Life returns to me at around 10 in the morning. It is Saturday but I don’t have any plans to attend church. Of late I have been feeling languid courtesy of too many thoughts. They overwhelm me, and at times leave me helpless. I had made my mind that I would not go to church the other night before the gods took me away.
I recall telling you that I attend Lavington SDA church. I don’t know any brothers or sisters in Christ there, except the few college mates I meet occasionally. If my old man gets wind that I have been sleeping my Saturdays away instead of seeking spiritual nourishment, he’ll be disappointed. He will think that the city spoiled me. What people don’t know is that I am a cool but spoilt kid. This aspect of gentleness over time has suppressed my spoilt-ness levels.
To get to Lavington, I need to connect a few mats to get there. Usually we would drive. But as you can recall, our car lost its face and beauty when we got involved in an accident. Since then, that car has never been remedied. It is sitting its ass in the garage, rusting the memories. Once they’re over, the memories, we shall facelift it and mold it into the finesse it was. The other car just consumes extravagantly. Even if you’re filthy rich, using it will leave you praying that you get another source of money soon. It leaves your pockets horny for a buck.
Without a car, church is off target. Poor me!
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But today was different. I boarded a bus to Adams. There is a lady I was to meet there. There is this fitness programme that I run known as Ultimate Fitness Makeover programme. This is not the normal fitness for everyone. It is extreme. And the requirements for qualification and eligibility are stringent.
Ultimate Fitness Makeover is for the high end clientele who need an extreme makeover and are ready to spend money. In there, we have doctors, fitness instructors, dieticians, psychologists and other professionals. Unlike other fitness plans, ours includes taking only one client who is extremely in need of a lifestyle change. He or she has to be that needy. Even if you’re 220 kgs and with lots of money but not in extreme need of fitness, you’re not eligible for the programme.
She picks me up in a BMW X6, which is first indication that she is good with cheddar. There is an exchange of a huge hug when we meet.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet me.” A huge smile spreads across her fat lips. Not fat in a bad way, in a lovely way. She is huge. She towers at around 5’8. Her car sinks when she rides. Any car that is not a USV would crawl and leave the bumper and oil sump on the road.
“Feels great to finally meet you Tamara. You look awesome.” I flirt a bit, so long as it makes her happy I am gonna say it. She blushes and we get going. The distance from Adams Arcade to her residence is about 2km. A walking distance rather.
A gateman sends us a forced smile and a salute. I bow in acceptance and smile faintly at him, a gesture that doesn’t have a name. You can be tagged a courteous man or a man who smiles at other men. I must set the record straight here that I am very straight.
Her home is quite vast and decent. Life seems to have gone well with her. There is a sizeable lawn at the back, which houses a swimming pool and a shade full of lounge chairs. There is an open parking lot immediately on the left front, three cars parked with their butts smiling at us. A small garden full of potted flowers laughs at us, with the flowers in their brilliant shines send powerful scents across the homestead. A Pomeranian wagging his tail softly. His white soft skin feels great in my hands. It is not that I love dogs but if you want to avoid quarrels with dogs, just like if you want to avoid trouble with women, coddle them with love. Stroke them, make soft sounds. You’ll be a friend on first sight.
“Your dog is lovely.”
“He is a good pet. I love him here.” She says. She is seated on a huge coach.
“Juice or beer?” she offers
“A glass of water will do.” I reply. First, I don’t drink. Secondly, I don’t have a stomach for sugary drinks. I prefer fresh juice or whole fruits. She calls a house help from somewhere in the house
“Mary, njoo tafadhali.” Mary shows up. Unlike the house helps I see who look like they’re straight from the village caves and dressed in mediocrity, Mary is quite decent. She is dressed in what looks like a uniform and she’s lovely. She greets me as she hands me a glass of water. Later on, she disappears after serving Tamara a glass of juice.
“Is your husband around?” I query because I don’t want a man to show up and find a man seated in his living room having a sensational banter with his missus.
“I don’t have one.” She says as she takes a sip of juice from a wine glass. “He left 13 years ago. I have learnt to take a leap at life without him.”
“Sorry for that.” Honestly I don’t have a clue of what to say. “How is life without a husband when compared to having one?” By now I am feeling comfortable. I really want to lie on this cozy sofa. The cushions are very wimpy.
“When you don’t have a man you have to worry about loneliness. And at times, you want him there to fix basic things that you really cannot fix, bulbs, and taps.” She looks down. At this point I know that she is going to that emotional phase where I don’t want her to go. But it is already too late. “Sometimes I want him to be there when I’m emotionally subdued, to hold my hand and tell me things will be okay. There is a huuuuge ……gap.”
Before she ends that sentence, I am already by her couch. I rub her back. It is not something I would love to do with a client. But at times contingencies crop up and you’ve got to face them. She sobs. And sobs. And sobs. I begin to understand that she is a crier. That maybe she hasn’t cried of late, like all emotions were knit in a sack for so long. When the sack opened, every chaff and pulverized came out.
I didn’t say anything for the period. My arm just rubbed her back softly. I didn’t want to hug her either. It is always good to let people cry on their own. They cry better. My eyes roamed to the photos on her walls. There was this particular photo of her with the widest grin. She is in a graduation gown. Then, she was fit. From my judgement, she was around 70 kgs. She looked adorable.
Those times when she had not added weight seemed to be the best in her life. She wore better smiles. Mary bumped on me rubbing Tamara’s back. Okay, I don’t know what she thought but she went back almost as fast as she came. My heart beat went racing a bit. It is a phenomenon I don’t understand. My hand eased on Tamara’s back.
I removed a clean kerchief from my pocket. “Here, wipe that history from your mind.” I receded to my seat as she wiped her face dry. “It is not too late is it?”
“Too late for what?” She asks now in a better mood.
“To go outside and let the sun and the wind dry your tears. Carry your handbag and let’s go.” I can be compelling sometimes. But I know the timing. When there is no one to bring order, I take charge because I am a leader.
We rock the road. I want to test her limits. I don’t know where we’re going but I just want us to talk while we walk. Furthermore, conversations made while walking are the best. You can ask anything, you don’t have to gaze at the walls when words go elusive. And you don’t tire.
“Where are we going?” she asks when we get out of the gate.
She tells his gateman, “Zedekiah, nitarudi baadaye.” It is long since I came across someone with a name Zedekiah. I thought they all went to heaven with Jesus?
“Nowhere specific. But I am sure this road leads somewhere.” Suna Road throws as somewhere near Toi market.
“Ever shopped here?” I ask her as Toi market’s sweltering mass of buyers, stalls and sellers swallow us.
“Never been in here before.” She admits. We hit stall by stall, with my keen interest being on nothing specific.
“I have been here a couple of times. Toi is quite a popular place if you didn’t know.” I say as we step aside for a mtumba loaded guy to pass through. “Where do you shop for your clothes?”
“I do Vivo Activewear here in Kenya. I do grab some few wears from abroad. Dubai has some of the excellent boutiques in the world- ValleyDez, Symphony, Sophie’s Closest, Studio 8. Gosh, they’re many.” At this point, I don’t know what to say because that oomph that comes with mentioning Dubai is so loud that if you haven’t been outside the country then you’ll feel you haven’t lived.
By now we’re standing in front of a stall where they sell lingerie. The dude selling them has a huge beard like me but a very bald head. He has this undies in his hands that he keeps stretching to a mama who is there, “Mami hii ni size yako. Ni seamless na ni comfortable.” I throw my eyes around. The mama has her eyes glued to corona sandstone coloured mother unions. I also get stuck there. Why in the whole world mother unions? Is it the fabric? Or what? They never look attractive at all. If worn to a bedroom and you’re planning to have sex, your man’s member might just go into a two weeks long comatose. The thing is as ugly as Mugabe.
“Ever tried mother union on you?” I later ask Tamara. She laughs. This kind of laughter that makes you think you’re crazy.
“What! How in the whole world?” she exclaims.
“You mean you didn’t see that mama back there planted at their scene?”
“Is that why you also got planted?” She laughs again. “Oh God! I just hear they are comfortable. I’m yet to try them out.” She continues amidst laughter. When she laughs, there are these dimples that build on her cheeks, leaving spoon like contours that are so lovely to look at.
Anyway, we end up at Java House at Adams Arcade, downstairs where tranquility reigns. For someone who loves escaping from all the honking, the shouting, the sounds of cutlery, this is a good place to carry a laptop and hammer your stories from.
She is weary and I can see her rubbing her legs. “A long walk?”
“A weary walk. My legs are hurting.” She complains.
“Now that is where our conversation starts. Do you think you’re ripe for the programme?” I ask her. I am in business mood. There are two beef burgers smiling at me on the table.
“Tell me more about it first. I didn’t get to know much about it. I read a few bits of it on Facebook.” She replies. She is hot. But as you can tell, big and tall can scare a man. You men can tell us if this is your experience too. I wanna reach out to her and say, “Woman, I want to eat those lips till you have nothing to cover your teeth with.”
“Well, we call it Ultimate Fitness Makeover progamme. In this package, we help individuals lose weight using natural methods. We also rewire their brains by instilling discipline. We also counsel them on how to best approach life, deal with relationships and how to lead successful lives. Each year, we take two committed individuals for this training, each taking five months. In the five months, you’re not going to be working. If you do, it should not be an engaging job. That means you’ve got to prepare yourself prior to the programme, save and plan ahead of time.
I am gonna stay in your house for three months. You shall have weekends for yourself. In the three months, I am going to monitor your eating habits and lifestyle. I’ll kick out your beers, your juice and replace them with fresh fruits, fatty foods will kiss the bin. You will sleep 8 hours. You will train 6 hours a day. You will read 2 hours a day. You will meditate 30 minutes a day. You will volunteer 30 minutes a day. You will use your car twice a week, probably weekends. Your mornings will be chilly, you have to be up by 6 am. You’ll have to drink 12 glasses of water a day. And you will have to laugh more than 1 hour a day. Smiles should be on the list too.
A doctor will have a session with you on a weekly basis, the same with a psychologist. You will see me every day till you get sick of me. You will hate me, curse me and try to send me away. You have to work hard and be positive.
By the end of the third month, I will throw my bags in one of your cars, and you will drive me home. I shall come by once in a while to check on you for the following two months to track your progress. After that, I shall be gone with the wind.
But before that, we need to discuss the budget.” She stares at me while I say all these. Damn, she never blinks. And poor me, when I start talking, I never stop.
‘How much are we talking about?” She finally asks when I take a break.
“500k on the lower side.” My eyes don’t blink. Money makes my face straight. “Each month calls for 100k.”
“I didn’t know it was that costly.” She says in a resigned tone.
“That is why we take two people per year. You understand it is a tough job. There are a number of people involved in this process and they need to be paid handsomely for them to bring the change you want.”
“I understand. How sure am I that I am going to get the best?”
“Because you came to us first. That means you trust us. But even so, we can take you to two of our last clients to hear of their success stories while under our programme.
“Okay, I do trust you. You are easy to trust even on the first minute of meeting.”
“Thanks for the compliment. Let’s say we’ve got a deal.” In her chubby smile, we shake hands and proceed to have a meal.
She orders a salad, another beef burger and two milkshakes. A menu which she might not be able to enjoy in the future when the programme kicks off after elections.
As I leave some time in the evening, I have discovered that she weighs 173kgs, has only one kid aged 19 and studying in Sidney, she’s aged 39, she drinks a lot of beer, never smokes, she takes sugars like hell, she never cooks her food, Mary does, she is used to fats, she sleeps 6 hours, snores more than a pig, never works out at all, uses a car on a daily basis, has huge businesses that earn her good money, she has plots in Lavington and a buiding in Westie, has a bother and a sissy both happily married and living in Australia, she works smart and has no plans of getting married.
On a scale of 10, she experiences 5 sadness and 3 happiness. The other two are mixed feelings. She is warm but broken. She loves people but doesn’t love going into other people’s homes. She knows she has added weight but at time she doesn’t know what to do about it.
She loves white and black bras, dons purple, white or black lingerie. How I knew about that? I asked her. What you wear speaks a lot about your personality. She loves tall men who are confident. And what I found cheeky is that she loves masturbating.
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Well, as I cover my head today, I am just praying for her. I asked her what her deepest secret is, the one thing that she’s afraid to tell the world.
“I want to start living again. I want my life back.” I am praying to God, so that He can go to Tamara’s section in heaven computers, open her file, click on happiness category, and reset it to default. Then Tamara would have her life back.
Can we all bow down please! Close your eyes and let us pray.
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