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.