Before Instagram and WhatsApp gained fame, we only talked to our lovers through the unlimited sms that Safaricom used to offer.
You’d get like 200 sms for only Ksh 10 bob and that would be enough to shower your girlfriend with all the lies the universe can hold.
So, I once dated this galdem. Her name was Elizabeth, but she preffered to be called Liz.
I can’t clearly remember how I got Liz’s number, but it must have been from a friend. Because in those days, you’d ask your friends for girls’ numbers then throw your lines in hopes that one or two of them will sink in your box.
And Liz did sink in my box.
Love bloomed. We’d text all day and night. Call each other late in the night and boy, that damsel had a voice for days.
Like I said, it was pre-influencers era. The only social media that made noise in the streets was Facebook.
Way back when everyone on Facebook worked at either YMCB or Uptown Street Swag.
And Liz was not on Facebook. There was no arena where I could see her face and attach it to the sweet voice that soothed my nights.
The only option was to meet. A topic she avoided every time I bought it up.
In my head, I had a perfect picture of how she looked like. Long black hair, shiny eyes, well curved physique with a heavy behind. Of course, with a heavy behind – that voice was absolutely from a lady who owns one of those.
So, it came a time when she obliged to meet. We had dated for circa 2 years – a relationship concreted on texts and calls.
I waited at archives, cautiously looking around to see any stranded lady. Funny thing, at archives there’s a whole bunch of stranded ladies. A whole bunch.
I didn’t wait for long before she texted something in the neighborhood of, “nixhafika, umevaa aje?”
Then followed a call from her.
From a far, I could see a lady with her phone on her ears, looking around. And at that moment I knew it was her.
She was in a black dress, amazingly done braids and a complexion worth dying for. She looked even more exquisite than I thought. And the behind was just as perfect as the picture in my head.
“Hello?” I received the call, looking at her direction as she crossed the road towards Commercial.
“Hello, nimefika archives, uko?” Said Liz’s voice, just right next to me.
I turned, and lo! There she was. A woman in her 30s, maybe early 40s. Unticked all the fantasies I had in my head. Nothing matched how I had thought she’d look like. Not even a glimpse.
We just walked to one of those chips and fish restaurants where you eat while looking at yourself on the mirrors on the walls. Had a lazy conversation and dawned on both of us that this was not going to work.
We never had an official break up, neither did we ever talk again after that day.