Love, Loyalty, and a Mother’s Bond.

A Chance Encounter

As I looked up, the vibrant African-colored dresses of a mother and her five kids caught my eye, their patterns swirling with cultural richness. Across from them, an Asian couple savored samosas, their laughter and enjoyment filling the air. I sat back with my chocolate milkshake on a lazy Sunday afternoon, drifting into thoughts about Annabel, my girlfriend’s ultimatum on our date last Friday.

“Would you like some chilli with your Chicken Republic burger?” the waiter interrupted. Suddenly, the memory of my last episode with chili on my chicken tandoori snapped me back, and I politely declined.

“Is this seat taken?” she asked. I really wanted to say yes. After all, can you blame me for wanting some me-time before boarding the flight to Mombasa?

She wore a look as though the fate of nations hung in the balance, her eyes intense and brows furrowed, a heavy burden reflected in every line of her face. “No,” I said, thinking she would probably be in her own world and leave me to enjoy mine. However, three phone calls in less than five minutes were beginning to get to me. On a normal day, I am not nosy, but do you blame me for overhearing a live plot of a soap opera unfolding right in front of me?

Hooked

Interestingly, I was doing well so far, minding my own business and savoring my chocolate milkshake. “I have been with him for five years now and everyone knows all about us. I just don’t understand, what’s the problem?” she said.

“Did you send for me?” the waiter asked, claiming the gods had summoned him to me. “No,” I replied. “But would you like more?” Haha! That was his best sales upsell idea, and it worked. “Some more chocolate milkshake, please?” I wished him off fast to not miss the next scene.

“I supported him when his dad was unwell and his business was low,” she informed the caller. “Moreover, you remember how much I did to throw him a birthday party at his mother’s place.” Truly, you can’t make this stuff up, I thought. “I have another call coming in,” she told her caller. “Please let me call you back.”

She stood up and started to walk, and I would have followed her to hear the end of the story. Urgh! I realized I had been lying to myself. I had already become hooked.

For the first time, I felt happy to see the waiter. “Here is your Chicken Republic burger,” he said cheerfully, like a game show host announcing a grand prize. For a minute, I thought it was over, like a game show host announcing a grand prize. However, I quickly spotted her handbag still hanging on the furthest side of her seat. I looked up to search for her, and at that very moment, her head swung round, and our eyes met and locked. “I haven’t left, I haven’t made you miserable enough, I’m coming back to finish you off,” her eyes seemed to say to me.

The Unveiling

“Please excuse me, I’m trying to deal with a difficult situation,” she said as she returned and sank into her seat. With her head bent, I could see tears flowing from her cheeks as she desperately tried to hide. “Whatever is the matter, my dear?” I asked, putting on what Annabel called my award-winning sorrowful face.

“I can’t believe that the wedding may be called off. Why me, why me, God?” The last time I tried being Dr. Love, I gained two lifetime enemies. My big mouth advised my friend to give it time before taking the plunge into the relationship, and my buddy shared my sentiments with his sweetheart. Let’s just say a blackout is an understatement; the lady can’t stand being in the same room with me.

“There, there, calm down,” I said, handing her a tissue. I mumbled a few words about her calming down as the trick to figuring things out. “His parents don’t approve of the wedding,” she said, snorting a bit. “We have dated for five good years all the way from campus.”

The Unexpected Intrusion

We were classmates in the Economics class and fell in love. Every time I am near Henry, I can’t think straight. He makes me laugh and feel so loved. I know I can be stubborn according to my former boyfriends, but I have never met such a patient and caring man.” The more she talked about him, the more she lit up, and the tears dried up. Was I jealous? I remember my girlfriend Anna’s expression when she talked about me to my friend, “Imagine he forgot my birthday and is yet to propose to me after all this time.” Okay, on the second one, maybe I need to do the honourable thing, even in this tough economy.

“Please excuse me, I need to take this call,” she said, beaming with joy. It had to be Henry. I also wanted to meet this man who’s making all of us look so immature.

As she took back her seat, the difference was as vanilla and chocolate. “What is your boyfriend’s view on all this?” I asked, trying to act as the bad cop. “He loves me, and that’s all that matters.” Then I heard the word “but,” and you know what my English teacher taught me back in primary school – to doubt all that was said before the word “but.” “He really loves his mother because she raised him alone when his dad was away working in another country.”

The Second Sister

I may not be romantic, but lessons learned on the streets helped me quickly conclude that this one was not as open and shut as it sounds, “That love is all that matters.” There is a reason boys are called mama’s boys. “If you love each other this much, then why is the wedding being called off? You are both educated, working, and have dated for a while?” I asked.

She bowed her head, and with all the joy vanished, she gazed into the air and with resignation said, “He is a Christian, and I am Muslim.” At this point, we both realized we didn’t even know each other’s names. “My name is Suad,” she said after I introduced myself.

Why must a flawless portrait of love bear scars of agony? I thought.

“For the five years I have dated Henry, no one in his family had an issue,” she said. “He invites me to his family events, and in some instances, I cook lunch for everyone. We visit his parents on their birthdays with gifts and chat away with his siblings till late,” she added painfully. “I was like their second sister.” Maybe that is the problem – the family was okay with her as a “sister” rather than an in-law.

“Ding dong…” “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. This is the boarding call for passengers leaving on Kenya Airways flight 8A to Mombasa. Please have your ticket and identification ready and proceed to gate B for boarding.”

The Crossroads

With all that was happening, I had not realized my flight had been delayed, and we were being rushed to board.

“Are you on the flight?” she asked, noting I was distracted from her story. I nodded.

Henry, Mama’s boy, was willing to go all the way because he is that kind of man, the romantic type, but his mum, a leader in her church, was not hearing any of it. We had a stalemate, and the wedding was in limbo.

“Would you like it warmed?” the waiter asked, staring at my plate. I had become so sucked into the story that I had lost my appetite. I waved him away.

With her eyes looking through me, she muttered, “I am tired. Things have been this way for the last 7 weeks. I’m off to Kisumu to a friend’s place to take a break from all this.”

The Revelation

“I was ready to let him go eight weeks ago until I discovered something that changed everything,” she continued, her voice tinged with weariness and uncertainty.

Intrigued, I leaned in closer, eager to hear her revelation, like a moth drawn to a flickering flame.

“You have to promise not to share what I am about to tell you with anyone, and I mean anyone,” she said earnestly, her gaze searching mine.

Caught off guard by her trust in me, a stranger she had only just met, I nodded, silently urging her to continue.

“Nine weeks ago, I started feeling really sick, and it persisted for a few days.” Since we were deep into our plans and thoughts on having a wedding, I thought maybe I was suffering from fatigue or anxiety. Since planning a wedding can be stressful, Henry insisted I first see a doctor. After ignoring his advice for some time due to the many appointments I had with service providers, I finally visited the hospital for a medical check-up.

“Ding dong…” “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. This is the final boarding call for passengers leaving on Kenya Airways flight 8A to Mombasa. Please proceed to gate B for boarding.”

I’m sorry, but there was no way I was leaving without hearing the end of the story. “Then what happened?” I said, sounding a bit anxious. I think she noted my apprehension and went straight to the end of her story, “I am pregnant.”

As I took off running toward the boarding gate B, I wondered, like two titans clashing for supremacy, which love would eventually win: the strength of a mother’s love or the passionate pull of a man’s love?

Comment on who wins!