Going to a pub is about atmosphere, image, maybe romanceand sometimes, it’s a test to see how far someone else’s wallet can stretch
By Mama Bear
There’s a new Swahili pub near my place and I decided to check it out alone. My plan was simple...read a book, sip something nice, and perhaps pata umbea wa mtaani.
Going to a pub is about atmosphere, image, maybe romanceand sometimes, it’s a test to see how far someone else’s wallet can stretch.
This could explain why the young lady I happened to sit next to the other evening was all glammed up, smiling at a gentleman who clearly wanted to impress her.
From my vantage point, I could hear snippets of their conversation. The man was charming, the girl was giggly, and the menu was suddenly her playground.
“Mmh leo uko na mood ya kinywaji cha aina gani?” the man asked, smiling
“A pack of Bruto Fruit please!” the girl said confidently, flipping the menu with a grin.
Forget the Kesto Laiti she usually sips on, tonight she ordered the kind of drink whose price alone could pay for a week’s worth of groceries.
At first, I thought, well, isn’t this the game of dating? A little pretence here, a little show there.
The girl leaned back in her chair as though she had already arrived in Paris. But before dessert even landed, the gentleman excused himself,
“Naenda nje mara moja to make a quick phone call, hapa makelele.”
Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. By the time the waiter came with the bill, it was clear... our friend had pulled a disappearing act and the girl had bitten off more than she could chew.
Now, I’ll admit, I enjoyed the drama unfolding like a Netflix series. But my heart tightened when I saw her face drop as she realised she was alone...with a receipt long enough to double as a scarf.
For a moment she tried to laugh it off, but panic doesn’t hide well, not even under makeup.
So, what did I do? I did what any fellow woman should do when another finds herself in quicksand.
I called the waiter over and said, “Ongeza kwenye bili yangu”
Yes, I know. Some will say she deserved the lesson, that one should never order beyond their means, that humility is cheaper than fine wine. And they’re not wrong.
But life is already teaching women hard enough lessons. Sometimes, instead of watching a sister sink, you just stretch out a hand.
She thanked me with a trembling voice, and we both left the place wiser. She, hopefully, knows about the risks of mistaking generosity for a blank cheque.
Me, about the importance of not judging too harshly when life decides to humble someone in public.
After all, we’ve all had our Kesto Laiti moments and, maybe one too many times, believed someone else would foot the bill for our expensive drinks dreams.
