Broken Roads, Open Skies.
I've always loathed the idea of relocating, but this time, an unusual numbness consumed me. The usual terror associated with packing my belongings into a moving truck and heading to a new place no longer haunted me. All I yearned for was to reach my new destination swiftly, a desperate attempt to escape the haunting memories of Nairobi. The friendships I once cherished turned out to be built on lies and people exploiting my trust. Even Joy, my best friend, argued that a man cheating on me wasn't reason enough to leave the county. However, my heart yearned for a fresh start.
He betrayed me just days before our wedding, choosing my cousin, Allu, as his accomplice. The sting of the betrayal was still fresh in my mind. April 29th, the day that was supposed to mark our union, was now the day I would begin a new job, grateful that I never walked down the aisle to him.
My phone interrupted my thoughts, pulling me from my daze. It was Joy, checking in on me every thirty minutes.
"I haven't reached the petrol station," I quickly answered before she could inquire.
"I just called to ask if you've taken anything."
"Still driving, aiming to reach Taita Taveta before dark," I fabricated an excuse, my appetite overshadowed by the numbness, sustained only by Red Bull and biscuits.
"Ama Lucy Mwabuli, get to the next station and get yourself some food. We don't want to lose that ass. As your friend, I made it a duty to help keep that booty up, so for crying out loud, get something to eat." Determination resonated through her voice. If distance weren't a barrier, she'd likely force a whole chapo and beans down my throat just to ensure I ate.
Unable to muster the energy to resist, I relented, "I will pick something up when I get to the next stop, I promise."
We fell into a quiet exchange, the air growing warmer between us, neither of us knowing what to say. It had only been two weeks since the heartbreaking discovery of his infidelity, and the wound was still raw.
"Call me when you stop, take care, honey," Joy finally said, ending the call. I welcomed the return to silence, my eyes fixed on the road ahead.
A few stops later, my last can of Red Bull emptied, prompting a necessary refill. I reached Kinyiki town with an hour to spare, yet the craving for Red Bull persisted.
After refueling my grey Honda Fit, I entered the tiny shop at the petrol station. The cashier, adorned with a face beat for the gods, glanced at me briefly before returning to laughter on her phone screen. My focus shifted to the fridge, where I grabbed a pack of Red Bull and a red bottle of wine. The plan was to find solace in intoxication once settled in my new home.
Just as I silenced my phone, not wanting to pick Joy's call, a man behind me in line spoke, "You don't want to pick that."
I spun around, torn between answering or not. The phone ceased ringing momentarily before resuming. Opting for silence, I paid for my Red Bull and wine, eager to leave. Joy's persistence would only end if I answered, and the only way to halt this was to pick up.
"Where were you?" Joy's concern echoed through the phone.
"Getting something to eat," I replied, pulling out a can from the pack that sustained me throughout the nine-hour drive. I wished I had heeded Joy's advice to fly, but solitude on the long road seemed more appealing.
"What did you get?"
"Chapo beans," I quickly named our favorite kibanda meal.
"Oh, okay," she conceded, sensing my reluctance to share more. Joy never wanted me to leave Nairobi, but enduring another day in the same town as my ex was unbearable.
A knock on the window interrupted the quiet between Joy and me. It was the same man from the line, holding up the forgotten bottle of wine.
"Sorry, you left this in there," he said before I could roll down the window.
"Sorry, I had to get going," I waved my phone, grateful for the brief exchange, and he walked away to the adjacent black TX without saying another word.
"Who was that?"
"A nice stranger," I replied, glancing at the rearview mirror.
"Was he hot?" Joy always found a way to lighten any situation.
"I don't... Yes, n... Yes, he is," I finally admitted, looking beyond the hurt feelings.
"Oh, he's got you all flustered. You should have gotten his number."
Laughter filled the air as we contemplated the missed opportunity. In our friend group, I was the shy one. Joy, the hotshot in a law firm, opposed the idea of settling down. She always said that no man could keep up with her and we all agreed. We couldn't keep up with her either. Njambi, the brains, worked with the Ministry of Roads and Works and was the main consultant when it came to construction. She was the one that introduced Mike to me. Mwillu, the nurturing soul, ran a non-profit in Turkana. We always saw her as the mother of the group. She took care of everyone. Then there was me, fleeing from a cheating fiancé, unable to endure the sympathy and apologies, seeking solace in a new town, one farthest from Nairobi.
I pulled up to the school around six-thirty in the evening. After a quick tour, I was shown to my new house, located on the outskirts of the small town. It was a one-bedroom house situated at the last row before the affluent neighborhood began.
Walking into the house, I headed straight for the box labeled fragile, where I carefully retrieved my favorite wine glass. With Sauti Sol playing in the background, I began sorting through my belongings. The goal was to be fully prepared before Monday.
