Zambia fashion week: a stupendous review

Zambia fashion week 2014

Ah...Zambia fashion week came and went. Honestly, I do not know what makes me happier, whether it came or whether it finally went. I will try to be as objective as possible in my blog as I can be. So I will touch on everything that I saw and witnessed and give tips where necessary..after all I put on clothes..

To begin with..How was it Zambia Fashion Week when it only took three days??? Let someone smart answer that eerie question so we can get it out of the way.

I loved the explosion of fashion, colours, chitenge, Ankara and it was nice seeing all these Zambian designers there like Towani Clark whose father I just adore. We patiently took selfies together with THE Clark. Back to the fashion.
I was given the opportunity to attend two days of the long week which turned out to be just three days at the wooping cost of k100 per night and here are some things I noticed
1. Models
My first absolute hate were the models' SHOES! Like are you serious! All the models were wearing the same exact shoes for almost EVERY collection and that made me cringe! Some of the shoes were not really runway ready let me be honest with you..and some of them looked Kamwala-isc. The shoes ended up killing some of the gowns worn. How could the designers honestly let the wrong shoes affect their collections? Some designers like Debbie Chu actually went the effort and introduced some new shoe pieces into the mess..
The shoes just distracted me half the time and killed some really nice outfits. I thought it was just a rookie mistake and would only happen on Friday night but I saw the same problem saturday night. I
wanted to just get my adidas sneakers and hit myself on the head.!!!


2. Designers
Oh oh..someone has to be answerable to the mess that happened Friday night which I think was inexcusable for a fully paid and sponsored fashion show. How on earth could the promoters let untailored pieces on the runway? Again..designer names her I am not sure but they exhibited friday nights..some of the clothes were way too big for the models and they sagged like Nelly's Jeans from his Nellyville era. Like seriously! I found it scary and depressing..and then it got really uncomfortable when I saw this bridal collection by this sweet looking designer....and models still had bobbing pins on them. How outrageous..there were wardrobe malfunctions in that collection with zips not closing, dirty trains, and cheap fabric everywhere. I applaud the designer for trying to be risque but she just wasn't ready "in my Kevin Hart" voice..I think part of Friday's show was a total disaster and  the only thing that saved it was Nyirongo's kiddie runway and the cute factor was restored. The other thing that managed to save the day was Debbie Chu as well as ISA designs which were ama-zing!

3. Models
Where to start..smh..ok some of them could not walk. Let us get that out of the way..some of the models could not catwalk..it was painful. I blame the shoes at times cause they were terrible..why didn't the organisers or designers come up with shoes for each collection...and then there was this one girl whose posture was that of this symbol: ( / )
The poor girl just couldn't walk upright. I do not know why but she ended up killing some of the outfits. There was this fierce tall dark girl with dreadlocks who was surprisingly fierce and could walk like a supermodel. Sadly, she was underused but when she walked I saw top fashion..Also this certain model with a short natural blonde Afro was amazing..the deaf model..full courage, very pretty and reminded me of Kendall Jenner..so young yet risque..

4. Organisation
I loved the hall..the lighting..the music (ok at times) and also the decor and stuff. But..I was not amused on saturday night when almost all the best seats were reserved! All around the runway, the seats were reserved for 'Zamlebrities’ and other who's whos...it was a bit awkward trying to find a seat at times and we found ourselves in this little dark corner..there was no way Inwas going to seat on those stadium looking stares for the life of me..at a fashion show! Gasp! K100 is so steep that the chairs should have been first come first save and a small section for invited guests...besides, the show did not come with freebies so we deserved to be comfortable...But from where I was seated, I enjoyed watching Gospel musicians Abel Chungu and Pompi watch the models walk by..I had all these thoughts of "which part of the models are they seeing" considered some of the outfits were very...naked. (evil grin)



5. Mustafa Hassanali
Oh lawds! I love that man. We caught up with him on friday night and took selfies with him. The man is so gentle and fabulous, I started calling him "Mu" cause I am a stalker like that. I was humbled to see him..but then he saw some of the disastor of saturday night which embarassed me a lot and then I remembered he was once a starting designer..I was amazed by his collection...he did not use chitenge at all (ankara) which was a relief. Fashion week has so much chitenge that it felt like Saffique had thrown up all over it. He did loads of gowns and yes ladies and meatballs..for PLUS SIZE gayles! I was amazed, perplexed, in awe and excited that he used so much of the girls..I just wished his principal model was a plus size and not Lorna sirname forgotten. But he was great. Only problem was..they should have put him last..the last three designers after him were met with an empty hall which was sad because the best collection in the whole event came from the Angolan designer.....his super stardom sort of left the others in the dark. The next question though is..I caught Mustafa on two occasions all alone and one of those was at arcades..I felt bad. Like come on Zambia. Ok let me stop panting..

I think most of the designers did not bring in that 'shock value' . Like I felt designing is not just using chitenge..more creativity was needed. Like more risks and out of this world design...i love ready to wear runway clothes but I also love more creative stuff..like that Zimbabwean designer whose collection was full of newspaper..it was so artsy and different. But then I will just sip my tea like Kermit...

Awards
Awards and celebrity model walk got a bit boring I will be honest. Esp since some of the wimners were not there. Like how???  And also I did not know half the celebrities and I really wanted Mumba Yaachi to perform and then I wanted to see that dark black male model shirtless again without all those celebrity walks and the gospel music and half naked everythings kept confusing me..The presenter Nancy was great but I think needed atleast 7 outfit changes..when she finally changed everyone was almost gone..shout out to Mulenga Kapwepwe who never ceases to amaze and her speech was short and refreshing...

Shout out to the fashion industry..though much more can be done..and the who bar being outside was sooo inconvenient..plus the barmen had attitude at times. Anyways.....its non of my business.

Prostitutes and the single girl

She is sitted in a fancy pub rocking an Indian woman's hair. Her nails are immaculately done with pointy tips. She wears pointy heels with a red bottom and her lipstick matches her bag. She sits in a corner while her body is snug in a hot little leopard print dress flattering her fake eyelashes at any old white man she sees. Next to her drink is a packet of foreign cigarettes..malboros or Camels. She looks immaculate. Don't be fooled. Bitch is a prostitute

I always thought I was one of those girls who went to fancy looking restaurants and pubs and drank cocktails I religiously envied from Sex and The City. I always thought I was a trendy New Yorker with a Cosmo stuck in the wrong country. I love spending money and spoiling my liver rotten with the best cocktails sold at a ridiculous price. My best friend and I are always spoiling ourselves any chance we get. I thought I was part of the elite club where business men and company CEOs socialise and talk of the last awkward statement that Tony Blair said. Boy was I wrong

My favourite places have been infiltrated by prostitutes and call girls. This has led me to believe that the oldest profession in the world has evolved. Yes, even in Zambia. Gone are the days where they stand in street corners and wait for horny men with egos not as large as their packages. Gone are the days when women waited in the dark for men with huge cars who are compensating for something they lack in their neatly pressed trousers washed with love by their needy girlfriends and clueless wives. The prostitutes have got it right. They are now following the men in these so called elite clubs.

The girls in these clubs do not care about Tony Blair or Christian Amanpour's last interview, they are there for the money and some of  the men know it. This means it is hard for the single girl like me to find a date in such a place when there are women with higher heels and readily available pussy galore on display.

In Lusaka, we have a lot of these nice clubs where foreign men like to patron. Waiting in the dark are blood thirsty women who quote prices in American dollars. Loads of young black girls mostly uneducated, can be seen over the weekends shopping with much older white men while pushing trolleys full of shit they can not even pronounce. (I have this personal policy where I never eat anything I cannot spell). Has anyone ever wondered where they meet such men??

So I once went out with my crew and I happened to wear a very suggestive outfit. I let my tatas breathe and ordered my favorite drink (Long Island Ice Tea Please). Halfway through my drink, I noticed the man across the table from me giving unnecessary eye contact. He was probably in his late forties   and he was sitting with some middle aged menopausal looking women. I held his gaze but alas, someone else hit on me before he found a pair. Let's just say I got picked up that night. The two gracious gentlemen were kind enough to buy as a couple rounds of drinks. I pushed my luck and lied that it was my birthday. They went on to treat me to a very expensive concoction of cocktails and even wished me a happy birthday. My friends did not mind as long as the drinks kept coming. To be honest, I enjoyed the attention for the two men were elegantly dressed and it did not hurt that one of them looked like The George Clooney with his greying side beard and thick mane of hair. I felt like I was in my prime but I was so exhausted from the lying and unnecessary complements I was giving for the sake of free drinks.

I actually pitied all those first class call girls who put up with stupid men and their ego problems just so they can get paid. But these girls also know what they are doing. The worst part is that there are some girls who are well educated and from good families but are simply looking for an easy escape. They use their charm and basic education to lure these so called eligible bachelors or eligible marrieds and use their big butts which do not lie to secure their futures and also their drinks.


As a single girl on the hustle, it makes life hard for me because some times men in my joints think I am a prostitute. Unfortunately, I am not one to wear sexy clothes but we have girls who work hard and look good who will forever be deemed as Julia Roberts. The struggle is real. It is becoming hard to find a man in such a place. Maybe we also look in the wrong areas. But these girls are the reason some of us are now pulling the independent girl facade ans unfortunately harming the minority eligible men who may be willing to spend a buck on our bedazzled livers.

So here is a quick guide on surving the prostitutes like a pro (no pun intended) for all you out there.

1. Men, if the girl laughs at your stake jokes any chance she gets, she is probably doing it for the free booze
2. Iadies, if you leave your house with little money but come back more wasted than Lindsay Lohan after a successful court hearing, you have probably been considered a whore. Free drinks are awesome but careful how you you indulge..
3. Dear men, if you leave wholesome looking girls and for the skimpiest dressed hoochie in fake Givency pants, you are looking for frisky action and most possibly an itcy STI

I think the advent of these modern day hookers has set the whole dating world into disray. Some girlfriends act like prostitutes and trade their bodies for the finer things, once their boyfriend stops supporting them, they end the relationship. What difference is this from our new emerging call girls?

I was once at a party and I spotted a modern day prostitute in a sexy dress while I was wearing sneakers and a very unflattering yet comfortable skater tshirt which belonged to my brother. I spotted a handsome guy and went for the kill. The very pleasant looking lady approached the gentleman who was very foreign and she feined interest in him. I hads to gets my mahn! A battle followed where we both tried to charm the pants of this delicious cup of man with her being superficial and me pulling the I-am-a-smart-and-well-red-African-woman. I got all my laughs from him and he got all his laughs from here. Surprise surprise, he asked for my number while I went on to get my own drink and wallow in self pity. Well played, hoochie, well played. Never get into battle with these broads, they will go all 300 this is Sparta on you and you will lose. It is a blood bath.

This is just random: i hate it when like real prostitutes, and I mean the bleached street corner ones grab a gorgeous man and somehow even marry him when they can not speak a word of English and they think the Dalai Lama is some sort of exotic animal. And then they go abroad with these really yummy men and everyone thinks we Zambians are so cute with our bad english because we are soo exotic..yada yada..

Anyways, I was once in a car with a bunch of friends when I spotted a group of prostitutes standing on a street corner, I yanked my head out of the car and screamed ''whores" (though Zambian readers will mostly giess right that the choice of word I had used was in fact 'huule' which is street lingual for the ladies of the night."

So these women went on to swear at me and because I was in a car and they were on the street, I fwlt confident and swore right back. One of them threatened to come and whoop my ass. Confidently, I urged them forward. I stuck my head in the car long enough to plead with the driver to drive faster but there was a slow build up of traffic! I stuck my head out the window and kept sxreaming "bring it on bitch" with confidence while pleading with the driver to hit the gas. It was such an awlful predicament and I was sure they would beat me up sensless...never again

Fantasies and Zambian fetishes part 1 : an excerpt

I gazed into the night bewildered by the suggestion he made. The night was still young and yet I longed to leave. The moon was big and bright and I could see its reflection in his eyes. It seemed to dance in his eyes. I hated the way he made eye contact with me for it seemed to bore into my soul "Well?" He awaited my response. Such a stupid man. I shrugged my shoulders and forced a smile onto my face. "I can not justify that question with an answer. For you to say something that ignorant just makes me realise that maybe I am in the wrong place. You must be a good person- or so you think, but your views on Africa are a bit shallow. Not every girl aspires to marry a white man bcause you are not as perfect and as smart as you think you are. Exhibit A" A thin line stretched accross his forehead and I knew that my answer hit home.I grabbed my drink from the table and walked past him and into the crowd of mild alcoholics. Lazy voices filled the air. A mixture of cigarette smoke and cheap parfum filled the already crowded room. The nerve of the man! He made me angry in a way which was not sexy. I looked back to see him down his drink with so much vigor and intensity. I pitied his liver. I was in my favorite pair of boots. The wooden base made my feet ache but I was proud of them. They were my finest purchase to date. The brown on the boots always made me smile. I strutted confidently accross the room towards my best friend who was in the middle of one of her classic stories ".....and then I realised that my keys were in the puddle of water right next to the ditch were I had landed". Excited laughs came from the people around her who seemed more like adoring fans than perfect strangers. Stella always had a way of getting attention. Her light skin and high cheekbones made her look like one of those models we saw in magazines we only read in fancy beauty parlours. The story she was telling was all exageratted. I knew it well because it happened to me and not her. I still have a scar on my left buttock from the drunken fall which occured after a badly executed escape. Stella loved the story and begged me to use it at lavish parties. It still amuses me how she puts in the right sound effects to an honestly uneventful story. I coughed two times and pinched my nose. That was our secret code. Whenever one of us did that, we knew it was time to go. In Stella fashion, she pretended not to hear the secret girl code. I coughed harder and patted my nose, making slapping noises with my mouth. "Unfortunately it seems like I have to call it a night. My grumpy ride is complaining". Sympathetic sighs filled the air. I rolled my eyes as she went around the little circle kissing people on their cheeks and getting phone numbers. "So how did the fashion show go for you?" She asked me on our way out "It was fun. Though I cannot say the same for the clothes. I do not understand Zambian designers. They talk of innovation and yet all their pieces look like the common clothes we get from China shops. They put ridiculous prices on their clothes and yet you can get the same exact fabric they use from Indian shops all over the country. And k100 for a ticket was too steep! Not forgetting the overpriced beer! Plus I had no where to sit all evening!" I complained about everything that went wrong during the night. "And what of the guys?" Stella looked at me and winked. I was tired of this question. I walked in silence for ten seconds and then sighed. The men present at the fashion show were quite interesting. Minus one. "I saw some delicious looking men and I met a fine breed of asshole as well". Stella giggled at my answer. "What do you mean by asshole? Did they have opposing views from yours? You do know that not everyone in this world can share the same opinion as you?" I stopped walking and stared at Stella in disbelief. "Why are you taking his side when you have not even heard my side of the story! The guy was a complete jerk! He asked me whether I was looking for a white man to marry! And He said all that before we could even exchange names!" I talked with desperation. Stella did not even stop walking but continued to walk ahead of me. She took slow unsteady steps which proved to me that the killer heels she chose to wear tonight were hurting her feet. "Stop walking like that. You remind me of one of the chickens on my aunt's farm. You should have carried a pair of walking shoes!" High pitched laughing mixed with nasal snorting came from my throat. I tried my hardest to keep a straight face but I gave into the hysterical laughter that eventually engulfed Stella as well. Too broke to own cars, we waited in the dark of Lusaka for a taxi driver who was willing to negotiate on his fare and take us home. I was tasked with the horrible duty of household shopping. My pair of brown boots were still on my feet and I could stil feel the bunions from the last week's disaster fashion show. I had to make sacrifices to attend the stupid show. The money I had spent on the tickets, drinks and taxis could have got me a new outfit from the multiple second hand dealers in the country. There were always bargains on inexpensive clothes which I sometimes imagine to be made by the labour of little Asian children. On the bright side, some of the clothes were actual designer labels like Christian Dior and even the occassional Chanel. Thank you rich people for throwing away your barely used material so a girl like me can own a vintage Chanel! I had a list of things to buy on a shopping list prepared by my mother who took the Opportunity to rush to church for late morning mass. Household shopping was such a bore and the shop was full of eager people who were utilisingthe weekend to stock up their houses being a monthened, the shop was packed to capacity with mothers picking anything they could lay their hands on and fathers pursing their lips at the cost of basic food items. I tried to manoevre my trolley with class and contempt, occassionally hitting a few people who did not find it amusing. I kept filling my trolley with personal items that were not even on the dreadul list and hoped they would not reflect on the receipt. In the baby section aisle, I saw a ridiculously tall and stunning 6 ft 2 man with a trolley as full as mine. From facial features, I could tell that he was of Japanese descent. Always one to appreciate a good looking man, I wondered why he was in the baby section. His hair was cut in an interesting fashion. The sides were cut short and yet the middle section had long hair which he kept in a pony tail above his head. He had a tan which told me that he liked outdoorsy events. His trolley was full of brand new electrical appliances and an asssortment of male goods. I edged my way closet to him so I could see whether his trolley had signs of female life in it. I busied myself by looking at various baby products and making mental notes so as to buy someing for a friend who just had twins. I pitied by friend Mukuka because she was 24, had no permanent source of income and her boyfriend was as clueless as shit on what to do. The fraternal twins were a handful and she tried to brave it up for me but I could tell that the joys of motherhood had skipped her. I saw cheap shoes which could fit her kids and promised to return for them after I stalked the hot Asian. With no pick up line or experience in picking hot oriental men in busy supermarkets, I used my street intelligence and reamed my trolley into his. "Oops..I am so sorry. Stupid full supermarket with too many people, they must create a shopping limit and all those who come late must hope to another supermarket". I cursed myself mentally for the lame joke I just cracked. I felt like a silly little girl with my collection of gummy bears picking at the top as if to witness the embarrassing conversation. The tall Asian man smiled at me and his strong looking jaw gave way to an amazing set of dimples. Bullseye! "Maybe they should just put a speed limit on the trollies. That way we can know which lanes or sections to speed up in." He chipped in. I laughed a little too loudly than expected and a snort escaped my nose. I tried to be a sassy woman but my efforts proved futile. I felt like an overzealous fool. "I think they should also put indicator lights on the carts so we know when someone is turning or note," I added. I felt proud of this comment than the first one and I smiled a little just so he could see that I also had a dimple somewhere which could match his. He laughed at my last remark and the tension in my back disappeared. "So do you make a habit of hitting peoples shopping carts?" He asked. "No. I only do it when I see random men lingering too long in the baby section. It leaves a number of questions unanswered" I thanked my lucky stars for giving me an intelligent answer which was both flirty and a conversation starter. He raised one eyebrow and said "questions like what?" "Questions like why you are lingering at the baby oil section and why you do not have a Japanese accent." I pretended to be examining baby powder at this point and I pretended to read what it is composed of. I made a mental note of googling "baby powder" when I got home and what made it so flakey and yet super smooth to the touch. He picked an extra large bottle of baby oil and pretended to also be reading the information at the back of the bottle. "Well, I have this theory that baby products are more sensitive to skin because they are made with extra care than ordinary toiletries and so I stock up on them because I have very irritable skin. And how on earth does standing in the baby section affect my accent or lack there of?" I searched for my lucky stars at this moment and realised that I had no reason to offer him. "Well, all the people who usually pay Zambia a visit from Asia usually have strong accents and your English is on point. So..." I trailed off so he could finish the sentence for me "...you wonder why I do not speak with an accent.?" I put down the baby powder and picked a pack of baby wipes. Jesus H. christ. The price on the wipes was outrageous. For a product whose only job is to clean dry undesirables, it was too much. "I do not have an accent because I was not raised in Japan. But spot on for guessing that I am Japanese. I was raised in Toronto in Canada and my family moved around a lot." I dared myself to say something intelligent about Canada but all I could think of was maple syrup. I told the little voice in my head to shut up before I looked like a world class idiot. "Ah, the home of maple syrup." Too late. He let out a laugh and nodded his head. "I am Kai by the way," He stretched his hand towards me and I put down the baby wipes so I could shake it. "I am Sydney, but everyone I know calls me Syd". I shook it with the right amount of confidence. "So do you also have something funny to say about Sydney?" Was he teasing me? I could feel my cheeks heat up and I was glad that my dark colour did not permit me to blush. "The only thing I know about Sidney is that it is in Australia which is full of snakes. I am not a fun of anything that slithers and walks with its belly," I said while making exaggerated scary facial expressions. "I am sure there are no snakes moving aimlessly in Sydney. Or maybe they have advanced technology there which makes them move around traffic." I laughed at his joke light heartedly and covered my mouth with my hand. I did not want him to see the missing molar somewhere in my mouth. "I also do not have have a tendency of chatting up strangers in supermarkets. So is it ok if I get your contact numbers so that we can get to know each other somewhere with no baby products? I just moved to Lusaka and I do not have any friends. It would be nice to meet a few indigenous Zambians and get to experience the city life." I smiled at his suggestion and got out my phone from my sling bag which lay comfortably on my hip. "What is your cellphone number?" "I wish I knew the answer to that question. I think the best thing to do is for you to put your number in my phone. I have no idea what my number is right now because I just got my sim card registered yesterday. So just give me your number and I will give you a call later on." He pulled out his phone from his sweat pants and handed it to me. I quickly put my number in his phone and handed it back to him. "I saved it as Syd." I smiled. He got the phone, went through the phonebook and put it back in his pockets. "I must say that this is the one of the most interesting shopping experiences I have ever had when buying baby products. Nice meeting you, Syd." "It was also pretty cool running into you. Literally. I have to go now. The vegetable section calleth my name." "Next time you pretend to be looking for baby powder do not pretend to be reading an upside down bottle". Fuck. Official stalker. I started to walk away from him and he called out happy shopping to me. I was impressed with my own flirting skills. I smiled foolishly as I went towards the vegetables and picked a sack of potatoes without consulting the dreadful shopping list.

Do you like Beyonce: a modern love story with a twisted cougar and hot backpacker..

I was bored, I was lonely. i was in a strange city and I was in good company but I wanted more. I saw him dancing and he was so good looking. As for me, I was dressed in my comfortable grandma looking dress which was not as appealing as I thought. i had one too many drinks. I found myself on the dance floor and decided to bust a move

Now..I must admit I do not remember the songs I was dancing to. He walked up to me . It was easy because the room was mostly empty. His friends made the entire room population. I was too busy dropping it like it's hot to notice the 6 foot creature walk towards me. He was tall and fair and very caucasian with THE most beautiful blonde hair cut in a very nice fashion. Anyways, he walked up to me and asked me a simple question: 'Do you like Beyonce''

I know! Of all the people in the room, this boy walked up to me and asked if I liked Beyonce? First thing that popped into my mind was: is it because I am black that this tall piece of vanilla thinks I like Beyonce? Second thought was: does this guy think I  like Beyonce just cause I am shaking my butt a little harder than all the people in the pub? And the last thought was me realizing that there were only two other black people in the pub and I looked the most Beyonce loving gal out there. In all honesty, I LOVE Beyonce. She is the Queen B c'mon!

Anyways, I must admit he was hot, and really cute. Let me be honest, the word for him was cute, say skinnier than me, and compared to me he was a babe. I regretted wearing the stupid grandma black dress with the boots cause I wanted him to see my tatas, i have amazing tatas but they were hidden under the death robe I was wearing.
Back to my story. I told him that I did not like Beyonce and turned away from him. He followed me and asked me what my favorite  Beyonce song was and I picked one at random. His friend, a very nice looking white girl walked up to me and begun to dance with me. She asked me what he was asking me and I told her about the Beyonce thing, she rolled her eyes and told me that he was the biggest Beyonce fan in the world. I looked at him and laughed because it was so refreshing seeing someone who was into Beyonce that wasn't black or female. We chatted right on the dance floor where I went on to fill him in on Bey gossip and that awkward Solange fight in the now infamous elevator. He told me that he was a University student from the United Kingdom(yes the accent was heavenly) backpacking through Africa. I asked his age and he said he was 21. I died a little..my 21st birthday was some years back . I was in my mid twenties and I felt a little awkward talking to an obvious boy. No wonder he was so cute! He was Taylor Swift cute! He was a student backpacking and I was a cougar on a work assignment. I felt old in my grandma dress and here I was sharing a drink with someone who was obviously still young.

We talked and laughed and took pictures on his phone the whole time while I drank my heart away. He left me to join his friends and I kept downing my misery. Fucking 21

I made up my mind to talk to him one last time. So I said goodbye to each of  his friends individually until I reached where he sat. I told him I was leaving and he looked sad. That made my inner fifty shades goddess bullshit celebrate. I went in to hug him cause mama needs her sugar and he asked me for my phone number which was ridiculous because he had no Zambian number. I asked him if he was on Instagram. He wasn't. After our goodbyes we still kept talking and one thing led to another. Next thing the Queen Bey was dumped and hello talks of Erotica which would make Henry Miller Blush crimson.....he asked me to follow him to the bathroom after five minutes but I was there in three......

This is where I become a lady. I do not kiss and tell. Haha. But I did kiss him and it was heated and amazing and I felt old yet helpless. What I learned from all this is that I did like that boy, given the opportunity I would leave my home country and look for my Beyonce loving Adonis. But it seems so impractical.
We agreed to meet two days later at the same pub at the same time but I never made it. I never went. I got scared, I chickened out and quacked on my own all night long. I was a loser.

That is all I have to say about this sweet and drunken story of the one boy who got away. He was just a traveller going through Africa and I was just another random person he probably met on his adventures...

Nathan without a surname from Exeter University...I still love Beyonce :(