Today brought somewhat of a plot twist.
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I also have a confession: I have omitted some details from my recounts, mainly because I didn’t want to take away from the sheer magic that this trip has been, or confirm any stereotypes about Maasai, or other men, at the coast.
The reality is, on New Year’s Eve the original Macarena Maasai did try to kiss me, and since then has been telling me (in Swahili) that he loves me. I’ve been brushing it off as within my first four days here four separate men had told me they love me and, seeing as his English is fairly broken, I figured it could maybe be more that he’s trying to say he likes me and it’s actually a lost in translation kinda thing.
Regardless, I’d been clear to him, just like every other man, that I am not here to find a man and not interested. And that all I can offer is friendship. He’d agreed to this, and ceased with the handsy stuff.
Yesterday, when we were in the sea, one of the others also told me he loves me…but this one decided the ocean was the place for an in-depth explanation of why. How he’s never met anyone like me; he likes I’m the full package and have ‘strong ideas’ and more intelligence than him, so I can help him achieve his goals, and how he doesn’t want, and won’t ever take, any money from me but if I agree to be his he’ll be forever happy. He even went as far as to say that if I would agree to stay even one more week, he’d pay for everything just to have more time with me.
I gave him the friend-zone spiel also and thought we were good, but by the time we reached the beach the later that night he was drunk (I’d kept giving him my beer to drink, in addition to his own, as I don’t particularly like it and didn’t want a repeat of New Year’s Day) and went on quite an epic monologue…and then also tried to kiss me.
The remaining Maasai (who slept through this aforementioned declaration) hasn’t professed love, or said anything at all, but had gotten a little handsy (I’ve since established that this one – he’s the one who gave me the necklace – is oblivious to the whole thing).
I’m confessing now because it’s important context.
The original Macarena Maasai had gone AWOL since our magical day together. So today, when he finally responded, I asked if he was okay. He told me he’d been warned by the others to stay away from me, as I was one of their girlfriend. I quizzed him on whose…and lo and behold he says the name of the one who had also professed love.
So I messaged that guy to ask why they would say this. His response was that they didn’t; we’d all parted ways at the same time, they don’t have each other’s phone numbers and nothing had been said. His claim was that he’d said this to try and make them look bad out of jealousy.
I don’t know which of them is lying, but I know one of them is lying. And I don’t like it: this has overshadowed my day.
Lying is my bête noir.
This has also, for me, coloured the beautiful memories we’ve created.
My day had started with me trying to drag my ass out of bed on less than three hours’ sleep to watch the dawn; it was another one where the cloud obscured the sunrise, and so the extra sleep would have been a better decision.
I did managed to nap before breakfast and Abdul got my day off to a great start, with the most epic platter of fresh fruit for breakfast and playing Afrobeats we could both dance around to as he cooked the eggs and chapati.
It was after breakfast that everything went south.
After receiving these messages I didn’t really know what to do with myself. I’d washed my hair, so hung out in Freshi’s garden for a while whilst it dried. The garden is a really nice space to spend time. It’s a large, walled and gated, space scattered with areas to sit. There are some sun loungers but my favourite area is covered, with two spacious benches, a table AND plug sockets attached to the wooden frame.
Once my hair was dry, I walked through the village – seeing it for the first time in daylight – to get onto the beach at a point where I would be less likely to see the Maasai, as I wasn’t in the headspace to talk to them just yet.
I walked and walked, trying to process this new turn of events.
There’s a hostel/ co working space/ restaurant/ bar in a kind of little cove called ‘New Teddy’s On the Beach’ where I’d gone earlier in the week which had been a chilled spot mainly frequented by guests and tourists so, as the tide was all the way in I held my bag above my head and waded my way to where I knew no one would find me for a few hours.
Right on the sea’s edge, there was a swinging seat, so I ensconced myself there with a banana milkshake and let the breeze soothe me by gently rocking my seat.
The waiter who served me then asked for my number (seriously, what is wrong with these men?!) and shortly after a local called out to me; he lives next to this spot and had observed I looked unhappy.
I told him I’d found out someone had lied to me and was processing it and that seemed to open the flood gates for him, as I essentially got told about quite a tough time he’s going through and asked for relationship advice, the outcome of which was I apparently inspired him to stay single for a while. He insisted on walking me back along the beach. We ended up watching the moon rise on the beach whilst he taught me additional Swahili by writing words in the sand where we sat.
As he was teaching me Swahili some people on the beach were having banter – he explained to me that one had said ‘I love you’ and the other had replied ‘go love your father’ (saying mother in this context is considered too offensive). This irony of this didn’t escape me, so I asked him to teach me this response so that next time a random man says ‘nakupenda’ I can respond ‘Kampende baba yako’.
Yes, he did also ask for my number also…and, yes, I friend-zoned him too.
He walked me to my part of the village as it was dark and I headed to my room, hungry but feeling a little lost as for the first time since I’ve been here, I really was alone!
I needed to head out for food but didn’t know where to go. I was already tired, but the events of the day had also drained me and so I’d declined party invites from both the man I’d just been conversing with and an American lady from a Facebook group who lives in Paje.
And, whilst part of me knows where I am is probably several hundreds of times safer than London, because I’d read horror stories of an uptake of robberies and crimes against tourists in this particular area, and many warnings of women not being out alone after dark, I hate to admit that I felt genuinely scared to venture out alone to get food.
I decided to leave my phone in my room, seeing as that’s my most valuable possession, and took the minimum of cash with me, divided between a zippered scrunchie and the purse in my bag.
Having walked along the beach first, and found it completely devoid of people and therefore maybe not the best place to walk alone, I cut through the path I’d taken with the Maasai into the village. Thanks to all the evenings with them, once I saw the Maasai shop I knew exactly where I was and how to navigate home, as well as to places I could obtain food.
I tried to balance walking with confidence with keeping my eyes down, as I felt my way along the uneven ground in the dark. In my peripheral vision I could see shadowed figures sitting in doorways and feel their eyes on me. No one spoke to me.
This sparked inner conflict within me, because it further increased my gratitude, and the recognition of how privileged I have been to have been escorted everywhere by the Maasai all week, yet I now feel uneasy about being with them because of the latest turn of events.
Eventually, I reached a cafe/ restaurant suggested by Abdul. It wasn’t the sort of local place I’ve been eating at – I haven’t seen a dinner menu in days, but it was slightly more local than tourist. I asked what was safe for my allergies and was told they could make anything safe (why more places in the UK aren’t like this is beyond me). I ordered fish and banana in coconut sauce with chapati and it affirmed that Swahili cuisine is, by far, my favourite.
Once I’d eaten, I headed back; to do so, I had to navigate a couple of dark alleys and once again had to exhale the fear. Yet, here I am, safe and sound: so perhaps it was undue worry anyway – people here have been nothing but kind to me.
I’m writing this and then I’ll have a relatively early night (read: before 2am, seeing as it’s already midnight).
Hopefully, tomorrow will be a more joyous day. In the meantime, I’m focusing on all the many things I have to be grateful for today.