How to befriend a stranger (and fail quietly)

At some time this year, I sat across a very beautiful Kikuyu girl at the library. I used to go to the library before they cut off the university’s Wi-Fi—to study, of course. In my pursuit of quality higher education that my village people were not all privileged to access, I came across this light-skinned Kikuyu babe. Those close to me will tell you how I get weak in the knees when a light-skinned lady notices me, leave alone talk to me. And so this one sat opposite my table, leaving all the other hundreds of empty tables and deciding to sit opposite me. I smiled at her as she put down her books, ready to start ingesting knowledge. I was already done with my study session and was now scrolling Twitter on my laptop to see who was on the receiving end of Oguda’s satire that day. We caught glimpses of each other a few times when I raised my head from the screen once in a while. She wasn’t afraid to look straight into my eyes. Aah those milk-white eyes, perfectly enclosed by reddish eye shadow. Sometimes I feel like these naturally beautiful babes should leave the make-up to the less gifted. I mean, they are setting the playing field to be a bit unfair. Who is to compete with such natural beauty coupled with make-up?

Anyway, the whole one and half hours we sat there, I couldn’t as much as say ‘Hello’, ‘What are you studying today?’, ‘You’re a B.Comm student or a Law student?’ ‘My name is Reagan, nice to meet you. And you are?’ Nothing. Nada! Just awkwardly smiling to a stranger for an hour and a half—with eye contact as if to say ‘You want to say something. Say it!’. Former high school mates would tag me a ‘breezer’, and rightfully so too!

All this time, instead of at least striking up a conversation, I kept second-guessing myself: What if she thinks I am awkward? She probably already does, I’ve been smiling a lot. Too much teeth exposure. What if she’s not even into Luo men? Has all the terrible rapport of Luo men got to her? What if she doesn’t want to talk—just study and leave? Therefore I did what any certified breezer would do—I smiled politely in pretense courtesy, and walked away, leaving any possibility of connection behind. Silent fail number one.

Yet another library incident: I told you I used to study bwana! But, I have an introverted friend who told me she used the library as a getaway from people. Whenever meeting and talking to people got overwhelming, she used to go and calm herself down in the library, and it was a win-win coz she’d study in the meantime too. But this time, I met yet another fine babe at the library one Monday afternoon. This one wasn’t from Riggy G’s Murima—she was one of our own. A chocolate Luo madam from Yimbo, Usenge. I adore her as atwech—coz her outfits are always spot-on, and her skin is as soft as a baby’s butt. I know all this coz this time I actually talked to her. She was reading a book I’d just finished the other month—a perfect conversation starter. Somehow, I mustered the courage to say, “Hey, I loved that book. What do you think of it so far?” To my surprise, she smiled and responded warmly. I pulled my chair next to hers, and we talked for a while. Talked in depth to the point of her telling me of how she loves Madanji Perimeter’s “Yimbo Yimbo dalawa..dalawa..Yimbooo..” song. And I in response, sang her Ongoro Jakarachuonyo’s “Kendu Bay dalawa, Kanyasoro dalawa”. Such conversations, with Luo babes who appreciate the art of Luo music and culture, ignite my heart with unquenchable fire and gusto.

Later, somewhere down the line, I fumbled. To me, expectedly. After many conversations and meet-ups, I started mumbling my words randomly, tripping over sentences, and saying things that didn’t make sense. I am someone so careful and intentional with my words that mumbling and babbling is foreign territory to me. Whatever nyayimbo had done to me I didn’t know, and I didn’t understand what was going on. A few months later, things hit a dead end.

Maybe I’d overshared; maybe I offended her without meaning to. She also mentioned her struggling family’s situation back at home, and her intention of not wanting to mix all the troubles at home with anything serious with anyone, so maybe that was part of it. But deep down, I knew the real reason, that I just didn’t know how to keep connections going. Silent fail number two.

*Digression:

I’ve spoken about our Luo musicians so let me do a bit on them and their friends:

Every Luo musician has a song titled ‘Osiepe’—ALL of them. It almost feels like a fail if you don’t produce an osiepe song in one of your albums. Of course the osiepe they sing about are their sponsors and friends who’ve been with them through dark poverty days to now national fame and prowess.
*osiepe - friends
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My legend and all time favorite artist, maestro Musa Juma had an ‘Osiepe’, where he sang of my hometown’s people like Headmaster Abayo and Abura Jacky who were his osiepe. Even in other songs like Oyoo Daktari he sings of friends ‘machalo kama..’ (friends like these). Friends like Dr. Oyoo who helped treat his father. Friends that give him respect and he pays the respect back. ‘Aero osiepe mamiya luor babaa..aero osiepe ma amiyo luor babaa..’
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Johnny Junior Wuod Nyasega has two Osiepe songs to his name—Part 1 and Part 2. Part 2 is my favorite because it is a more mature and manly version of Johnny, and towards the end of the song he borrows a part [or rhythm? I don’t know musical terms] from Musa Juma’s Bernard Oguche song. And in both osiepe songs Johnny passionately sings of how ‘Osiepe ngeny but mabeyo to tin’ (Friends are many, but the good ones are few). Friends like Kalisto Baba, who helped him transition from Musa’s Limpopo band to now his own BV Band where he is rocking airwaves with classical rhumba hits for few. Oh, and one of my favorites from Johnny called Ken McAyoo where he sings ‘Osiepe rito tek sana yayee..’, [Friends are hard to keep]. And how right is he!

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Indah Wuod Nyandare K’owino, has the banger of ‘Osiepe Indah ni kanye?..Wan waonge wasi wasi..wan wachwado mana tich!’ That one. That is Indah singing passionately to his friends and fans, but ‘gima de omigi ema pod otame’ (what to give them is what he doesn’t have). Janabi also has another banger called Bruno Otieno. This one you can’t listen to without singing along with one hand raised to the sky. ‘Dak isiem osiepeni, anyisi timbeni. Ni Ken siem osiepeni, akoni kaka ichalo…aah joma ibayo godo, jomiwuotho godo, jomichiemo godo, jomimbeko godo, aah jomibayo godo yaye..Mabeyo wuotho kendgi, wangwana budho kendgi..” Let me leave it there. Such songs their beauty is better felt personally. Remember when I told you about us wangwana spending time together? Those are the osiepe you sing about. Those are the ones you mbeko (chat) with.

Oh, and remember when I told you the first library babe left all the other desks to come sit opposite mine, it was cause this desk was closest to the socket. She wanted to charge her phone so as to fully suck dry the University’s Library Wi-Fi after she finished her study session. Whatever you make of that is up to you.

Silent fail number three came at church. I’d thought keeping church friends would be easier coz we were both staunch SDAs—grounded in doctrine, Spirit of Prophesy, and Sola Scriptura. We were very much SDAs. Very much. We were both even in a choir at some point of the tail end of high school, but even history together can’t help me keep my connections. During camp meeting season, we spent several days talking, laughing, and sharing stories. Camp meetings are always a vibe when you’re with brethren, reminiscing of how the year has been up to that point, and the hope for the future. It felt like a real friendship. Something good in my life after a while. But once the camp ended and I moved back to this noisy town for school, things changed. Our conversations dwindled. Texts and communication became fewer and further between until eventually, there was…nothing.
She’d been a friend for the moment, but once the moment passed, so did the friendship. But ain’t that the story of my life?

It isn’t always just new friends that are hard for me to keep; even existing relationships feel like a struggle. It’s not that I don’t try—or maybe it is?! I’ve realized that starting a conversation is like trying to lift a weight far heavier than it looks. I always argue to myself, that if there’s nothing connecting me with the other party, such as the familiar book incident with nyayimbo, I see no point in disturbing the other person by striking a conversation. More often than not, people are so exhausted with their own lives that unnecessary small talk—or talking in general—is just being a nuisance. We could be locked in a room, just me and another person, and after greeting each other, I’d fall silent. Silent as night. And the thing that baffles me is that the silence won’t even bother me while we are in the room—once we are out into noise is when I realize I was silent for a time past. Is it awkwardness? Shyness? A lack of social skills? Social battery drained and washed out? Or maybe..just MAYBE..I’m overthinking everything.

Makes me wonder: what is the solution to befriending a stranger, for the long term? And is the solution to talking too much, or too little, being silent? Is the solution to igniting conversations with strangers learning how to talk? Talking to the right people at the right time, right tone and mood? Everything right right right?
Who would have thought making friends growing up would be so hard! If there’s anything I’ve learned in 2024—making and maintaining friends is my weakness in the ol’ SWOT analysis.

Here’s a piece I wrote on a paper on some random night:

Every evening at the mahindi choma stand, pairs and groups debate over the softest roast, their chatter warm and easy, while I quietly pick my maize and head home. Couples stroll hand in hand—Waswahili would say sako kwa bako—towards movie nights and town concerts, their laughter spilling into the evening air as I walk the opposite way, retreating to the solitude of my room. There, I lose myself in Franco Luambo’s haunting rhumba, his melodies weaving stories of a time I’ll never know.
Bursts of laughter echo from the flat above, where a Saturday game night unfolds while I curl up in bed, engrossed in a book about the enigmatic ways of cats. Why are cats such strange animals though? Yesterday, there was karaoke night at a local restaurant in Westlands—old-school Kleptomaniax blaring, "Swing swing muziki ni bomba.." as colleagues/’friends’ sing along with reckless joy. But I sit alone at a wall-side table, smiling faintly, the music a balm for a loneliness only the crowd seems to magnify.

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So there is how to befriend strangers, and fail silently: do what I’ve been doing.

Have a wonderful week ahead!

✍🏽Reagan.