It was a Friday, about 10 pm, and the weather was chilly-ish; not too cold and not too warm. There was a swarm of kids in funny colorful attire trying to get into Blend Thika, But I guess a bunch of them wouldn’t be let in. They were completely freshmen, I bet some even below 20 or so years.

The parking space at Blend Thika was almost full, so I told the Uber guy to just drop me at the entrance to the club and I would cover the remaining 2 meters inside myself.


I find the guy I’m meeting at the counter, sharing a bottle of whiskey, with some Campus TV anchor. They tell me they have been drinking since 4 pm. That they began with beers – White Cap, which I absolutely hate – but the anchor guy said he wanted “something that stings because it’s Friday” so they switched to whiskey. Their eyes are red and their coats hang behind their chairs and, going by how much they’ve had to drink, their manners are most likely out the window. The bartender passes me a glass and I ask for a bucket of ice cubes and the chaps urge me to catch up. I hate it when people around me are drunk and I’m not; It makes me feel like I’m missing out on so much in the world. It makes me feel left out.

Three doubles in and I feel like my bladder is about to blow up. So I get off my seat, dash to the gents for a quick leak and, as I’m headed back, I hear a voice – a woman’s voice – hollering at me from within the darkness.

“Excuse me,” she says, “can you help me.”

She speaks in that sweet Eve voice that convinced Adam to eat the forbidden fruit and got their naked asses kicked out of Eden. She leans out of the wall, from the darkness, and approaches me; the light from her phone illuminating her face. “I’m trying to call a cab but I can’t find one in the area, can you help me out?”

I get a clear view of her when she finally steps into the light, handing me her phone with the Uber app on. She’s in a tight black dress and red heels, with her hair flowing down her back. She has on a dash of reddish lipstick and a stream of bangles on her left arm. She doesn’t look too old, but she also doesn’t look too young to know what ‘lamba lolo’ means. My forebrains can remember her envisage. Perhaps by the eyes, but my focus is distracted.

I take her phone and order the first Uber; some guy called Ali, on the other end, says he’s dropping a client at Kilimambogo from town Centre and that “ukipenda unaweza ngoja ama uwache.” I hung up because I’m not in the business of talking to arrogant people over the phone. (Point to note: This was during that period when Uber and Taxify drivers were on strike.) I hand the phone back to the lady and she says, “Just keep trying until you get one. Kindly, I’m not so sober right now.”


I order the second cab, he says he’s along Garissa Road and where we are  – is too far so he can’t make it. Then I call a third – who is dropping off a client at Runda estate in Thika – and a fourth – who sounds like he’s drunk and chewing khat in the car so he can’t hear me clearly – and a fifth and a sixth.

Finally, I land one who just dropped off a client at some club a few blocks away. I tell him to find us at the Blend and he says, Sawa. So I give the phone back to the mami, tell her someone’s coming and she says, “Just stay with me until he arrives.” In my head, I’m thinking I have seen you before but again I am not your servant? I’m a nice guy after three doubles. I can give you my Mpesa PIN after four doubles and I can pretty much jump in front of a bullet for anyone at five doubles. At six, I’ll give you the coordinates to a hole in the middle of Chalbi desert where I keep my savings.

It’s about half past 11 now. She has a coat on but she looks like she’s freezing. I can tell because her lips keep trembling every time she speaks and she has her arms across her chest. Her boobs appear bigger in that midnight breeze. Her lips seem fuller and her palms look so frail and so soft; like a baby’s ass. Even though she’s hammered, she still seems aware of her environment. She looks polished and mature. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman that calls men chauvinists for refusing to carry her handbag. She looks more like the kind that has a book club membership; the kind that doesn’t take three full moons to make an order during a date. She seems mature. If we had met under different circumstances, I wouldn’t argue if you told me she was the CEO of some top rank student organization in the country.


The Uber guy calls. He says he’s outside the gate, I tell him to give us a second. I tell her the cab is outside and she asks me to escort her to it. “Hold my hand, I can’t walk properly,” she says. So I put her left arm over my shoulders and – steadily – assist her onto the waiting cab. I open the door, tuck her in and tell her to “get home safe” like we’re bosom buddies who didn’t just bump into each other five seconds ago and, right before I shut the door, she says;


“Can I have your number?”




“Yeah, let me send you something, you’ve really helped me.”


{Inner Me: Take the money! Take the money!}


“It’s fine, you don’t have to, I just did what anyone else would have done.”


{Inner me: Really? You broke asshole.}


“You’re such a nice guy. My name is Maria Nicole (not real name) from Jomo  Kenyatta University.”




So I slowly closed the door and waved the cab away because the driver was already beginning to show impatience.


She was the one I had in mind all this time. My childhood girlfriend, my first love.


I was lost of words and quickly sunk to my phone for my freezecrowd app. Our JKUAT community was already past 6000 and quickly keyed in her names. My feet shook as I waited for the searches. I crossed my fingers with my eyes closed.

Only to find her on the network.


My Time had come.


It was it.


I clicked on the friend request button and sent her a puzzle and question on Freezecrowd.

She responded to it the next day and the rest, as they say, is history

To cut the long story short, On our anniversary today, I wouldn’t go ahead to buy flowers without acknowledging that was the place I got to reconnect with my love. We often communicate through the app with a lot of confidence and we have our own albums online both public and private. We have managed to keep our relationship private due to the fact that no searches through search engines are allowed to reach your freezecrowd profile.


Another feature I appreciate having been on the site for three years is the fact that we barely have cyber bullies, so in my view On freezecrowd, there are responsible users with their real names on their profiles.


It’s easy and free to be on freezecrowd.


You only require your school email to connect with your fellow alumni, friends or even freeze tag your first love.


Folks, wish me a happy anniversary………



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