It’s 10.30am Saturday. I am nursing a cup of coffee at Java- Sarit Centre. What am I doing here you ask? Well, I am waiting. And no, I am not waiting on the world to change like John Mayer. One sip of a luke warm cappuccino which will cost me around Kshs 230 and I am thinking my home made coffee tastes better.
On my second sip, I mentally curse for not ordering something really pricy; heck my boss is paying for it, might as well order something that I can’t even pronounce and watch his face drop when I stick the receipt to his face. Maybe next time…..There’s always a next time.
I’ve been here before, countless times. It’s noisy and it’s full of white people. Sure you can spot a black person at the corner, maybe one in the middle, then there’s me and that’s just about it. I am lying. Not about me being black. I am black as they come. It’s about the number of black people in this tavern. There are not as many as the white people. I don’t have a problem with that except that I hate the fact that the waiters are always ready to take their (White people) orders.
What’s that all about? I have been trying to catch your attention for full ten minutes and the instant a white guy walks in, even before he catches his breath, you are already smiling at him and asking what you can get him. Alright, I get it; rumour has it they tip better, but damn!
I digress. It’s 11.30 and I am still waiting. My cup is half empty it’s a lot noisier now than it was 30 minutes ago. The aroma changes from that of coffee to French fries. But I nurse my cup of cappuccino with small calculated gulps hoping any minute now, my phone will ring. It doesn’t.
I am tired of waiting. I am tired of checking the phone every two seconds. I am tired of the waiter passing by my table and wondering why the hell I haven’t finished my drink and get on with it. I imaginably shove my middle finger in his face and check my phone. Nothing. No ‘1 missed call’…. no ‘new message’. Nothing.
And that’s when the idea hits me. Maybe I should write about this entire waiting thing. Then I dismiss it. Eeh, what will be the point? May be I should….maybe I shouldn’t….. I catch a glimpse of a white guy, looking at me. He too has probably noticed that I have been here for far too long. I avert my gaze and just like I have done occasionally to the waiter, I shove my middle finger in the air.
It’s 1.00 pm and I can’t believe that I am still here. I should up and leave and have no apologies to make. “Cool down your heels missy” a voice in my head cautions….. “You need this.”
Do I really need this! I will tell you what I effing need! I need…….my phone chirps. I cross my fingers and pray for the best. I have to wait a little longer. 5 minutes turns to 15 minutes to finally 30 minutes. Most people I know should have said the hell with it and left but not me.
Maybe I should order salad or something as lady like. ‘Can I get me some chips mwitu please,” imagine the waiter’s horror if I said this with as much gusto as the white lady right next to me ordering some macchiato and an Almond Croissant. I smile.
Funny how times goes by when your mind is occupied with dry jokes? It 1.30pm when the waiting is finally over. I look up and ‘she’ is here. Well it was not that easy, my phone rang first, she told me she was ‘here’. I told her where I was, when she couldn’t trace me,I waved my hands in the air like I just didn’t care (again, dry jokes)
“I am so sorry …..I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for long…..”
“No, just got here,” I sheepishly reply
Have you ordered anything,” she tries to wave for the waiter and I am thinking honey, you will have to do a lot more than that to get his attention. Maybe go Rihanna style and lift your shirt, maybe then you will get his attention…..maybe.
“Can we get this started?” I offer a big, tired and one of the laziest smile of them all and she goes, “Sure.”
At the end of the day….3.00pm to be precise I get what I came here for. A story. Was the waiting worth it? What do you think? No really…what do you think?