I remember, nearly to a fortnight ago, Zeget’s gift to Akinyi was the love letter we read aloud. Or was it an invitation to Ole Sereni to listen to one of the greatest rhumba bards of our time?

Ah! It was a little bit of both. 

And I have to confess, the hurt was beginning to fade, and love flowed from the red carpet, accompanied by strings and Zeget’s voice as he belted his plaint to Anna, ignoring his calls, to the slow steps and whining on the dance floor.

I know, I know, it’s painful to those who missed the delight. The music was good, and the liquor, choice. 

“Is the mourning over?”

Was the question she asked the next time we met after the show. 

“I told you it wouldn’t last forever, and I’m so tired.”

“Tired of what?”

“Of wanting it so bad. And Lord, I know, this is not a game you play.”

“Easy there, love; we both know how it usually ends for you,” she warned. 

“I know about precious water, for I’ve carried it upon my back. I’ve stared at a blank screen, hoping it rings; I’ve watched a white page for ages, hoping the words write themselves. And that’s how I know, this is not a game you play,” I said. 

It felt good to know that I was finally free, for on my knees I’d lived it as a chattel, a rug upon their feet. 

“There will be another one,” I went on. 

“Another what?”

“Another presentation by Zeget. The first Rhumba VIP Affair. Would you like to come with me?” 

She smiled and said, “Some stories don't end; they simply wait for the next song.”

You can find your tickets here.