"Let me see. I promise I won't tell a soul."
"Yeah, you all seem pretty good at keeping secrets," I affirmed, and she looked down in avoidance,
"Oh, you have no idea." She sighed, and I could tell from the look on her face that she was burdened enough, so I decided to lighten the air.
"I'm a secret agent." I told her, and she burst out laughing, "Okay, fine, I'm a graphic designer!"
"Oh my gosh, shut up!" She exclaimed, "Show me, please, what kind of graphic design do you do, and why don't you make that your major?"
“Okay, fine, I’ll show you.” I beamed, selecting one of my older drawings of Raven and beast boy from the teen titans comics and showing her. I deliberately depicted Raven as a black girl with darker grey skin. Her hair remained purple but was kept in an Afro. She and beast boy were giving each other a shy high five after a successful mission. It was really nothing special—
“I love it!” Keomi exclaimed, taking a screenshot of my drawing and forwarding it to herself, “You don’t mind if I make this my new lock screen do you?”
“I— uh, of course not,” I responded, scratching the back of my neck with a slight laugh. “One woman’s Walmart is another woman’s Chanel, I guess.”
“Armani, I’m pretty sure that’s not how the quote goes.” She pointed out, “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure?”
“Never heard of it.” I joked, shaking my head.
“You’re truly hopeless.” She concluded, “Can you teach me how to use this digital drawing app? I want to draw Fabian as the Flash; he used to be really into DC. I think he'd love it.”
“Of course, we could draw Gene in as poison ivy if you want to?” I suggested with a subtle hint of sarcasm, and Keomi cupped her hand over her mouth, almost as if what I said was blasphemous.
“If she heard you say that, not only would she call you a DC dork but would proceed to throw a fit because she's a diehard Marvel fan.”
“Oh come on you know she'd find a way to insult me regardless.” I snorted,
“True!” Keomi affirmed, “That's why we're about to draw her tangled up by vines.”
“I willnotbe taking credit for this drawing.” I reminded her, and she rolled her eyes playfully.
“Of course, we can't risk revealing your secret identity to the public, now can we?”
That night Keomi and I stayed up till sunrise working on that drawing and arguing about who the worst villain in Gotham City was; I never quite thought I could have so much fun hanging out with someone I had just met, but it felt like we’d known each other far longer than that. This would become a regular occurrence for us both. Sometimes, we’d watch back-to-back Batman movies and debate which actor portrayed the superhero the best. It was obviously Heath Ledger, in my opinion– also known as the only correct opinion regarding such matters. Nevertheless, Keomi Nakamura became my first friend, effortlessly, passionately and all at once.
A week or so had flown by, filled with worrisome lengthy phone calls from my parents urging me to stick to my promises and remain focused on my studies, bitter morning coffee, demanding teachers and paint in my hair. After our last class, that day, Fabian and I made our way to the little Ice cream parlour down the street. It was a quaint little place owned by the sweetest elderly lady Madame Sakala. She was from Africa, just like me, born and raised in the beautiful central African country of Zambia. She moved here with her family twenty years ago to start a new life and opened se rencontrer avant qu'il ne fond.Meet before it melts.
We sat by the little shop window, it wasn’t very crowded that day, and we definitely took advantage of that. It obviously didn’t hurt that I felt like I could talk to her for hours,
"Do you ever miss home, aunty?" I asked, and she insisted I call her that. It was custom to call older women that back home as well out of respect.
"All the time, dear, I miss my brothers and sisters and even just being in Lusaka." She assured me, her filmy brown eyes were divine. They carried a life well lived behind them. I wanted my eyes to look like that too someday, some evidence of a fire that burned vehemently once.
"I haven't been back home in Nairobi in so long, I almost can't remember what it felt like." I admitted with a sad laugh, and Fabian placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, “Sometimes I dream that I’m there.”
“I can understand your struggles. It’s never easy leaving home. You can change your hair, your clothes the manner in which you speak…but your heart will always long for home.”
“Yeah.” I affirmed, gazing out the window into the distance, “Exactly like that.”
"Promise me one thing." She asked, her voice rich and clear,
"Of course, aunty." I smiled, and she placed her hands on mine,
"Promise me and your bibi, that the white man's lands won't allow you to forget your home and your culture." She asked, and I nodded in agreement,
"Never, I promise." I assured her, and she laughed, “Frog legs and escargot will never be able to replace ugali in my heart.”
"Feel free to come around anytime you want to. You must meet my son Muleya. I would see it good for him to meet more nice African girls like you, ai?"
