Dating: She lied about never riding on a motorcycle

A girl rides on a boda boda. Photo by Alex Esagala

Some time ago, I promised myself I would never date one of these rich spoilt girls again. And for a while, all was well until I met Jacinta. She was a rich girl, her family owned a substantial chunk of real estate, but she was not spoilt. Even then, I was very skeptic. I was on the lookout for signs and symptoms of being spoilt, but there was none. She was too ordinary, in fact, that I got suspicious that she was putting on an act for me.
One day I went to see her at her home on a boba boda. When she came to let me in, she looked around for my car and seeing none, asked if I had used an Uber taxi. I shook my head to say no. “A regular cab then?” No. “You did not walk, so, boda boda?”, with that questioning look on her face, as if it was highly unlikely that I had accessed that neighbourhood on a boda boda. Smiling, I said yes.
Then she laughed. She asked me how it feels to ride on ‘those bikes, clinging on for dear life’. I explained to her that in fact, it is not clinging on for dear life all the time, just most of the time. And it can be quite safe, when you give the rider clear instructions on how you want to be conveyed. She listened with fascination. By this time I had figured she had never in fact used a boda boda before, possibly never been on a motorcycle. I asked her if she would like to give it a try. Looking at me doubtfully, she said, “I do not think I can, it seems very risky”. Just then, we heard a motorcycle revving outside. She suddenly looked very uncomfortable.
Some man entered the house without even knocking. He was holding two motorcycle helmets. He walked over, greeted me and introduced himself. Then he asked her if she was ready. Avoiding my eyes, she told him she would be in a few minutes. Left with him, I asked him what bike he was riding. Proudly, he told me it was K Series BMW, a K1300R.
And then I asked THE question I was interested in; where are you two going? “We are riding to Masaka and back. I am part of a biker’s club. She is my ‘navigator’. And how long have you been doing this? Oh, about three years now.”
I was not interested in the rest of what he had to say. First because she had lied that she had never ridden on a motorbike, and two because she had just come back, dressed in a biker’s leather gear. She looked exceedingly hot, but I also saw a liar that felt no shame at all. She looked at me, gave me a small smile, and grabbing her helmet, made for the door. I watched them ride away, and knew me and her were worlds apart.
I did not intend to ever see her again, not after the blatant lie she had just told me.
As I walked through the leafy neighbourhood, I suddenly realised what she meant by never having ridden on a motorcycle. To her, a boda boda was not the same thing as a motorbike.