PHOTO/ILLUSTRATION/PATRICIA NATAKWA
It was mid-morning the next day when Mabel emerged from her bedroom to bump into GC in the hallway.
GC: Eh mama, some?
This phrase can mean many things. You always require context to understand which. In this case, it could be succinctly translated to:
GC: Wow! You look even more stunning than usual, exponentially so! Wow! Such a face! So much prettiness is held on it!
The particular instigator here was Mabel's freshly-applied makeup. GC went on to expound.
GC: The lipstick. What is that shade? What is it called? I think Fenty made up a name out of some Spanish words for Illicit and then misspelt them. Like Ylycito.
Mabel: Nawe, it’s just lipstick. Don’t act like I never wear lipstick.
GC: No offense, Madam…
Mabel: Mabel, not Madam.
GC: Mabel, you know as well as I do that you are hot, but you don’t often doll yourself up. You leave things to nature. Which is fine, but I have to ask.
Mabel: It’s called Icon Velvet.
PHOTO/ILLUSTRATION/PATRICIA NATAKWA
GC: No, that’s not what I was going to ask. I was going to ask about the affair you’re having.
GC then waited for Mabel to finish laughing. Then waited a bit longer for Mabel to catch her breath after laughing.
Mabel: Hooo! Owaaye. Do you think I put on lipstick because I am going to meet a lover?
GC: The hubby isn’t here. He’s gone to work. And it’s Thursday, so he’s coming home late. Ylicito will have faded by then. You are expecting to get a special delivery before he returns.
Mabel: Please. An affair? Me? As if I don’t already have to deal with one husband, now you want me to add more man troubles?
GC: I hear that sometimes things get stale in marriages and people need to look for extra spice and variety.
Mabel: Where did you hear that?
GC: From the married men who want to sleep with me.
Mabel had kind of smudged her lipstick when she laughed so hard, so GC had to escort her back to the bedroom to reapply it.
During the process, Mabel explained that her book club was meeting at the house that evening and that was the reason for the lipstick.
Mabel: It’s the group I was part of before I quit that whole industry to start my own business at home here.
GC: What do you do again mpozzi?
Mabel: I’m an International African Artefacts and Artisanal Arts broker.
GC: I’m just going to let those words fly out of the other ear and continue with the thing I knew. You sell barkcloth to Bazungu on Zoom. So your old work friends are coming over? That sounds cool. But wait. Does that mean…
Mabel: They are not my friends. I hate them. They are judgy and catty and mean.
GC: As I was saying before you cut me off: does that mean I have to cater for an entire party tonight?
Mabel suddenly realised that she had forgotten to tell GC. Mabel was falling into the habit of forgetting that GC was the maid, and not just a buddy.
Mabel: On no. I should have told you beforehand. I don’t know how I forgot that.
GC: It was in the contract. Section 34 C. Prior notice of 72 hours must be given. Failing to do so attracts penalties as enumerated in Section 56.
Mabel looked directly at GC’s face for the signs she had quickly learned to read. Mabel had a keen intelligence, one that understood that the big picture is made up of many smaller pixels and the right pixel could reveal the true meaning of the whole tapestry. And, sure enough, she saw it.
Mabel: You liar! You just know that I didn’t read that contract so you are making up stuff.
GC: Okay. I am. But you should have told me in advance, we.
Mabel: I know. I think I just kind of-- You know that Zabeti ran this household. She was the one who would schedule visits and organise things. This is the first time I have had people over since she left and I didn’t think things through. I will order pizza and wine for them.
GC stepped back and performed what my dear Ugandan readers will know as the Ugandan clutching of pearls. She pushed her neck backwards, dropped her lower lip, slapped her hands on her hips, and did not have to explicitly ask how dare Mabel, because the question was rhetorical and had already been posed.
Mabel: They are like five women.
GC: When will they be here?
Mabel: Two and a half hours?
GC handed the lipstick back to Mabel. She also reached for a pair of earrings and handed them to Mabel as well.
And then the maid said to the boss in this very clearly defined power relationship…
GC: Change. Wear a black top and jeans. In two hours I am going to give your fancy book club friends a buffet of snacks so delish, they will start calling this house Mabelsserie behind your back.
****
Everything was ready when the guests began to arrive. The coffee table was laden with cute little bundazi and freshly baked cookies. Three jugs of juice glistened in three different colours.
GC looked out of the window to see the guests drive into the compound.
They were exactly what GC expected. Five varieties of Subaru, all black, and GC could tell from just looking that each smelled of some blend of mint and some chemical which had been given the name of a fruit or flower, even though it was a smell that never occurred in nature but was synthesised in a laboratory. From each car, after it was conscientiously reverse-parked, emerged a slightly different version of the same woman. Early forties and wearing jeans tight enough to flatter a bum, but not to impede walking. They wore wedges and each had on a loose top in either African print, floral, linen or the logo of an NGO (with the slogan on the back) each accentuating the bosom but discreet with the belly.
GC watched them call and wave at each other in the yard.
Then, all jumbled together: Hey sweetie/ Some hair!/ Honey bunches!
They streamed into the living room all squeaking in one discordant chorus of either swilat, hun, bebs or an equivalent and one by one they mwah-ed the air next to Mabel's ears. They arranged themselves around the coffee table, placing copies of barely wrinkled, almost brand new paperbacks onto it.
The women were sitting on the sofas and the loveseat. Mabel was hovering. GC retreated into the kitchen after noticing that Mabel didn't seem to be in any immediate danger and feeling that she could leave without fussing over someone, she noticed for the first time, she was genuinely worried about.
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Mabel: I hope you guys don't mind. I got the Kindle version and read it off my phone and laptop.
Eileen, One of them: I guess that's what you can afford now that you have no job.
Penelope, Another: I mean if you can't get the real books, you have to make do.
Colleen, As Above: I find ebooks are like, they just don't have the soul, the real body of a real book.
The other women cooed in agreement. Cooing like a gaggle of guinea fowls.
Eileen: People who read ebooks, why don't you just stick to tweets and Facebook if you can't manage actual reading? Hahaha!
Mabel: Girls, it's the same words whether on paper or screen.
Colleen: Guys, be serious. You know your friend lost her job. Of course, she has to cut corners.
Mabel: I didn't lose my job, I quit to start my own business.
Eileen: It is good to follow your dreams, wamma.
Penelope: At least the husband still works. But, I would hate to be one of those women who have to depend on their husbands. Though everyone has their own ideas about that, I guess.
Mabel got up.
Mabel: Girls, before we begin let me just go fetch some more snacks.
And she walked toward the kitchen. Once in the kitchen, the walk became a stumble.
GC: How’s it going?
Mabel leaned against the wall, took a deep breath, held it, kept holding it, held it a bit longer, and then finally let it go.
Mabel: You know how you meet old friends whom you haven’t seen in a long time and you say, ‘Hey, haven’t seen you in ages, we should catch up,’ because you have forgotten why you haven’t seen them in ages?
GC: I don’t understand. First, explain.
Mabel: Joyce, I had forgotten what toxic people those were. Since I left their world I have only been hanging with the kids, Papso, and real friends, people I actually like. The ones I don’t like are inside the computer and I shut them off when I want. I had forgotten that the corporate world I left behind was full of… what can I even call them? Imagine a vulture with a hyena jaw and vampire fangs that don’t hold its pee. You know vulture pee is very acidic. Vultures pee on dead meat so that it is partially digested before they eat it. Yeah. That. There are five vultures in my living room.
PHOTO/ILLUSTRATION/PATRICIA NATAKWA
GC: I will address why you call me Joyce later because there are currently more important things to address, like, it's vulture vomit, not pee, and if you want, I can kick them out. I got training when I was working at a Kibanda video hall in Kireka a couple of months ago.
Mabel: You were a bouncer? What job haven’t you done?
GC: Focus, Mabel. Should I bounce them?
Mabel: No, no. I need them. It’s all networking. I need to stay in their circles so I can keep my business running. I have to find a way to put up with this.
GC: Just how evil are they?
Mabel: You weren’t listening?
GC: If it was the affair I had asked for in the beginning I would have listened, but who wants to eavesdrop on a book club?
Mabel: Gimme a shot of that special stuff you brought from Lyantonde.
GC: The Machozi Ya Simba?
Mabel: Is that what it’s called?
GC: It means “Tears of A Lion”. We stole the name from some Kenyans.
PHOTO/ILLUSTRATION/PATRICIA NATAKWA
Mabel: Tears of a lion sounds strong enough. Sounds like what I need right now.
GC poured a shot of her crude waragi, Triple X, and watched as Mabel took a sip and winced. The drink didn't just pack a punch, it released a rapid flurry of several uppercuts, jabs and hooks.
Eventually, Mabel was ready to open her eyes again.
Mabel: Okay, time to go back and face the amapiano.
GC: Wait. What book are you doing?
Mabel: Flocks of The Featherless.
GC: Oh, I remember that one. By Amina Nkosi?
Mabel: You've read it?
GC: What? No. Those stories about girls suffering from page ten to page five hundred? Nah. I read things by that Bazanye guy instead.
Mabel: Why lie, he’s hilarious.
Yes, I am. But this story is about GC. What happened next is that GC made up her mind. She could see that Mabel was in a bad situation. The vultures in the living room would not cease their attacks, and Mabel could not fight back without hurting her business. That means she needed backup. She needed someone else to strike.
GC whipped off her leso and headscarf, what basically amounted to her uniform and, now, in just her t-shirt and jeans, gestured to the door.
GC: I've got your back. Let's go.
And the book club was about to face the force of GC.
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