana oko yoka sango ya mwasi té. Batu ébélé ba ko loba qua za pédé. [Despite this, you'll never hear news about a woman many think he's a homosexual]."

"Propreté é leki, ba pédé wana ba zalaka propre makasi [he's to clean, those gay guys are always too clean]."

"Mbasi ébélé ba mékolaka. Curtis a buákisaka makasi [lots of women try their luck. He bounces them severely]."

Curtis was stamped gay. The tag and Curtis' behavior toward women reassured JB, just like her aunt, who spent her time spying on the man.

No, JB refused to be someone's desk and chair. It was the most degrading position for JB, who saw being a mistress as playing an understudy waiting for the show's star to break a leg.

She was wife material. A ten in every aspect, even in her delusion, as the next scene was about to show her.

"Allo."

"Bonsoir, suis-je bien sur le telephone de Jolie Bébé? [Hi, am I on Jolie Bébé's phone]."

JB frowned. No one knew her first name. Only a Congolese person could eventually guess. Still, how could a stranger call her that way when even her family wasn't allowed to do so?

"Excuse me, who is speaking?"

"Oh, I was in your store yesterday. You tried on some outfits for me. Thank you again."

JB was still perplexed. The answer didn't deliver how the woman got her number or why she called. It was a bit too much for a thank you.

"Excuse me, but how did you get my number?"

"The Congolese community in Paris is very talkative. There's always someone that knows somebody. My husband taught me that when we began to date. You probably know him. His name is Curtis. Curtis Cartier Kayembi."