Love, Lies, and Lobsters

The year is 2020, just before the virus brought everything to a halt. Train seats were in such a way that you faced each other with a stranger. Trains are always a social gamble, especially when travelling alone. You could either make a lifelong friend or endure hours of awkward small talk with a stranger. Or, as for most, listen to depressing music on your earpods while staring out the window, and imagine for a second that you’re the main character in a movie—the camera slowly panning away from the fast moving train, from your head on the window pane, then away to capture the vast land the train is snaking through.

For Kasheri, it was the awkward small talk—a man with a ring on his ring finger who wouldn’t stop trying to talk to her. She hadn’t planned to entertain his questions, but something about his charisma—and the sheer boredom of the journey—had her spilling a bit too much. Plus, she had always imagined having a mubaba. Every financially struggling girl has, at a point in time. And this guy fit all her descriptions of a mubaba with his pot belly and way of dressing. An old tailored suit, worn with an air of effortless confidence, and screaming old money vibes, clung to the man like a relic of refined charm, exuding wealth and seasoned sophistication. She frequently looked at him up and down, and a part of her didn’t mind being a part of that. She also wondered what such a wealthy-looking man was doing boarding a train. But that’s how they get the young girls, blending in with middle class people and then later surprise the girl with their wealth—oldest trick in the book.
In their discussion though, she deliberately omitted the juicy details, like the fact that her trip wasn’t exactly the ‘girl’s drama trip’ she’d told her Nairobi boyfriend about.

Kasheri is a part-time poet, her own lyricist if you like. She becomes a poet whenever her boyfriend breaks her heart or he does something that doesn’t necessarily make her happy. She’s also a full-time cat parent, and a master of misplaced priorities andendless insecurities.When not nagging his calm boyfriend, pondering the mysteries of cat life or unnecessarily throwing tantrums, she’s probably out somewhere with the girls, trying to make a meaning to life by sipping shots and cocktails.

This time the boyfriend didn’t do anything to break her heart, nor was she out with the girls. She was on a train headed to Mombasa to meet yet another alleged boyfriend. Alleged because in her mind they were both his boy friends. But the innocent one in Nairobi didn’t have a clue of the existence of the Mombasa lad. He knew Kasheri was going for a drama trip with her college class, and his love made him believe her. Even though he’d known she was lying multiple times in their relationship, what always surprised him most was how she lied while maintaining steady eye contact—unflinching! She would lie to a child and not even break a tear. Second nature to her. If you asked her, she wouldn’t say second nature—she’d gladfully and slowly sing the lyrics to Human Nature by Michael Jackson. “Tell them that it’s human nature..” she especially loves that part. Told you, lyricist.

"So, married, huh?" she asked, nodding toward the old man’s ring finger.

"This? Oh, it’s my late grandmother’s. She gave it to me for luck, and I wear it boldly for trips like this for journey mercies." he replied with a grin.

"Right…luck," she said, rolling her eyes. She wasn’t buying it. The last thing she needed was another layer of complication in her already double-booked love life.

When they arrived in Mombasa, the man suggested dinner. She declined, claiming exhaustion and that she’d come here for a good time with her friend at the beach, not dinner dates with old married men. But the real reason was more obvious: juggling two boyfriends was already exhausting enough. She didn’t need another side of mubaba drama.

The stay with ‘boyfriend two’ was supposed to be seamless. Sandy beaches, cocktails, and sneaky selfies that wouldn’t make it to social media. Everything was going fine.

During a night out with ‘boyfriend 2’ at a trendy Mombasa beach bar, she felt something was off. He had been unusually distracted, checking his phone more than usual. When she finally asked him what was wrong, he hesitated, but then blurted it out, "It’s my aunt...she’s in the hospital. I might have to leave early tonight." What’s up with people lying through their family members?

Touched by his concern, she offered to pay the bill so he could leave quickly. But moments after he stepped outside, she watched through the glass as he hopped on a boda boda with another girl—definitely not his “sick aunt.”

Her heart sank. The “aunt excuse”? That’s rookie-level lying. She would know,self-proclaimed poetsare often great and experienced liars. Frustrated, she didn’t confront him right away, but the betrayal stuck. After all, ‘boyfriend 2’ was supposed to be her fun escape, the carefree one who didn’t demand emotional labor and logical reasoning to problems like ‘boyfriend 1’ back in Nairobi. And yet, here he was, spinning lazy lies like she was some gullible high schooler.

As she was processing her frustration mixed with disappointment that night, her phone buzzed. Enter in super sub mubaba. What a timing, she thought. She needed something to take her mind off the betrayal or she would go to the karaoke side of the bar to recite poems that no one wanted to listen to.

"I hope you had a lovely day. Let me know if I can make it better tomorrow." Charm—disgustingly appealing.

She rolled her eyes but responded anyway, thanked him curtly. To her surprise, he kept the conversation light, endearing, and consistent over the next few days. While ‘boyfriend 2’ went radio silent and ‘boyfriend 1’ blissfully clueless in Nairobi, the mubaba was persistent. And that persistence started to grow on her. His texts were sweet, thoughtful, and oddly comforting. “Good morning, sunshine.” “How was your evening? Did you eat well?” She loved that kind of attention—it was steady, reliable, and flattering. Unlike ‘boyfriend 2’, who barely texted unless he was making plans for her to come over to Mombasa, and ‘boyfriend 1’, whose predictable, doting messages now felt bland in comparison, the man seemed genuinely invested in her.

By day three, she found herself laughing at his jokes, enjoying his calls, and even replying faster. When he suggested dinner again, this time she agreed. Not because she was hungry—she just wanted to feel wanted. Ain’t that what they all say?

And dinner with him wasn’t just dinner. It was a full-blown experience: a high-end seafood restaurant, waiters who pull out her chair, a wine list thicker than her drama class textbook, and conversation that flowed so smoothly she forgot her double life for a while. He talked about his businesses, his travels, his love for art. She realized he wasn’t just a “mubaba”—he was intelligent, confident, and oozing charisma. Again, disgustingly appealing to her conscience. Oh, sorry, love doesn’t appeal to the conscience—it appealed to her mind. Impressed her.

When he drove her back to her hotel in his Rolls Royce Ghost,she couldn’t help but compare it to ‘boyfriend 2’s’ boda boda and matatu antics. It wasn’t even a competition. Maybe the mubaba should have been a ‘boyfriend 2’ all this while?

Over the next week, her connection with the man deepened, spurred on by her growing frustration with ‘boyfriend 2’ and her guilt about lying to ‘boyfriend 1’. The guilt, oddly enough, made her feel less bad about her warming feelings toward the man. If I’ve lied to ‘boyfriend 1’ for this long, what’s one more betrayal? she rationalized. And so the school drama trip extended for a few weeks coz the group was still ‘enjoying the beach’.

By the end of her ‘trip’, the man proposed something unexpected. Not just a relationship—marriage! He knew she had ambitions in drama and theatre, and he promised to support her dreams. She hesitated, but his persistence, and promises won her over. In reality it was the thought of never working again in her life that won her over, but let’s give the man’s efforts a little credit.

And so, she said yes.

Boarded the train to Mombasa with big dreams and tangled lies. Returned to Nairobi with a shiny new title: Second Wife. Even though she has quiet regret of marrying that early, who can tell you anything when you drive around Nairobi in a Rolls Royce? As a poet, she must have listened to Sauti Sol’s “heri ulie kwenye Range Rover? ama ucheke kwenye boda boda? Ukose usingizi Runda?..” 
She chose the Range Rover option, clearly!

‘Boyfriend 1’ never saw it coming. He still receives blows from butwaa. To this day, he swears she must’ve been bewitched by those Mombasa ‘mermaids’ or ‘witches’. Anything to make sense of the pain, buddy.

As for ‘boyfriend 2’? He probably never even noticed she was gone.

✍🏽Reagan.

*Kasheri is a pseudonym.
*butwaa - stupefied