June 2, 2016

Fela smiled at the door attendant as he walked into Levi’s. He took in the ambience of the high-ceilinged, beige-coloured hall. Although the lights were dim, they were bright enough to distinguish the features of the restaurant and its occupants. The smell oozing from the kitchen was disconcerting- it was a melange of different dishes. Alone, they’d have an aroma but together, it was almost a stench. Everyone in the restaurant talked at the same time in hush tones. He felt like he was close to a bee hive. He looked at his wrist watch. 6:32. He said seven; I’ll have to wait, he thought. Earlier in the day, he’d called to make a reservation for two. A well-groomed waiter came to meet him as he sat at the table. After exchanging pleasantries, he left the menu on the table.

Fela didn't need to look at it; he knew what he was going to eat. Amidst the buzz, he heard Journey’s Open Arms softly playing from different speakers. Walking out the restaurant was a girl in her early 20s walk arm in arm with a heavyset older man. Fela scoffed at the sight. The man reminded him of goats going home with their bellies lazily swinging side to side after eating fodder to their hearts’ content. He smirked at this thought. A tall, gaunt waiter almost bumped into a smaller waiter as he scurried to take the tray of steaming food to a table. That would have been a disaster. One of the things he loved about this restaurant was that it consisted of an all-male staff. The idea of female attendants made him cringe every time it played in his mind.

Boredom heightened his need to do something, anything, with his hands. He took out his phone from his trouser pocket and eyed the screen suspiciously when he saw there were no new notifications. He felt a twinge of disappointment. How many social media friends did he have? He didn't even have much real life friends. He tried distracting himself with a game of chess but he lost interest after three moves. He couldn't help it- this nervousness that consumed him. He sat back on the chair and decided to people-watch. He was never tired of this pastime. His gaze wandered to the bar and he reminisced on the first time he met Charles.

He’d set foot in the restaurant for the first time about eight months ago to escape his drab, lonely life. It happened that one of the causes of his woes, his wife, who was married to Jesus, was too invested in the church to notice his discontent. She couldn't see he was slipping through her fingers with each passing day.

It all began when he asked for a Mouth Gig about two years ago. She’d vehemently refused telling him it was a sin. “It’s your duty to please me,” he calmly explained to her.

“God forbid! I can’t commit sin with you,” she spat. “How will...” he saw her shudder in disgust. “I can’t. I know I used to do it before. Old things have passed away...” she cited Bible passages to buttress her point.

He had sulked petulantly that night. The following day, she asked him what the issue was and he stated that he wasn't sexually fulfilled. It’s boring, he stressed. She tried to convince him that giving him MouthAction wasn't pleasing in the sight of the Lord. What could he do? He tried to woo her to be sexually adventurous but his effort culminated in futility. What could he have done but accept he couldn't find sexual fulfilment with his wife? Didn't they say that you endure what you can’t cure?

It didn’t hurt that she had grown emotionally distant from him. To be honest, he didn't have feelings for her before their marriage- he’d never connected with a woman on an emotional level. At 28, his mother had pressed him to settle down and sire sons. He felt it wouldn’t hurt getting married to a woman for the sole aim of procreation. Although he wasn't in love with her, he cared about her. Five years later, with two daughters, it seemed their marriage had run its course. He couldn't remember the last time he had sexual intercourse with her. She seemed happy with the new status-quo- their non-existent sex life. In his heart, he felt she wasn't cheating on him with another man; the church was ostensibly taking her time. As there was no one to bare him soul to, he decided to nurse his wound by himself with the hopes that he’d get ever his blues on his own.

Levi’s soon became his happy place. There was booze and the bartender was fun. There was never a sad moment. Although he didn't confide in the bartender, it felt good having a friend. He loved talking with the young man. This was evident in the tips.

In his routine style, he’d sat at the bar one warm, December evening. There were two empty seats together and he decided to sit on one. That way, he’d decide who would take the other seat. He didn't want a repeat of the shenanigan he experienced the last time he was here. That day, he sat by a young woman who unabashedly flung herself at him. He was irritated to the point he thought he’d puke on her in revulsion. Once is a mistake, twice is stupidity, and a third time is madness. He wasn’t stupid.

About an hour later, he heard someone ask, “Anyone here?” Slowly, he turned to look at the person: it was a young man wearing a muscle shirt. Fela guestimated he was in his late 20s. He figured there was no harm if he sat there.

“No. It’s free.”

“Thanks,” the younger man sat on the stool. Fela ignored him, why is he thanking me? It’s not like I promised to help Chelsea move up the league table.

The man asked for a bottle of water. Who comes to the bar to drink water? He’s alcohol intolerant? Why is he here? Waste of space. In that moment, Fela decided he didn't like the man.

He took a gulp of water. “Sir, I have seen you here before,” the man turned to him. “My name is Charles. You?”

Fela appraised him. “Fela.” He hoped his unfriendly tone would deter the other man.

“Fela,” Charles said his name with an eerie reverence. “Like Fela Kuti.” Charles smiled. “Do you like Afro Beat?”

Ha! Why is this one talking to me? His sense didn't tell him I don't want to talk? “No,” he was curt. He looked at the restaurant section and found there was an empty table. He gracelessly hopped down from the high stool. “Forward my bills there,” he muttered to the bartender as he gestured at the restaurant. Without saying a word to Charles, he left. At least, he won’t follow me there.

Subsequently, he’d run into Charles at the bar and somewhere along the line, they got talking. Fela learnt Charles was good company. He learnt Charles was a 30-year-old, unmarried, out-of-job engineer.

When Fela told him about his marriage, Charles had laughed and explained women were not to be trusted. “You see why I’m single? I can’t let one woman come and Bleep up my life. They’re trouble. I respect any man that’s not afraid of women. In fact, I worship him. He’s a god!”

“The other day I was here, one wanted to do rubbish. Touching me... disgusting thing!”

“Why didn't you shag her?”

“No. I don't know what she has. If you make advances, they’ll cry rape...” he affected a feminine voice, “he was raping me, he was raping meee”. They chuckled. “If it’s you, you will do?”

“God forbid. Aren’t they a funny bunch? Contradictions here and there. What do you expect? Maybe they lose their sense when they are on their periods. All that blood that should flow to their brains to make it work... it just flows out of their bodies. Whoosh.”

They giggled at that. Fela couldn't remember the last time he had an open-minded friend. All his friends were at work or in the church; he couldn't have certain conversations with them for fear of what they might think.

He looked at his wristwatch- 6: 56. He’ll soon be here, he licked his lips and loosened his tie. He tapped his fingers on the table. He was nervous about the proposal he had for Charles.

He’d come to like Charles through the months. Sometime in January, realisation hit him that he connected with Charles on an emotional level. Charles was intelligent, funny, and attentive. In a way, Charles gave him the comfort his wife didn't give him. Fela convinced himself he felt this way about Charles because unlike his wife, he listened to him. No one had give him this much attention. Don’t people who soothe, massage, and validate our egos seduce us?

In a bid to assure himself that he wasn't gay, he’d had sex with a random woman he met on a dating site. She’d explained her husband was out of the country and one thing led to another- he was cheating on his wife.

Charles seemed disappointed when Fela told him about his clandestine tryst with the woman. “It’s just sex,” he explained. “I don't get that from my wife. What am I supposed to do?”

“I never imagined you like that,” Charles said tersely as he rubbed his face with his palm. Fela reached to hold Charles’ hand.

“I know I messed up. I’ll stop seeing her. But, I won’t tell my wife.” Charles didn't look up.

“Charlie,” he cooed. “Someone can’t step out of line? I needed to assure myself I’m a man. No action for almost one year... what did you expect? You make it look as if you know my wife and you’re feeling bad on her behalf.”