Sowan Writes

My eyes scan the coffee shop for his distinct black Afro curls. Most of the tables are filled, so it takes a few seconds. I eventually find him, but the hair is different.

“You cut your hair,” I say accusingly when he stands up for a quick peck on the cheek.

“Hello to you too, Franca,” he says with a chuckle. “I thought I might soften the transition from a ‘fro to boule-zero.”

“Don’t you dare! I liked it better before!”

We sit at a corner table, his back to the expansive windows showing off one of the nicer streets in Yaounde’s Bastos neighbourhood on this particularly pleasant Saturday afternoon.

Not that I’m paying much attention to what’s going on outside. It’s been nine months since he walked into my office with a business proposal, introduced by a mutual friend as the perfect tech support for my budding comms firm. My heart still skips a beat every time I set eyes on the dazzling smile on that angular face, and those honey-coloured eyes rest on me.

I thought there was a spark during that first meeting. But when he brought a Gugu Mbatha-Raw lookalike – complete with elegant makeup, impeccable manicure and legs for days – to the after-work he invited me to the Friday after our first meeting (after I had spent a nerve-racking two hours picking what to wear and settled on jeans and a t-shirt — to my utter mortification when I saw her), I was forced to confront the ugly truth that it had been entirely one-sided.

“What are you working on today?” he asks as I flip open my MacBook next to his on the table.

“The Mboko Man proposal.”

Months of working with him and informal meetings have revealed a witty personality, a solid moral compass, a passion for doing things to the best of his ability, and a courage to speak truth to power. The combination of that is a rare find in all of the countrinent.

Our business arrangement has been over for months, but we’ve settled into this weekend coffee shop meet. Most times, it’s at least four or five of us, almost always including our mutual friend and revolving guest or guests of the week, usually business contacts or potential clients for either of us, sometimes his women friends.

“Just us today?” I ask, taking a sip of the just-served Espresso long black.

“Uh-huh. Janet said something came up.”

I reach out for a sachet of sugar at the same time he does, and our hands graze over the small woven basket, triggering my go-to mantra for spark-generating moments like this.

It’s all in your head, it’s all in your head, it’s all in your head.

When I look up, the honey eyes are staring at me.

“I uh think she… she had something to pick up at Marche Central.”

I kick myself mentally for the stutter.

“None of your friends?”

Maybe I imagined it, but I think there’s a strangeness in the pause before a short, “No.”

A weird silence ensues, both of us typing into our screens, heads down. I realise there’s always been a buffer. We’ve never actually been alone since that first meeting.

I start to fidget.

There’s none of the animated banter over the Worthy Netflix Release of the Week, no incredulous commentary on a no-they-didn’t Event of the Week, even with one as tantalising as #Ilyavaitquoiavant.

“Well, this is awkward,” I say when I can no longer bear the silence.

“What is?”

“This,” I say, gesturing him and me. “It feels like a bad Tinder date where we’re both waiting for a polite moment to leave.”

He explodes with laughter. I’m slightly confused because I’m not sure it was that funny.

“That will be a shame. Especially after engineering this particular situation.”

“What? I did not!” I exclaim.

He laughs harder.

“I mean me, Franca. I told Janet I was busy and that you had texted about being too tired from last night’s Karaoke.”

I stare at him in disbelief.

“I don’t know why I didn’t just ask you out on a proper date. I wanted to do that since day one. But I didn’t know how to do it because of the business.”

“Huh?” I ask, stupidly.

“I like you, Franca. From the moment I saw you. And getting to know you these past months has been an absolute joy. You’re an amazing woman.”

My lips curve upwards.

“No freaking way, Kevin,” I say, slowly. “Forget coffee. I’m gonna need a beer.”