Chips za Sonford by Gathoni Kihumba

This isn’t a love story but a story about love.

The first time we met, was on a Thursday afternoon. I don't remember what you wore, what I was wearing, or how we both found ourselves outside the renovated Sonford in town, the only place you swore to have been eating from mid-errands. It was as hot as Nairobi gets, and I remember you watching me fumble; looking for the hundred shilling note the cashier was so rudely asking for. I couldn't find it (of course) and you stepped up and offered to pay while the cashier shouted “Hii si movie! Lipa ama utoke kwa line”

The one thousand shilling note quickly moved from your hand to the counter for two fries, cold Mirinda (apple for you, lemon for me) and ‘kuku pono’. I don't remember if you asked for change but I do remember the little outburst you had over sauce not being free. How the government made things worse and the vinegar hit the right spots. The grease on your fingers probably distracted me most when you finally asked what my name was.

“Gathoni”

“I’m Omondi”

Of course. Lakeside men are our kryptonite, potato girlies.

I was done with my errands but I hastily said thank you, still searching for that cash when you insisted it was no issue and you would walk me to the ever-busy Super Metro Stage. You (conveniently)forgot to mention we were going the same way, and played me your favourite songs in the ever-so-loud matatu before you alighted. I rode the rest of the way thanking the one hundred bob I never found for disappearing

The second time we met was different. You showed up in a suit well-tailored to reveal that you definitely do not eat chips as often as you’d claimed, and you greeted the birthday girl with too much zeal. She kissed you and introduced you as her man, the one whose explicit measurements she’d discussed in the group chat. The girls looked around at each other and giggled, while I reminisced on the not-so-romantic romantic meeting we’d had. At the end of the night after some mash and steak and wine and laughs and speeches and gifts and tears and more wine you came to me. We had both been too drunk to go out with the rest so you offered to take me somewhere where I can get heaven on a plate. Hot chips. Young fries. With a side of sarcasm and poor storytelling. This time you saved your number. “JaChips”

The next time I avoided you. Ms. Girlfriend-who-you-loved-to-the-moon was devastated to find out you were not as in love with her as she thought, so heartbroken she mourned in the group chat and of course we sent the “he doesn't deserve you”, “he was trash”, “you actually deserve better than him” messages . I contemplated telling her about our intimate growing relationship over chips. Halfway into getting her comfort food, there you were with that smug smile and chips in your hand, looking at me as if you had answers to questions I hadn't asked. You walked up to me, explained yourself in a “it's not her, it's me” way and all I could think about was the hot steamy potatoes and the cold vinegar mixing in your palms. I walked away.

The last time I saw you was after she threw herself into oncoming traffic outside her favourite KFC. She thought no one loved her because you were the latest twenty-something man to have entered her life and left without a second thought. I was shopping for a funeral gown and Biashara Street shoes and you were doing whatever men do when they walk around in town. I told you about her, you wiped the smile off your face and shared your condolences but deep down, you really meant to be pitiful.

Coincidentally, we met right outside the big fryer that is Sonford Fish and Chips, where you told me how she brought you here every time you were in town and told you of vinegar in chips and how she expected you to be the man you knew you never could be. So you learnt to like Mirinda apple instead and ordered mashed potatoes with your steak to be classier for her. You ate gnocchi the night you told her you didn't actually love her and went on and on and on about how potatoes are so versatile and nutritious in different ways but you only ever wanted one thing. Fries. Chips with an unhealthy amount of sauce and salted chicken with a Mirinda lemon because it was your favourite.

So we went in and had chips with Mirinda lemon and salted chicken without vinegar but with sauce. And you cried.

We never met again.

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Gathoni. Noni. Gatheezy. Storyteller in the kitchen and in between the Wordpress ads.

To communicate with the writer:

Email: kihumbagathoni@gmail.com

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Image by SpeakTV