There’s something about Tanzanian ladies that gets men confused- something magical. It’s unclear whether it’s the fantasy of being called, ‘mume wangu’ or their uniquely beautiful form. Their bodies firm and well covered with flesh and lush skin. Perhaps it’s the gleam of powerful female assurance that is ever present in their eyes, eyes that always tinkle with a message. It might be the way they talk, their words sounding like forlorn moans rather than actual speech. Or it just might be traditional adoration woven with ravening lust.
Back in April, on a Friday morning, a week before Easter, I received a call from the director of a film project I was working on. I was the script writer. He said:
“Brace yourself Etemesi; I’m taking the whole crew to Dar es Salaam for an Easter retreat. We’ve had a fantastic screening season and I’m rewarding you guys for your efforts. Cancel all other plans and pack your bags, we’re leaving on Thursday morning”.
Just like that he hung up, brief and precise.
A week later, i was on a Dar bound bus with the rest of the film crew, ready for take-off. I felt tired already due to anxiety but I still looked forward to the journey. The passenger who had booked the seat next to me took too long to board, delaying us in the process.
I opened the window and stared out. The air was crisp and fresh, the sunny morning invigorating and cheery. I felt a slender imposing figure approaching- a lady. It was evident, the way she drew her fair amount of glances from the male passengers. Her red, long dress was thin, but not transparent, flowing from her waist to her hips in a cloud of red perfection. The snug bodice laced beneath her breasts, while the voile material cupped and hugged her upper abdomen. Her long, black, thick and lustrous hair was left loose and falling to her waist. She brushed it back before excusing herself to her seat. I circled her perfect bosom and long legs as she walked past me. I stared, almost emotionless, but those eyes, eyes like emeralds, gleamed with intelligence, sensuality, and a spark of primal intensity from within her sun-bronzed face.
“Naitwa Saida!” she said in flowery Swahili. I had to clear my throat to answer her. Her self-introduction caught me unaware. I was hypnotized. She had the scent of Monacian gardens – wild, untamed and dangerous. Before I uttered a word, she looked at me and smiled. Her wonderfully large eyes gave her a heightened, goddess-like appearance. She somehow knew the effect she had on me. She had a lovely dragon tattoo on the side of her neck.
I struggled to introduce myself but somehow our conversation streamed up. She was a nurse at a private hospital in Dar es Salam. She had come to Nairobi on holiday. I could guess she was in her early thirties maybe. Prior to our conversation I had no intention of getting to know her but she kept me interested. Her voice was lilting and unhurried. Her words, though bare were spoken so sweetly that I always remember not what she said but how she said.
We spoke for hours, not realizing how time flew. The journey was long and after several stops we arrived at Dar. She opened up on most matters surrounding her life and so did I. The chemistry sparkled. Both of us were sad when the time came for us to alight. We exchanged contacts then she left, promising to call. I reluctantly followed my crew to the hotel we had booked.
As I relaxed at my room, I couldn’t resist the urge to talk to her again. I called one of the room attendants to inquire how I could make a call. I was quickly offered a phone with a local sim card. I texted Saida and asked her to hang out with me the next day. She then replied with a suggestion that we meet at a certain location at the breezy beech near our hotel. I was super excited.
