My Almost Lover

I met him in the weirdest way, his friend was talking to me  as he stood silently behind him, shy? Why was he in the shadow? When he saw me look his way he came out from behind the shadows, smiled  his eyes were adorable, the color of dark brown olives. He had a faraway look, as though he was thinking of getting somewhere far I thought? Maybe not, maybe it was I that was fantasizing.

All this time my friend was telling me something that I can’t quite remember. We were staring at each other and here I was thinking I was shy. Na ah! Not when I saw my almost lover, he was of Nubian descent, there were traces of Arab blood in his dark skin, his hair was a mix of silk and  Kinky, that made you want to pass your fingers right through. And he was staring at me, this creature with adorable eyes that told me he was attracted to me. And I, having learned to read eyes, since I begun to be bold enough to look into them, I am overwhelmed by this liking I am feeling.

So I smile and gather myself with much needed female modesty. At this point I think I have given up too much, but with the modesty am able to gather up I mention a few intelligible comments to the discussion, one half of me is pleased, the other half of is beating myself for giving too much away.

I pretend I feel nothing, changing the subject to a more political one where emotions are placed on a more abstract concept compared to this humanness that makes my knees weak. He smiles and joins in with much more passion than I expected from him. And he is indeed good at politics, he follows politics and analyzes it so deeply that I start wishing it is my body he is analyzing and pouring his passion over. There again, I have lost it, I have a weak will. I have to go, to forget him. That’s how I manage to deal with this humanness; I run from it and tell myself it’s not for me. I mumble some flimsy excuse and am out, no one can really stop me, am walking away hoping he will come after me and tell me to stay, or have coffee with him, Ethiopian coffee I imagine…. With groundnuts roasted in salt, just like an evening coffee hour in Sudan. He does not come after me sadly. So I walk on, sing to myself and tell me that life is still good.

He calls me the next day, and I am overjoyed, he got my number from my friend he says. He wants to see me, I tell him am busy with a mass of work and am actually doing nothing. The weakness in me is what I can’t handle, I don’t want to meet him and yet I do. I want to see those eyes again, to hear his voice the Arabic accent in those few English words he speaks and I still say no. He suggests another day and I say yes. I smile all through the day and still do nothing but watch a movie and try to write more papers.

After five days of work, school and a crazy wave of fantasy he calls again, to find out how less busy I am. I say I can meet him on Monday as my friends and I are going to a Sudanese concert and it would be great if he came. We are to meet at 7.45pm, I get there five minutes late with two of my girlfriends, and he is smoking a cigarette, “aaww sexy!” I don’t smoke but when an attractive man smokes it sure does look sexy- adding to the spice, ‘oh tobacco! I uphold thee’. He is waiting patiently, his lips are like berries, and I want to taste- no, focus!

We sit together at the concert my friends all beside me and him on my right side, he talks to me about politics again, am certain it’s a passionate topic for him, and then music, he loves jazz, classical and Tupac’s hip hop, all those I love. And then he tells me about books he loves, Charles Dickens and Jane Austen are what I can pick up- At this point I am going to grab and hug him. I want to, he loves Jane Austen!? Am wondering how anyone who does not speak English well, knows about Jane Austen, but maybe there is an Arabic version. Then he says, Jane Austen is girlish, and he smiles… I see he does not mean it, he wants me to argue when I start he laughs and his eyes say more things, they say “ I want to hear you talk, I want to kiss you’ and we are this close to each other’s breath. As close as when brushing each other’s lips would be the climax of my day, but I have surprising self control. I, even I am amazed. I hold back and tell him I will talk more when the concert ends. I want to hold his hand and I want him to hold mine. My almost lover is next to me and all I can do is hold back? Am I damaged?

The concert comes to end, he wants to know when he will see me again, I murmur unintelligible sounds, and he says, “I will call you.’ And we squash into this Cairo taxi with two guys at the front and three ladies at the back. My almost lover is quiet and has his head turned towards me at the back, he is staring at me attentive to all I am saying or doing. The other guy at the front starts to tell the driver, that one of my friends is Turkish and she is single, he gets so excited and says he wants to marry her. Then he looks at me and says “American?” I say “la ah” he says “Sudan”, classic one – black people in Egypt can only be either American or Sudanese- not really actually, sometimes I am from Burkina Faso, other times Nigerian. When the African Cup of nations is in session, I am one of the countries that Egypt is playing, it kind of enlightens one on the ignorance of Egyptians about a continent they are a part from. The one I have failed to comprehend is the fact that I am asked, 'Are you from Africa?" Please remind me where I am again? is all I wish I had time to say.
So I nod, saying , “Ayiwa, Sudanese”. This completely indecisive Cairene late night driver, changes his mind and says he prefers to marry the Sudanese. His defense is that at one time Egypt and Sudan were one country, and he would like to contribute to bringing history back. Interesting explanation I must say, and how is that going to bring the country back together with Sudan?

This play on unity and togetherness is  not helping; I think to myself, my almost lover is half Sudanese and half Egyptian and that has still kept the countries apart. Anyway Onyango-Obbo once said, "History has often been made in the bed.'- okay my mind is taking simple dimensions and making them even simpler,peeking my head from this monologue, I very quickly mouth my useful phrase, “I am married, m3lesh” he pouts for a few seconds and then decides he prefers the lady on my right, who we say is from Zimbabwe. We tell him she is married and he pouts again, then returns to the “Turkish one”. While all this is going on my almost lover is quiet and smiling watching me , am aware of his eyes on me, its not uncomfortable, in fact I like it, it’s the look every woman would need once in a while, its not lust,its one of those that say , I don’t want to look away just in case you need anything. Gosh! Am such a dreamer!

At Tahrir we have to make this crossing and it’s the hour when Cairenes all decide to drive through Tahrir at the same time. He holds my hand and takes me through the highway with such Cairene ease and my heart blesses him. When he says goodnight, I want a hug, a peek, something to go away with, some thing more than just his breathe. I want to feel, and my humanness starts to make trips. I shake his hand like a good English modest woman would and master all I can to leave the goodbye spot. Then I lose it, turn around and ask him to walk me home, he smiles and starts to walk me home, I change my mind and tell him its okay, I will make it home. I don’t want him to get ideas in his head about walking me home. I insist and he turns back, says goodnight one last time and off goes my almost lover.