Married But Available

by B. Nyamnjoh

  Lilly Loveless remembered not wanting to leave Sunsandland. A lot had happened following her meeting with her kisser bumster. Much hunger fed, many more desires awoken. She returned to Muzunguland despite herself, to feed on memories and dream her desires. It was a pity that the best wine of her short stay in Sunsandland should have been kept for so late in the day. But her thoughts and feelings were staying behind, even as she boarded the plane back to the monotony of her daily existence.

  A few days after her return, she sent him an email that ended with the words: ‘The pain of leaving you is as acute now as it was when I boarded the plane. So many things have happened in the meantime, but you’ve never been out of my thoughts. How I long to hold you close and kiss you deep: missing you like this really hurts. There’s a continuous gnawing ache reminding me of you all the time. Something like hunger, but more persistent, weighing me down in a flood of reminiscences.’

  This must have been the cue he needed. Lilly Loveless’ phone rang, and without bothering to find out who was at the other end of the line, the kisser said his lines obviously borrowed from a magazine or novel.

  “My Dear Lilly Loveless,” he began. “Imagine me with you in Bruhlville. It is almost dinner time. You are standing in the kitchen preparing something to eat when you feel me behind you, sliding my firm African hands round your waist and softly kissing your neck... You know I want you.... As you feel my hands slide up your waist to your breasts, I gently tease your nipples, still kissing your neck and whispering in your ear that I can’t wait much longer, I need to take you, right here, right now...”

  He ran out of airtime, but not before irreparable damage had been done.

  It was Martin her boyfriend who received the call, his last.

  Lilly Loveless remembered being philosophical about the way things ended: “Everyone who comes into or leaves our lives is a mirror for something inside us that we are not seeing”, was what she told her mom who would not stop complaining about the fact that things had ended with Martin.

  Deep in reverie Lilly Loveless imagined her kisser bumster lying by her side at this quiet lover’s paradise of Sakersbeach. With her eyes closed, she felt him do what he did best. He brought his thick, sensuous, passionate lips to ignite hers, and she was all on fire, burning with desire…

  The fire of desire found satisfaction in fantasies. Lilly Loveless remembered thinking years ago, as she walked through a crowded shopping mall in her native Bruhlville: what would it be like to approach some relaxed looking tall, handsome, sexy young man her age and lay a kiss on him? Would he take advantage of a passionate kiss with a stranger? Would she earn herself a black eye? Would it be exciting, or disappointing? Both? What if she dazed him by flashing her tits to say: ‘Be a man - take me, use me, dump me’? She fantasized about breaking some of the other intriguing taboos, such as sex with an extra man or woman in the picture, the way only exhibitionists or the porn industry know best. Was that too weird, too counter-culture, too dark and wrong? Or was it a valid sexual exploration that she was ashamed of due only to society’s wagging finger?

  ***

  Through with his interview, Bobinga Iroko came back and met Lilly Loveless, still sunbathing and reading A Nose for Money, which Britney had strongly recommended, and which she was discovering to be quite relevant to her theme. It was by the author of the paper Lilly Loveless had read, and a copy of which she had brought with intentions of giving to Dr Wiseman Lovemore, but had not got round to it before what happened. An idea crossed her mind. What if she were to write to the author something like: ‘Your work is of great interest to me. Writing is another passion of mine and I have all these ideas in my head which I hope to capture in a book sometime in this lifetime. I was wondering if you could take me under your wing and allow me to pick your brains. When I stumbled across your work, I knew I had found a gem and I would be deeply humbled and honoured to be mentored by you. Thank you very much for your consideration and look forward to hearing from you.’ How would he react? Would this inflate his ego? Or would he remain modest and reply? Why not try and see…?

  Lilly Loveless resolved to find out his address and write when she was back in Bruhlville. But that would have to wait until she had read the book. Like with Dr Wiseman Lovemore’s paper which she was yet to read, she had an ambivalent feeling about reading the novel. Captivating though the blurb was, she feared going beyond the first few pages of the novel because she didn’t want the book to influence her thinking even before she had the opportunity to analyse things for herself. So, after the first few pages of the book, she closed it and promised herself not to open it again until she was safely back home and writing up.

  Bobinga Iroko noticed the book and wanted to start a conversation on the contents, but was stopped by Lilly Loveless.

  “I don’t want to know… I don’t want to know… I don’t want to know…” She told him, blocking her ears with both hands.

  Bobinga Iroko moved on to another topic. He suggested they take a walk. Lilly Loveless agreed, but only after a dip.

  Bobinga Iroko changed rapidly into his swimming trunks, and together they threw themselves at the gentle waves and enjoyed the sensitive fingers of the irresistible sea water massage them. To Lilly Loveless, this was almost as good as the soft hands of Martin that, aided by massage oils, used to make her smile infinitely with pleasure until things got sour between them. Bobinga Iroko and she loved every second of the encounter and didn’t notice the time pass until an hour and thirty minutes later. But there was also a burning desire to walk along the beach, which they succumbed to, and which offered them an opportunity to talk about all and nothing. It was simply magnificent. When they came across little turtles, Bobinga Iroko talked about turtles doing it, and went on to inform Lilly Loveless that you can tell a male turtle because his underside, unlike a female’s which is just flat, is concave, to facilitate shell mounting. What a man, Lilly Loveless thought, so refreshingly and wonderfully uninhibited. So nutty! She wondered just how uninhibited he would be, if she were to suggest that she would like to feel him next to her, his knees nestling into her side as she looked up into his laughing eyes…

  When they returned to the car, it was already getting dark. Going to the Botanic Gardens would have to wait for another day, they decided, and went for roasted fish at one of the loveliest restaurant-bars along the port. As they waited for their fish while sipping their beer, they watched fishermen return to display their catch for market women, house wives and restaurant owners to pick and choose for cash. Lilly Loveless loved every second of it.

  All of a sudden, there was unexpected drama: not by market women struggling for the choicest fish; not by the truck pushers fighting over who should carry what for whom. The drama came from a couple in the restaurant, sitting a few tables away from Bobinga Iroko and Lilly Loveless. It was a man and his wife, having dinner on her birthday, so it eventually unfolded. There was the alert of an SMS on the man’s cell phone from his girlfriend informing him that she, all oiled up and shiny, was wearing his favourite thong and wanted to see him right away for the time of his life. Curious, the wife wanted to know whom the SMS was from. The man lied to his wife that the text message was from his mother wishing his wife happy birthday. The wife asked to see the message, but the man was desperately trying to delete it in his shirt pocket. The wife finally snatched the phone from him and read the message out loud to the hearing of everyone in the restaurant. Then she says: “My husband does not want to look at me, he wants a thong but wouldn’t see mine.” She takes up her skirt to reveal the cute thong she is wearing which her husband doesn’t notice. Then she storms out, leaving her husband to clear up the mess of his actions.

  “Come on. Everybody else does it and hides it, I do it and just don’t hide it, so what is the big deal with you hypocrites?” The man tried to brush off the stares on him with thoughts he hadn’t the courage to translate into words.

  “Mimboland na Mimboland,” said Bobinga Iroko, when the husba
nd, unable to bear the stares, abandoned his food as well, paid his bill and walked out to face his second surprise of the evening: his wife had vandalised his fancy new car beyond recognition.

  “I know them well,” Bobinga Iroko added.

  “You do?” Lilly Loveless was interested.

  “They don’t like me, but they are used to my pieces and I know them very well. The man hates my guts as a journalist. He once accused me of publishing a critical paper about him, when I discovered that a timber exploration concession registered under his name was in effect being exploited by ruthless Muzunglanders without any respect for the tropics they claimed to adore, nor for the local communities that have preserved the forest for thousands of years through religious taboos and rituals.”

  “He who harms the environment can’t be a friend of mine,” said Lilly Loveless.

  “I’m sure the Muzungulander business interests he represents pay him enough to live on, and by our local standards, to pass for a very rich man with a reputation for talking women into taking off their clothes. He is known locally as ‘Lovebird Masa Moni’, ‘the youngest living old man’ and also as ‘l’homme des belles femmes’, because whatever comes in as money, he shows it off in ostentatious consumption with young, voluptuous, beautiful girls. He can’t see a juicy fruit without wanting to eat it. His wife, who dramatized here a while ago, is not the only wife he has. She is the third and youngest – ‘My Bubbly Brown Sugar’ he called her when he wooed her, and is still doing her studies at UM. She married him three years ago, at a wedding that was termed the wedding of the year here in Sakersbeach. There is nothing he didn’t do to impress her, and there is nothing she didn’t do to impress her friends. It is probably one of those friends now seeking to undo her in the war of the thongs…” Bobinga Iroko was speaking like a tape recording, full of insights.

  “You know what a thong is, don’t you?” Bobinga Iroko had a mischievous smile in his eyes.

  “No, tell me what it is,” Lilly Loveless laughed and took out her pen. She was beginning to absorb Bobinga Iroko’s every word like the way blotting paper absorbs ink.

  “It has more material than a G-String.”

  “Really?”

  “Anyone who has done window shopping or been at the market when a bale of second-hand underwear is being opened knows these things.”

  “Did you see the ‘read my hips’ manner in which she walked out?”

  “A woman who walks with such a seductive sway is unlikely to be ovulating.”

  “You mean likely…”

  “That’s what I used to mean until I read this piece in the New Scientist…”

  “You do really ferret, don’t you?” Lilly Loveless was impressed.

  Bobinga Iroko laughed out his modesty, and added: “Here in Mimboland, one either has an MBA or is an MBA.”

  “What do you mean? Everyone is into business administration or something?”

  Bobinga Iroko laughed before explaining. “An MBA here means Married but Available.”

  Lilly Loveless exploded in laughter. “That’s very funny.”

  “Yes, MBA is our business: we either are married but available, or have someone who is married but available.”

  “Bobinga Iroko included?”

  “No comment.” He laughed. “Do you know how to determine whether someone is having an affair or not?”

  “Tell me.”

  “You know someone is having an affair when they feel unusually happy and light within themselves, as if they’ve met with Angel Gabriel. For a woman, she starts walking as if she’s got springs on her heels, her underwear suddenly begins to look more and more like thongs and G-Strings, she starts watching every word she says as she fears betraying her little new secret, and if you watch closely, you begin to see funny marks on prominent aspects of her anatomy.”

  “You need to be intimately close to notice that about her.”

  “Of course, I meant the husband or a very close friend,” replied Bobinga Iroko. “Otherwise, what is there for a perfect stranger seeking to know who is having or not having an affair? Except an idle Muzungu researcher called Loveless.”

  “Your wife plays around too?”

  “Have I told you I am married?” replied Bobinga Iroko, evasively.

  Lilly Loveless smiled insistently, not knowing why getting any personal information from this man was like pulling a tooth.

  “OK, let’s suppose I have a wife,” he laughed. “I would say she doesn’t need to play around. I’ll string her G-spot every time. I know how to please her. She comes every time. How many men could do that for her? She’d get impatient with a new guy fooling around to figure her out.”

  “Why hypothetical?”

  “It is better that way. Then you can explore different scenarios. Reality is much too fixed, don’t you think? To fall in love is immediately to dread the loss of the object of desire, so better to be hypothetically married than actually married, I think, hypothetically speaking, of course.”

  “I give up,” said Lilly Loveless. Smiling, she asked: “And men – how do you know they are having an affair?”

  “With men, the signs are that suddenly, they start being conscious of their dressing, going on mission a lot, and calling their wives names they’ve never heard before, especially when dreaming or making love. These days, a sure way of sniffing an affair is by reading through your partner’s sent text messages. And if your partner is always erasing his or her messages, know you have a smoking gun. Treat as suspect a partner who lives in fear of text messages and whose inbox and sent folders are always empty.”

  “Why exactly do people frown on cheating, especially by women? It can reluctantly be tolerated in men, but women, never. If women cheat despite the fact that cheating is not granted them at all, what could be the reasons?”

  “In Mimboland, women cheat for various reasons, major amongst which is the need to live a life that is not theirs. The pressures on them to dress well, do their hair, buy this and that, be here or there in a class and in places above their means or attainments, push them into the open arms of affairs with men who are either pretending or honest about bringing them to consumer paradise.”

  “Surely, that can’t be the only reason women cheat,” Lilly Loveless protested.

  “You are not as good a listener as I thought,” Bobinga Iroko rebuked, playfully. “Consumerism is a major reason, but there are others. Some women cheat because their men have done it, leaving them unhappy, lonely or feeling neglected. They also cheat simply because they, in essence, are just like men, wanting great sex and variety beyond the monotony and ability of regular partners to provide, however creative these might be at self-reconfiguration.” Lilly Loveless wrote frantically in her notebook. She liked what Bobinga Iroko said. “And why, according to you, are women seldom open and bold about their affairs? Why don’t they boast of these in public in the same way as men do?”

  “The answer is simple, I think,” replied Bobinga Iroko. “Vis-à-vis one’s partner, the lying, economy with the truth, clandestinity and hide-and-seek that come with having an affair is like the turn-on exhibitionists get from knowing that they are watched, and together with the sex, must make affairs really pleasurable and difficult to call off. Another reason might simply be that women are less animated by the trophy mentality that drives men, so they don’t display and parade their affairs the way a sportsman does his trophies.”

  “You are a real expert, aren’t you?” said Lilly Loveless. Returning to the row, she asked of the man, “You say he is married to three wives?”

  “Yes, and when friends ask him: ‘Masa, why you get plenty fine fine woman them so, you di comot outside go chase plenty more?’ he would say; ‘You no know say latrine for corner house de smell plenty?’ On other occasions he would say: ‘If you have a farm, does that mean you can’t have a garden as well?’ Super, isn’t it?”

  “If you say so,” replied Lilly Loveless, beckoning to the waiter to bring her another drink. “I�
��ve also heard that plenty corner-corner lovers is not good,” she added, imitating his pidgin intonation.

  “To be fair to the man, he worships women,” said Bobinga Iroko. “He is even rumoured to have slept with more than 1000 women and to have decided how he would like to die. ‘On a woman and surrounded by women, just as I have lived my life,’ he tells his friends. ‘And with my hand firmly on the well rounded youthful breast of the most beautiful of them,’ he adds with a sensuous chuckle, his eyes closed in imagined pleasure.”

  “I wish him luck,” said Lilly Loveless.

  Beer preceded the fish, which was taken with beer and followed by beer. Soon Bobinga Iroko was in no state to drive.

  “Let’s go to the nightclub,” he suggested. “Let’s sweat away the beer on the dance floor to the tune of lovely Mimbo music.”

  Lilly Loveless liked the idea.

  They opted for Black & White, one of the most popular in Sakersbeach. Bobinga Iroko managed to drive up to a friend’s place on Church Street where they parked the car, and walked leisurely to the nightclub at the Bay Hotel. On their way they passed young and old women of all shapes and sizes, dressed in skimpy attire and headed in the same direction.

  “These are night butterflies,” Bobinga Iroko whispered. “You’ll see the younger of them in the nightclub, but the older ones are heading for the bars, chicken parlours and other popular spots. All of them are fishers of men…”