I’m not one to drink on a Wednesday, unless it’s December. However, after standing and talking the whole day in front of a massive number of people [OK, 23 people] at a writing workshop, I was wiped. I staggered out of the conference room, supporting myself against the corridor walls, grabbing at the stairway rails, and descended to the ground floor.
A great mass of light from the front door hit me in the face, and I raised my hand to block it, turning away in the process. Unlike Saul from the Bible, I didn’t hear a James Earl Jones voice ask, “Saul, why do you persecute me?” Instead, I saw a brightly lit bar to my right. So, a different kind of light.
The temperature in Naivasha had dropped in the wake of the quickly setting sun. I approached the bar cautiously, bent over, clutching my stomach for no reason at all but for the theatrics.
The bar at Eseriani Resort is like any other hotel bar: colourful, tasteful. Only this one was small and intimate. It was also empty. I stood in the middle of it, looking at a cute little nook with blue chairs. A great place to read, I thought, if you are one of those pretentious folk who carry books to bars.
I shuffled to the unmanned counter. There was a row of spirit bottles, and some glasses turned upside down. “Hello?” I said loudly. Nobody heard me because music was playing, great romantic music. You know, Babyface? He wasn't singing; a young, talented artiste named Giveon was.
I had the mind to pour myself a drink, seeing as it was self-service, but before I could, a young lady came, and I could tell she wasn't the bartender. She didn't have that worn confidence of those accustomed to serving drinkers. “Can I have a whisky?” I croaked. “No, make that a Hendrick's Gin.”
I sat there, nursing one tot with a slice of lime and one ice cube. I felt life slowly ebb back into me. Nobody came. It was just me sitting there alone, listening to these love songs, feeling all manner of emotions, none of which was embarrassment.
