Imani's Dilemma (Drumbeats Romance)

by Kalinga, Kiki

  “I never flirt with clients!” Imani protested, “I have done this kind of work before, you know.”

  “You’ll be surprised how persistent some of our foreign clients can be. Some of them want to buy a Kenyan home complete with a Kenyan girlfriend,” Nkirote warned.

  “Where will I stay?” This had been her burning question since she had found out she had the job.

  “You will stay on site. You can use a room in the furnished show apartment. We also have a sales desk on the premises. We will pay to fly you back to Nairobi every six months. If you want to travel more often than that then it’s on your own tab.” Nkirote then proceeded to cover the details of her contract.

  Imani was so excited to be staying at the beach. She hadn’t been to the coast since she had gone on a school trip years ago. But she could see that there would be no slacking on this job. Big Al demanded daily reports from all his sales agents and weekly conference calls. This wouldn’t be a holiday at all, but a surge of excitement still bubbled up inside her.

  On her last evening in Nairobi, she insisted that Fawzia meet her at their favourite Ethiopian restaurant. She was going to miss her so much. But late in the afternoon, Fawzia called and told her that they were expecting guests and she wouldn’t be able to leave the house.

  “But I have to see you!” Imani wailed, “I’ll be gone for six months.”

  “I’m so sorry Imani,” she said, “But things will be disastrous if I am not here.” There was a moment of silence between them. “Why don’t you come to my house and we can talk while I prepare dinner?”

  So, a few hours later, she found herself sitting on a barstool at a breakfast table in Fawzia’s huge white marble kitchen. Fawzia expertly prepared a kachumbari to go with the mutton biriyani that was slowly cooking in her oven. Imani looked around at the beautiful furniture and ornaments in her house that had been bought from all over the world. All of this and her friend still wasn’t happy. Why did life have to be so complicated?

  There were tears in Imani’s eyes as she hugged Fawzia goodbye. She knew that she could still talk to her over the phone and it wasn’t like she was leaving the country or anything, but she still felt a twinge of loneliness at the thought of not seeing her for so many months.

  As Imani was leaving, Fawzia handed her a large package.

  “What’s this?” she asked, peering into the bag, which had layers of tissue paper and the delicious smell of brand new clothes. There was a shiny golden scarf, a pretty silk blouse and several other knick-knacks that were sure to add a touch of class and colour to Imani’s wardrobe.

  “Just a few things which I thought you could use at the coast. You know you need to look good for all those new men you may meet!” Fawzia giggled.

  Imani had to smile as she hugged Fawzia for the final time and left.

  The next day she woke up with a spring to her step! She leapt out of bed, grateful that she had done all her packing the night before. The clothes Fawzia had given her were lovely. She carefully packed them with her old stuff, feeling her spirits rise. New job, new place and lovely new clothes!

  It was a cold, rainy morning and she sat back in the taxi that the company had sent to take her to the airport. The traffic was already heavy at this time and she saw the same look of weary resignation on the face of each driver on the road. It would be nice to get away from all of this.

  The airline departure lounge was full of tourists, mostly dressed in flip-flops and shorts. The chill in the air didn’t seem to bother them. A few curious glances were cast in her direction and she suddenly felt out of place, wearing her work suit and carrying far more luggage than anyone else.

  Finally, her flight was announced and she was horrified to see everyone walking towards a tiny little plane with one propeller that seemed smaller than a bus. When she finally found her seat, she had to squeeze past a lady with a toddler on her lap. Imani was not a fan of air travel and though she knew it would be a short flight, she felt a surge of nerves and her palms tinged with sweat.

  As the plane began to taxi along the runway, Imani gripped the armrests of her seat tightly. The child next to her began to emit ear-splitting shrieks. His mother looked straight ahead, oblivious to everything around her. Imani’s stomach lurched to the ground as the plane took off with a sudden spurt of power. It continued its rocky, bumpy ascent as the baby’s cries reached a crescendo.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and began to pray silently as the plane lurched and rolled. This must be what a ride to hell is like she thought, and then just when she thought things were as bad as they could get, the kid threw up. Over himself, over her seat and then over her arm. The child’s mother began to curse under her breath as she pulled out a pack of wipes from her handbag and began half-heartedly to wipe her child.

  Imani held out her soiled arm in front of her. “Could I have one of those please?”

  The woman thrust the pack in her direction without so much as an apology and ignored her for the rest of the flight. Sighing, Imani cleaned off her arm and seat as best as she could and hoped that this was not symbolic of things to come.

  As soon as she stepped out of the plane, she was blasted with humid air. Her trousers felt as though they were stuck to her. It was a relief to climb into the air-conditioned Coral Palms courtesy car that had come to collect her. She looked at the lush greenery around her as they sped off to the beach resort; she seemed to have come a million miles away from the rush hour Nairobi traffic. Her new life had begun.

  ***

  “Welcome!” A brown man in a kanzu came up and shook her hand, “I am Hassan, the manager. If you need anything just ask.”

  Hassan handed her some forms to fill in. “We need a copy of your ID for our records,” he said, “Now let me get someone to show you around.”

  Coral Palms was a magnificent development. Swahili inspired architecture blended beautifully with the lush palm gardens and the white sandy beach. The concept was simple enough: serviced apartments for sale that had all amenities of a five star hotel. The furnished show apartment, which was to be her temporary home, was stunning. It was decorated with luxurious coastal style furniture and crisp white linen.

  There was a huge balcony with a traditional Lamu daybed that had a fantastic view of the ocean. And to top it all off, there was an outdoor jacuzzi on the balcony designed for having star baths. It seemed as though she had truly landed a job in paradise.

  She spent the first day acclimatising to her new surroundings. The first phase of the development had been completed some months earlier. She was glad to be surrounded by happy holidaymakers as opposed to being on a deserted construction site.

  “Ciao, ciao!” A couple beamed at her as they walked past. She managed to smile back at them while secretly shuddering at their skimpy swimwear. I need to loosen up a bit, she thought, as she searched for the canteen where she was to have her meals.

  That evening, after dinner, she went straight up to the apartment. She walked out onto the balcony to enjoy the breeze. She looked up at the stars in the clear sky and listened to the crashing of the waves as they pounded the beach at high tide. Faint sounds of laughter rang up from the bar around the aquamarine swimming pool. She took a deep breath and inhaled the sea air. Palm trees swayed gently. I could really get used to this lifestyle, Imani thought, I wonder what Kevin is up to. She immediately banished the thoughts of Kevin and resolved to enjoy herself in this new city, her new home.

  The next morning she was ready to get to work. Nkirote told her that she would have several appointments as clients had been waiting for the sales agent to arrive. She donned the requisite black trousers and matched them with a peach top. It wasn’t even eight in the morning and it was already hot.

  She was shown to a desk in a corridor that was just off the main reception area. There were three chairs and nothing else. She op
ened the desk drawers to find them full of brochures advertising the property. She briefly wondered what had happened to the previous sales agent.

  A phone sat on the table but it was for in-house calls within the resort only. There was absolutely nothing for her to do here. Nkirote had told her that someone would set her up with a laptop but that would take several days. She was itching to check her emails; find out what had happened in Nairobi since she had left, but that would have to wait.

  The phone rang, startling her out of her daydreams. Her first clients had arrived and she was to meet them at the reception. She took a deep breath and said a little prayer. She needed to do well at this job.

  When she showed the Gerts, an elderly Dutch couple, around the complex, her enthusiasm was genuine. She really did think that this was a beautiful development. She enjoyed hearing their ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ as she led them around the show apartment. She had been instructed to keep her room locked and her personal possessions hidden away from clients.

  By the time the Gerts had left, she was confident she would have a confirmed sale. This was going to be an easy project to push, she thought as she waited enthusiastically for her next lot of clients.

  “I think I have made two sales today,” she said excitedly to Nkirote on the phone later, “It’s been going really well.”

  “We don’t consider a sale finalised until we have received the full payment,” Nkirote said coldly. Imani felt a little demoralised at her lack of enthusiasm.

  “I also wanted to remind you about the laptop that you promised,” she said, after an awkward silence.

  “Yes, we will get that down to you,” she paused, “you do realise that the cost of it will be put onto your account?”

  Imani swallowed hard, “Is that not something that the company provides?”

  “No, we expect you to have your own laptop, we really can’t start providing expensive computers to every single sales agent, can we?” Imani hadn’t noticed the brittleness in Nkirote’s voice until now. “Of course you can use the computers in the business centre for work purposes if you need to.”

  “Well in that case I think I will just stick with the business centre for the time being.”

  “You do that,” she ended the call abruptly.

  The conversation with Nkirote continued to bother her that evening. There was a lovely band that night, playing for the dinner guests at the restaurant. She watched as couples swayed together to the music and felt a sharp stab of loneliness. Here she was at this beautiful resort with no one to share it with. In fact there was no one in the world that really wanted to be with her. She blinked back the tears that had pooled in her eyes. She was determined not to lose the optimism she had so carefully sustained since moving to Mombasa. She decided to focus on all the positives in her life. She had a great new job, in a new place, and was independent. What did it matter if she was single? I’d rather be single than be with a man who doesn’t respect me. She thought of Mike, who had been using her and trying to keep his job by playing dirty with her. She thought of Kevin, who had come back into her life only to hurt her again.

  But somehow she could not believe that Kevin had betrayed her again. It had really seemed like things were picking up between them. She had really believed that they had a chance to make things work this time around. But he had not changed. Imani sighed. She was in love with Kevin. Maybe she had never really been over him, but their brief interactions had awakened her old feelings for him and somehow the thought of life without him was harder this time round. But this time she would not relent. Her past would not interfere with her future.

  ***

  The next few weeks passed blissfully. She loved showing clients the property. The time spent waiting between appointments for clients was tediously boring but she passed the hours as best as she could. She had already worked her way through the ‘library’ of romance novels that had been left behind by guests. Imani thought it was such a pity that she wasn’t allowed to use the facilities at the resort, as those privileges were reserved for management only. Although she hadn’t swum since school, she would have loved to take a dip in the sparkling pool in the evenings. Imani made a mental note to wait a while and pluck up the courage to ask Big Al for permission. After I make a few more sales, maybe.

  Early one morning, the phone in her unit woke her with its incessant ringing. It was Hassan the manager. “It’s the boss, Imani. He is flying down with some guests today.”

  She tried to blink away the haze of sleep. “Okay,” she said slowly, “And why do I need to know about this right now?”

  Hassan was blunt, “You need to move out of the show apartment immediately so that housekeeping can prepare it for his arrival. He always stays there.”

  “No problem,” she replied agreeably. After all, who was she to argue with the boss? “Where will I move to?”

  “Don’t worry, housekeeping will sort something out for you,” he sounded vague.

  Imani put her belongings together hastily, which took much longer than she anticipated. She hadn’t realised how much she had made herself feel at home in such a short while. Housekeeping was already ringing the bell before she closed the lid on her suitcase.

  “Where shall I move to?” she asked Hassan as the cleaning team began to work around her.

  “Salim will show you.”

  So she followed Salim as he trekked through the property. They walked towards the entrance, far away from the ocean’s cooling breeze. It was a long walk, and Imani was flustered and out of breath when Salim finally stopped at a block of utilitarian flats.

  “What is this place?” she grimaced as he opened one of the doors. The room smelt musty and she jumped when a giant lizard skittered across the floor. She looked around for an air-conditioner but the room only had a single portable fan. She could feel beads of perspiration forming on her forehead. She hoped that she wouldn’t sweat visibly through her light blouse.

  The cement floors were bare and the only furniture in the room was a single bed and a small table, which held the fan. There were no curtains and the windows had been painted over with white paint to block out the light. Cobwebs in the corners of the room were clearly visible in the light that streamed from the open door.

  “Who stays here?” she asked, when Salim did not reply.

  “Well … the fundis stay here sometimes.”

  She took a deep breath, “What about the toilets?”

  Salim gestured to a door at the end of the block. Communal washrooms shared with construction workers. Charming.

  After Salim left, she sat on the bed and surveyed her new home. Aside from a hook on the back of the door there was absolutely nowhere to hang up her things. She was worried that her hastily packed clothes were getting crumpled so she laid them out on the bed. How long was Big Al going to stay? She was already missing her palatial apartment.

  She walked to her sales desk, smoothing down her hair. Her new accommodation didn’t boast anything as fancy as a mirror. Surely they could find somewhere else to house her?

  There was a curt call on her cell phone from Nkirote. “Big Al is on the way, his friends have chartered a flight down. He will handle this sale himself as they are very important clients, but you better make sure that you are there to provide back up.”

  “Okay, what should I do?”

  “Whatever he needs you to do. And while he is there, be available 24/7.”

  “I hear you. What time are they arriving?” But Nkirote had already disconnected the line.

  Should I go back and change my clothes? Imani wondered idly. I don’t want to disappoint Big Al and the new clients. A commotion from the reception area pulled her out of her reverie and she went to see what was going on.

  The sounds of loud drumming and singing greeted her. Troops of dancers were performing at the entran
ce of the hotel. Two ladies in traditional attire were waiting with trays of cold towels and glasses of fresh fruit juice. Two other ladies were waiting to place flower garlands around the necks of the guests disembarking from the hotel’s minivan. It looked like the boss and the VIP clients were here.

  She moved closer to get a better view. Red-soled stiletto shoes swung out of the vehicle first. The wearer slid gracefully out of the vehicle. Imani couldn’t help but stare at her; she was quite stunning. She also looked vaguely familiar. Imani wondered whether she was a celebrity. She was so distracted looking at the beauty that she almost did not see Kevin and Carina walking into the hotel.

  In an instant, Imani remembered the other lady. With a sickening jolt, she realised she was the woman in the photo Carina had showed her. The longhaired beauty was Patricia, Kevin’s fiancée. What the hell were they doing here?

  She gave an audible gasp of surprise, but of course no one could hear her with all the singing and dancing going on. She slunk back around the corner where she could observe the party without being noticed. Did he have to come here, with his fiancée, to the very place that she was starting to find some peace? Imani could feel her old heartache creeping back.

  Kevin looked really good; he had on a pair of jeans and an open neck slim-cut shirt. This was a very different style from his usual suit and tie attire. He looked happy and relaxed. He was amused at something and she felt a pang of longing when she heard that familiar laugh.

  He declined the garland and began to look around. Imani retreated further down her corridor, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. Maybe she could go out from the side entrance and dash to her room and change quickly into something better. Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion as different emotions swirled around her brain. She tried to come to terms with the fact that Kevin was actually here, now. Had he known that she would be here? If so didn’t he feel any sense of remorse at the way he had dumped her? Or maybe he just didn’t care! Maybe in Kevin’s world her feelings were of no significance at all.