A Kiss Goodbye

“Aren't you going to hug me?” He asked as he dropped her off at the airport of the city they'd relocated to. After a hug and a quick kiss, she was off to board her plane. Little did she know that would be the last time she ever saw the man she'd been in a relationship with for close to two years and had lived with for 16 months.

Mira, then 36, had her fair share of failed relationships and situationships; she'd just recently ended what she'd decided was her last casual relationship with Proctor, who, despite all “what are we? conversations,” remained non-committal. Her last straw was the long paragraph she sent him, in which, amongst other complaints and requests, she asked, “Why do we only kiss when we have sex?” A message she wrote as she had her hair braided in knotless braids that would carry her through the December holiday. 

She almost always wore wigs, and braids were her way of letting her scalp breathe. It was also a subtle acceptance of a forehead and hairline she was insecure about; she had the famous East African forehead, so as she read Proctor’s response, part of which read, “This is becoming annoying,” she promised herself that would be the last time she would ever ask for more than the man was willing to give. “I must respect myself,” she scolded herself.

It was going to be another lonely Christmas, she told herself as she suppressed her tears as Prissy, her hairdresser, dug into her hair, plaiting one braid at a time. She hoped she'd be done soon, noting she was quite slow today. That morning, she was more impatient than ever with Prissy but held her composure as she caught tears from the corners of her eyes before they could roll down her cheeks. 

A few days later, as she was having a nap on her couch, her phone buzzed. It was a message from Capi, a guy she met six or seven months earlier. “I'm looking for you,” it read. “Let me park the ndege, aircraft in Swahili, then may I call you?” She responded with a silly gif of a plane landing with the pilot’s legs on the ground. A phone call and flirtatious messages later, they set a date. “It looks like it won't be such a dry December after all,” she thought to herself.

Her relationship with Capi developed fast. Their first date lasted about eight hours; it was such an easy connection with lots of similarities, including habits they were hoping to let go of; after only three weeks together, she had already met his mother, who loved her and was so welcoming. Meeting African parents, mothers especially, was and still is a big deal! It was also the first time she had officially met a boyfriend's mother, despite having been in two long-term relationships totaling nearly ten years. 

Within five months of dating, she had given notice to her apartment and was preparing a move to a new city where he'd been transferred for work. Against her better judgment, she was hopeful this situation would be better; after all, he'd chosen her and not the many young women she'd already caught him having inappropriate relationships with; something he never failed to remind her.

The new city was the beginning of a trial marriage that tested not only her sanity but her self-worth. Sure, there were many happy days, and Mira was often introduced as "wife,” but the tough days attempted to break her, a surprise because she was the strongest woman she knew. You see, Mira was a feminist who appeared to have her life all figured out among her friends and family. She had a good job, one that allowed her to work anywhere in the world, hence why she was able to move across the country to a coastal city to be with her man. On one of the random nights that Capi spent at her house, she'd remarked how God spoils her, reflecting on how blessed she was to have him after her recently ended situationship. She had a deeply held belief that anytime she was going through a difficult time, God would always have something beautiful planned for her. 

A few months prior, she had landed a new job, just as she was feeling unappreciated and dissatisfied with her then-employer. Having just ended things with Proctor, Capi, short for Captain and a Kenyanized version of the word, came into her life at a time when loneliness felt routine. His colleagues and coworkers called him that, a nod to his role as a pilot at a local airline. The timing felt like divine reassurance. God always spoiled her, and this time, He had sent a good man.

She wasn't prepared to accept that this could be the worst relationship she'd ever had while still being the best. Capi adored her with a sincere, reassuring affection. He adored her face without makeup or a wig on. “You have the most beautiful face I've ever seen,” he'd frequently tell her, not failing to remind her that she was more attractive than the women she'd caught him flirting with, a heartbreaking reminder of how much she'd had to repress to make this relationship work. She'd never confided in anybody, not even the two therapists she saw during the relationship, as she tried to figure out what was wrong with her and why they just couldn't get along. 

Moving to the new city had been the biggest leap of faith she'd ever taken because she had promised herself she would never cohabit with a man. Not only had she betrayed her beliefs, but she'd also lost herself in the process of constantly trying to keep peace in that house. If it wasn't one thing, it was another—from the comments he often made about her less-than-toned body to the lingering question of whether she could bear a child without complications at her age—a manipulative tactic, subtly pressuring her to get pregnant, an idea she had firmly rejected until they were committed to marriage.

A few months earlier, she had tracked him through his iPad only to find a transaction for a hotel room at a local hotel. On that day, he'd left work at around noon, not uncommon for pilots who work odd shifts. They were meant to go on a date, but he came home in a rush; his best friend, who happened to be his colleague and one of the many female friends he had, was in labor, and she'd requested his presence. Being the understanding and at this point helpless girlfriend Mira was, she had no choice but to cancel a date that was meant to repair the many issues they'd had in their relationship before moving to the new city. You can call it a woman's intuition, but when you live with a liar, you know when he or she lies, so it broke her again when she tracked him down at a restaurant and viewed his Google Maps timeline in real time as he moved from a coffee shop, far from the hospital she expected him to be at, to a hotel. A few minutes later, a 6,000 shilling bank alert transaction popped up in his inbox as he paid for the hotel room. She knew he was cheating again. She'd already found a used condom wrapper in his pants as she hung the laundry, which he explained was among the pack of condoms, which she also found in his car, that he borrowed from his colleague. He explained that he’d had them since they met; he was after all hoping to get lucky on one of their first dates. Yap, he wasn't the smartest liar, but like everything, practice makes perfect. By the time she was leaving the relationship, he'd perfected the art of deception. There was no catching him, but she knew a leopard doesn't change his spots. Not even the fictitious work trip to pick up a new ndege for his employer at Bole Airport in Addis Ababa could be explained without Mira being aware that it was another lie. “Our passports do not get stamped every time we visit an airport,” he'd replied, angry as always that she constantly questioned him. One of the many things he blamed her for their relationship not working.

By the time they had decided to end this relationship, she knew she had made the biggest mistake of her life moving in the first place. Still, she had hope that he would see the error of his ways, like he'd seen many times before, and apologize to her. But this trip to the airport was different. He wasn't flying her to Nairobi to visit her family or friends or even look for a house; she was always proud to sit in the cockpit while he flew her to the city they both hailed from. This time, she had packed her possessions. The movers had arrived at their apartment the day before to pack the few goods that she owned. She was returning to Nairobi, having only informed her sister a week before when they met at a cafe in Nairobi. She had secured an apartment, and her belongings were scheduled to arrive later that evening. As he escorted her to the departures terminal, he asked, “Aren't you going to hug me?” with a smile she had learned to recognize as a guilty expression on his face. They embraced, and she gave him a short kiss. It could have been a kiss on the lips or a peck on the cheek; such moments no longer stayed in her memory.

She headed towards security, her head hung low and defeated, ready to restart her old or new life—at 38—back to the city where she had left her friends and family only 16 months prior.