The heat of Lusaka clung to you like a second skin, thick and oppressive even in the shade of the flamboyant tree outside your apartment. You pull your dress tighter, the cotton clinging to your damp skin. You've been waiting for him for almost an hour, the time ticking by like a slow drip of water torture. But you don't dare leave. Not yet.
He's late. Again.
It's become a pattern, this late arrival. You tell yourself it's the pressure of his wife, the 'business meetings,' the 'urgent client calls' that always seem to pop up when he's supposed to be with you. But you know the truth. You know it as surely as you know the way the sun dips behind the dusty buildings, casting the city in a fiery orange glow.
He's just not that into you.
He's into the money, of course. You're a comfortable arrangement, a convenient escape from his rather dull life. You, with your independent spirit and your thirst for a life beyond the confines of your small apartment, are a welcome distraction. The way he looks at you when he hands you the cash, the way his eyes linger just a moment too long, the way his hand lingers on your arm – it's all a performance, a carefully calculated act that you've learned to decipher.
You divorced your husband for cheating. You swore you'd never allow yourself to be treated like that again. But here you are, dating a married man, exchanging your soul for his money and his fleeting affections. You tell yourself it's practical, a necessary evil in this city where dreams die faster than the streetlights flicker on at dusk.
He arrives, his smile a practiced charm, his eyes a little too bright.
'Sorry, darling, there was a… a bit of a delay.'
You stifle a sigh. 'It's alright,' you say, your voice flat.
The night unfolds predictably. He buys you dinner at a fancy restaurant, a place where the waiters wear crisp white shirts and the air is thick with the scent of imported wine. He orders your favorite, a dish of grilled chicken and creamy mashed potatoes, and you eat, pretending to enjoy it, knowing that the real feast is happening back in his comfortable home, with his wife.
Later, in the sterile, air-conditioned space of your apartment, he makes love to you. He kisses you with the practiced ease of a man who has kissed many women before you. His hands roam your body, tracing the familiar contours, his touch mechanical, lacking the passion that used to excite you.
You lie beneath him, your mind drifting away, thinking of the endless, dusty streets of Lusaka, of the young girls hawking fruit at the traffic lights, of the men who work tirelessly in the heat, their faces etched with the hardship of survival. You think of your dreams, the ones you had before you learned to compromise, the ones you had before you traded your heart for something as fleeting as money and a fleeting sense of belonging.
He finishes, his body pulling away, a sigh escaping his lips.
You watch him dress, his movements efficient, his face a mask of indifference.
He hands you the money, a fat wad of bills that feels heavy in your hand.
'See you next week, darling,' he says, his voice a tired monotone.
You watch him leave, the door closing behind him with a soft click. The sound is a finality, a reminder of the truth: this is not a love story. This is a transaction.
You collapse onto the sofa, the money clutched in your hand. You know you should feel something - anger, shame, sadness. But all you feel is emptiness. A chilling, hollow emptiness that echoes the desolation of the city outside your window.
As the night falls, you stare at the money. It's a testament to your choices, a reminder of the price you've paid for survival. You know you have to change, that you have to find a way out of this cycle, but the path ahead is unclear. The city, with its harsh realities and its relentless demands, feels like a cage, and you are trapped within its confines.
The only light comes from the flickering street lamps, casting long shadows that dance across the dusty walls. You are a shadow too, a ghost haunting the city of Lusaka, your future as uncertain as the flickering lights that illuminate your darkness.
