DATING IN THE CITY

PART 1: AN IMPROMPTU INVITE

It is a chilled afternoon on another normal Thursday. I’m laying my head on the headboard of my bed, doom-scrolling through social media while sipping hibiscus tea. My phone rings, or rather, it pops up as a notification, and I sit still before picking it up. It’s an unknown number, and I wonder who it might be. I’m a businesswoman, or better, a Jua Kali babe, so it could be a client, a customer, or a potential one. Either way, it could be anyone.

I answer the call.

"Hello..."

Caller: Hello, beautiful. I almost thought you weren’t going to answer the call.

Me: Uhmm, okay… who’s this?

Caller: I’m Kim. You gave me your number on Tinder.

To be honest, I can’t remember exactly who he is. I’ve been talking to a lot of guys, I get a lot of swipes. I mean, I’ve matched with a lot of people. It could be anyone. But I’m a natural when it comes to communication.

Me: Oh, yes. Hi. How are you?

Kim: I’m good.

Me: What’s up?

Kim: Where are you?

Me: In my house…?

Kim: Where do you live? I’m seeing that we’re pretty close.

Me: TRM Drive.

TRM Drive is in Roysambu, just off Thika Road; one of those areas people casually claim because it’s central, familiar, and safe enough to say without saying too much.

Kim: What a coincidence. I live along TRM Drive too. Let’s meet and get coffee at Java.

Me: Oh, like today?

Kim: Yeah!

Boooooy, I had to think fast. I mean, I like coffee and meeting new people, but I still couldn’t remember having an actual conversation with him on the app. On top of that, I was really enjoying the comfort of my bed, tucked into my cute little bedsitter, doing absolutely nothing important; and doing it well.

I usually take evening classes, and agreeing to coffee would mean that half of me would be there physically, while the other half would already be worrying about my next class. I wouldn’t be present, and I know myself well enough to know that. Besides, the whole thing felt a little too out of the blue.

So I tell him that if he really wants to see me today, we should do dinner instead because my class ends at exactly 7:10 p.m. I fully expected that to be the end of it, a polite exit wrapped in a reasonable excuse.

Instead, he says okay.

So people really do find ways to see you even after you’ve tried to wriggle out of it. Okay.

He says okay, and I hang up. I continue doom-scrolling, but now all I can think about is what I’m going to wear. I click back into my apps and decide not to put too much effort into it since this wasn’t planned, and I don’t want my outfit to pretend it was.

A few hours later, I put on a playlist. I like showering to 2014 pop music, the kind with Meghan Trainor and Taylor Swift, loud enough to drown out second thoughts. I peel off my lingerie, grab a fresh towel from the closet, turn on the heater, and step under the showerhead.

The water is warm and steady. I lather my face, massaging gently before rinsing it clean. I soap my washcloth, and the bathroom slowly fills with the scent of lavender. I wash myself carefully, all the way to my toes, scrubbing my feet before rinsing everything off and finishing with my moisturising shower gel.

I step out of the shower and reach for my body butter, warming it between my palms before working it into my skin. I seal it in with a light oil, slow and deliberate, the kind of routine that feels less like getting ready and more like coming back into my body.

At my mirror, I go for a no-makeup makeup look, just evening out my skin, brushing my brows into place, adding just enough lipstick to look alive and intentional without trying too hard.

I pull the jungle-green trousers from the top shelf, the ones I love and always feel good in, and pair them with my favourite black turtleneck. Comfortable. Clean. Like myself.

After getting ready, I order an Uber to school and while waiting for it to arrive, I call Rosetta. “You better be around,” I tell her, “because I’ve already been treating your house like it’s mine.” She laughs, knowing me too well. I spill all the details; Kim, the Tinder thing, the last-minute dinner plan; and she listens like the pro confidante she is.

The Uber arrives, and I head to class. After a productive session, I hop on a motorbike to Rosetta’s place, weaving through the leafy estates of the suburbs, the quiet streets lined with jacarandas and well-kept gardens making everything feel calm and oddly cinematic. By the time I arrive, I’m in that “I’m here, let’s see what happens” mode.

Tiana, Rosetta's best friend, is there.

Tiana: Unavaa nini?

Me: What do you mean? Si nishavaa!

Tiana: Hapana, usiende hivyo.

Me: Mimi naona nko tu sawa.

Rosetta: Enyewe, si uvae dress, look for one in my closet.

Me: This thing was so last-minute, I don’t even see the need to dress up.

It’s 8:23 p.m. My phone rings, it’s Kim. “Where are you?” he asks. I tell him I’m on my way. He says he’s leaving the house to meet me at the restaurant, and I tell him okay.

Rosetta: Is that him?

Me: Yea, he’s headed to the restaurant.

Rosetta: Then you better get changed quickly.

I hesitate to change into a dress, but the girls manage to convince me to at least switch my pants. I pull on a black pair from Rosetta’s closet and honestly, I actually look good. I didn’t expect that. Kim sends a text saying he’s already at the restaurant. I go to Rosetta’s vanity to retouch my lipstick.

Rosetta comes from the sitting room, smiles at me, and gently asks, “unaenda date na ngoma?” If you know me, you know my love for comfort. I adore ngoma shoes for their versatility, but since I’ve already passed by the vetting committee, I listen. She wipes her white sneakers so I can pair them with my outfit. Thank God for friends with the same shoe size as you.

Kim calls again, definitely impatient. He says he’s tired of waiting and will go back to his house and that I should let him know when I arrive.

Finally, I manage to finish up with the girlies and head out toward the mall. It’s only about a five-minute walk from the apartment, easy enough, and perfect for this last-minute adventure.

I’m ready to meet Kim… hopefully he doesn’t kidnap me.

Disclaimer: The views expressed in this article are my personal reflections and do not constitute professional, legal, or medical advice. They are shared in good faith, based on personal experience and opinion. In line with Article 33 of the Constitution of Kenya (2010), which guarantees freedom of expression, and Article 19 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR), which upholds the right to hold opinions without interference, I respectfully ask that my words not be misinterpreted, misused, or taken out of context. Kindly receive them as shared insight, not instruction