Married But Available

by B. Nyamnjoh

  “Needless to say, I didn’t believe that Heasey-Seesey was in love with me, or even imagined he was. He saw me as ‘moni miss road’, which he made clear on several occasions, including when he asked me to pay for the repair of his old black and white TV: ‘Ma TV no di sick but I just want bring-am you make general check up in preparation for world cup.’ Hence when I got his letter, it seemed to me like yet another desperate attempt on the part of my neighbour in the village to find a way out of his fairly destitute situation. I imagined him hoping that I had secretly entertained a longing for him all along, so that I could now marry him or at least invite him to stay with me plus enhance his prospects for the future. Understandable though this may be, it confirmed my feeling that all along Heasey-Seesey’s friendship with me was solely and exclusively based on his idea that I might prove of use to him in one way or another. It still beats my imagination that it proved impossible to establish some sort of relationship based on trust, on acceptance, on mutual sharing and caring, rather than on individual interests, hidden agendas, or whatever. That concept of friendship seems so hollow to me…’”

  “Don’t you think that there’s a certain degree of personal interest or individual aims involved in every relationship?” Lilly Loveless made a rare interruption.

  “Of course, there is,” replied Desire, somehow irritated by the interruption. “That is probably the case in many of my own relationships. For example, my friendship with my unfortunate colleague, Dr Wiseman Lovemore, has a number of practical implications which are useful to me. Before his incarceration, we did consultancies together, we went out for a drink once in a while, and we discussed the ups and downs in our lives, and helped each other out with information and even financially from time to time. But I didn’t befriend him because of these prospects: when we got to know each other, I could not even have imagined such material advantages (nor, for that matter, could he). It is because we genuinely care for each other that such developments came to be, not the other way around. And there is no ‘exchange’ involved, either. Because our relationship is based on mutual feelings of friendship, his ‘assistance’ to me and mine to him need not be repaid in any way. He benefits from my company and conversation, but I share that with him because I like him, and not because he has helped me out in other ways.

  “To me, it would be surprising, but not altogether unthinkable, if Wiseman were to declare a secret love for me at some point. You can see I remain confident he is going to come out of his present difficulties and resume normal life as lecturer at the university,” Desire looked up at Lilly Loveless, who nodded in solidarity “

  We, Dr Wiseman Lovemore and I, know and accept each other in a way absolutely incomparable to the way in which Heasey-Seesey and I ‘know’ each other. If Wiseman were to say the same things that Heasey-Seesey said, I would be saddened (for him, because the feeling would not be mutual), and would try together with him to deal with the ‘problem’ (the problem being the discrepancy between his feelings and mine, not his feelings themselves). But in Heasey-Seesey’s case, it is somewhat of an affront. Again, as so often in the past, I wonder if he really thought I’m so stupid as to believe him upfront. I wonder if he really thought I could not see through him, read between the lines, and understand the hidden requests. Did he understand them himself? And why did he expect me to pull him out of his despair as if I had no despairs of my own? It is not as though he had had no other possibilities. His uncle in the past offered to sponsor him if he wanted to further his education, but Heasey-Seesey refused the offer, claiming that he was too old to start studying. Odd fellow, indeed, Heasey-Seesey…”

  “Is Heasey-Seesey still hot on you?” asked Lilly Loveless.

  “He eventually gave up, married a village girl who effectively sells palm wine and bush meat on market days, but still looks across the hedge when I am in the village. I’ve heard his wife hates me for having behaved as if her man was not man enough.”

  “Really?” Lilly Loveless found it difficult to believe. “One would imagine she would be happy you left her a man to marry.”

  “Not at all. She feels I insulted her man, and in any case, she feels Heasey-Seesey has room enough and is man enough for at least two wives.”

  “Strange emotion, love,” said Lilly Loveless. “Why one person leaves you cold, and another wet with desire, shall for ever remain one of the mysteries of life.”

  “It’s just like many other things in life. No two humans feel, smell, see or hear the same, and no two people have the same disposition…”

  “And Sexwale, did he write back?” Lilly Loveless did not want the story to peter out. She could understand the frustrations of a woman who desires someone so much, writes and gets no response. It must be devastating to pursue someone without any indication of what his feelings are. Why was he indifferent? Was he disinterested or what? His silence and Desire’s persistence gave the impression of a horny, single woman who will climb trees to get into a man’s briefs. If the man was interested, why was he not standing up to be counted? Was he one of those who held to the falsehood that masculinity is about men being in control and measured about how they feel especially about the opposite sex in public? Privately they may die, burn with desire, but it cannot be expressed for fear of its ‘weakening’ or exposing them to vulnerability? Perhaps Desire was merely telling the story from her standpoint, and digging deeper might reveal that the man was equally restless. Even then, why is she selling herself short?

  Desire took the cue: “He wrote, not much, but enough for me to keep going. I replied: ‘Dear Sexwale, I can’t tell you how relieved I was to receive your letter today – I was really in need of a little reassurance. This separation is indeed dreadfully trying, and I can well understand that the inspiration for writing has dissipated. I know I find it difficult to know what to write about, writing is just a way of filling the emptiness, of trying to reach you somehow, of trying to evoke at least a feeling of communication. If not for the prospect of you coming home, I don’t know how I would deal with this. I rest assured that you are ever on the lookout for opportunities to come to Mimboland, even if only for a week, as you say in your letter. Unfortunately, there is really no way for me coming your way right now as flights from here are as expensive as ever, but I remain focused on any possibilities, as luck, magic and miracles remain a part of life. Congratulations on the interview of which you sent me a copy – I fell in love with you all over again and am longing for you badly. Christmas seems far away and yet I’m extremely grateful that there is at least a temporary light (burning brightly!!) at the end of this very long tunnel. Please don’t succumb to exasperation or frustration, our patience will be rewarded. I hope to hear you again soon, love as always, Desire.’

  “He didn’t reply. For two months, I heard nothing from him. I sent him a note that concluded with: ‘I am beginning to be seriously worried: several months have passed without word from you. Are you all right? Is something the matter? I hope it is only the postal service or your busy schedule playing havoc!’

  “Then came the shock of my life. I received an envelope with photographs in provocative poses of Sexwale and the lady in red kissing Sexwale at the Corkscrew. I was terribly jealous. The handwriting on the envelope was not Sexwale’s, and there was no accompanying note either.”

  “What!” screamed Lilly Loveless.

  “I couldn’t contain myself. ‘Dear Sexwale,’ I wrote. ‘How difficult it is to write this letter! I have spent many an hour trying to find the best words, but I realise that straightforward honesty is the best policy: I have fallen in love with someone else. I was not planning to, was not on the lookout in the least. In fact I was feverishly longing for our reunion at Christmas, when I was swept off my feet. What can I say? I am so very sorry to hurt you. I had been hoping to establish at Christmas how you and I could consolidate what was left of our relationship, I had hoped to find out if we could move towards a clearer commitment.’”

  “But was that true? H
ad you really fallen in love with someone else?”

  “Did it matter?” asked Desire. “The writing was on the wall. Why wait to be pushed? I jumped.”

  Lilly Loveless noticed the tears in her eyes, but said nothing.

  Desire used the tip of her blouse to wipe the tears. “The letter did not end there,” said she. ‘I have been so very, very lonely these past two years,’ I continued, ‘waiting for opportunities to be together with you, reliving the rare but meaningful moments we had had together, and yet I had always believed that we would indeed really be together in the future, somehow, somewhere. You have been on my mind and in my heart all the time, I have missed you so painfully! But it is over now, much to my own surprise. I loved you so completely, and in a way I still do – I still long to see you, to hear you laugh, to see your eyes sparkle – but the fire is gone. This is all very confusing, but I have decided, despite my warm feelings for you, to give this new relationship a fair chance. As the past few years indicate, I am not one to fall in love easily. It is so hard to write this, not being able to see your reaction. The thought crossed my mind that you might actually be relieved; your silence over the past months has done little to provide sustenance to our relationship. But if you still cared for me the way you did here in Mimboland, I imagine you will be disappointed. I can only guess. I do hope very much that you will still want to meet in Christmas, and that you will want to be my guest in Puttkamerstown. The fact that we are no longer lovers does not mean – as far as I’m concerned – that we should lose each other completely.’ I concluded the letter and rushed it to the post.”

  “Did he reply?”

  “No, he didn’t, at least not immediately,” said Desire. “So I was confused. Had he received it or had he not? Not sure, I wrote to him: ‘Please, Sexwale, do respond to this letter. I am very, very sorry if I have hurt you, that was never my intention. My feelings for you have always been genuine, and my intentions sincere. We did have a good thing going, but the odds that we were up against were inhumanly strong, too. I know that you, too, suffered from our separation and were exasperated. Still, I am truly sorry that our fairy tale had to end in this harsh way. Please write back! Love, Desire.’”

  Did he write back? Lilly Loveless asked with her eyes.

  “Still no reply. Then one day a colleague at the department called me aside and said: “Dr Sexwale says to tell you his wife has had a baby girl.”

  “How cruel!!”

  “Yep, a baby girl… a little lady Sexwale” said Desire, in tears.

  When she regained composure, she concluded: “The words ‘I love you’ are not to be taken lightly, in my opinion. I have rarely used them myself. They are so often used as synonyms for ‘I want to make love with you’ or ‘I feel lonely without you’, which are entirely different things. Like democracy, love is not face-powder, to be experimented with and discarded after an initial try-out, easily replaced, readily available at every corner-store, a superficial coating to be applied when the time seems right. At least, that’s the way I see things. The face-powder kind of love doesn’t interest me one bit; it’s all or nothing. If I love someone, my feelings for that person are all-encompassing and deep – even those every day words ‘I love you’ strike me as sadly superficial, but I’m at a loss for more suitable ones. One would have to be a real poet to express my feelings for the person I love. The completeness of my love also means I’m afraid, afraid that the feeling is not reciprocal; afraid that I might appear to be too demanding; afraid that I might overwhelm the person I love, stifle him; afraid that time and distance will make him forget our potential. It is rough to be so far away from the person one loves – there are so many things I wish to discuss when I am in love, without that clock ticking away forever in my head or the head of the person I love. When I love, I want to be able to integrate the person into my normal existence, sharing the ups and downs, trials, tribulations and happy events of day to day life. Alas, reality is harsh and unkind at times, though I know I should rather be grateful to have found someone to love at all. But then, I’d rather not love at all than love or be loved by half measures.

  “Yet people won’t let me live my life quietly. Everybody imagines that I am married or should be. Just before you came to stay with me, I went to a hardware store in search of built-in cupboard doors for bedrooms. First, the salesman writes ‘Mrs’ Desire. I am used to this because it happens all the time. He looked rather nice so I gently reminded him that I am Miss. He got the hint and apologised. I was not offended but am always surprised at people’s assumption. But here is the prize assumption: as he explained the range of products, I was not interested. I knew what I wanted. He asked me for which bedroom the doors were intended. I hesitated. Then he prodded, ‘the main bedroom?’ No, I responded. Then he let rip. He explained that my choice was simple because for ‘children’s bedrooms’ he had something else, easier to care for! He told me about boys and girls bedrooms. I was stupefied. I did not correct him. I made my purchase and left. So I am riveted by what I am, should be or am imagined to be by others.”

  Lilly Loveless put several stars against the issue in her notebook, as some of the challenges facing single or childless women in Mimbo, with the aim of comparing this with attitudes in Muzunguland.

  “To conclude, I would say that passion and hope diminish with age and the wisdom that comes with the pain of experience. When the intensity of your love has been kicked around and your heart bruised by life, you learn to temper your instinctive ‘Wow!’ reaction with a realistic ‘Arrrrrrgh!’ whenever a gorgeous man catches your eye.”

  “Thank you very much for a very rich interview,” Lilly Loveless said and closed her notebook. There was no tape to switch off, for Desire had said a firm no to Lilly Loveless’s request for the interview to be tape recorded.

  Lilly Loveless made some quick notes for herself. At one level, Desire’s experience demonstrates that there is something attractive in not always being together with the person one loves. Don’t they say the heart grows fonder with absence? So you can imagine why men and women having affairs make elaborate preparations such that each meeting is special. Because they don’t often have time enough to see each other for long enough, they are more likely to package and present themselves to each other to ensure that each party gets the very best of the other. With the advent of technologies such as the Internet, Skype and webcams, intimacy can reinvent itself beyond the original confines of physical proximity, such that you don’t have to be together in the same space to drink and eat and make love together. Reality is virtual and virtuality real. What Viagra and its penetration syndrome has taken away from women, the Internet, Skype and the webcam have graciously returned in love with a touch of romance defined primarily as a state of mind. For Desire, though, these have come too late to save her relationship with Sexwale. Do these developments mean that in future for men and women to enjoy one another, they have to be far away from each other? Fortunately we are living in an era of ever accelerating mobility, real and virtual.

  At another level, Lilly Loveless wrote, there was genuine reason to worry about the future of relationships driven by new technologies like digital cameras, cell phones with cameras and webcams which excite curiosity and experimentation. These technologies invite people to manipulate time and space in ways that interconnect the real and the virtual, and suggest new forms of relationships. Fantasy making and possibilities of non-contact sex are encouraged, so are new ways of having and enjoying sex. Even when time and space are not a hindrance, having sex, though desirable, is so exerting that sometimes, one saves one’s energy by sitting back and just imagining pleasure. Playfully or not quite fathoming the consequences, more and more young people are videoing themselves in lurid or sexually suggestive postures which they proceed to disseminate through the Internet (YouTube) and via mobile phones. Apparently normal teenage girls, lured by celebrities who are influenced to influence by acting and dressing in overtly sexual ways and pushed by fear of social
rejection and unpopularity, are posting pictures of themselves topless or dressed up in sexualized clothing in chat rooms to get attention from boys and men they have never even met, feeling the urge to perform as adults.

  Does this really amount to women taking control of their sexuality, as some have suggested in the notion of ‘Girls Gone Wild’, as opposed to ‘Girls Gone Mild’? Could it be that the celebrity women in the media on which girls and women model their behaviour, reflect an untypical emancipation which even they themselves don’t practice when outside of the acting roles they assume in public and in the media? Does the fixation on sexuality not sexify women by reducing their worth to their sexual appeal? Isn’t there a risk that men are led by such postings to believe that women are indifferent to being seen and treated as sex objects? But then, it could also be argued that women are simply behaving like the victims of male sexual domination that they have been brought up to be. Male interests are behind the beauty industries which though targeting women with the dreams and desires they engineer, promote and protect, are ultimately manipulating women with the diktats of manhood. However compelling the rationalizations women may give themselves for imbibing and pursuing the indicators of femininity made available by the beauty industry, making themselves beautiful is ultimately about harkening to the whims and caprices of a world under the grip of manhood.