I have never had any luck with men, and careers. It isn’t that I’m not beautiful or educated, or kind. I’ve been told that I am all these things and more. I have the kind of heart that has been described as “heart of gold.” Yet somehow, I seem to attract trash—trashy jobs, trashy men, trashy other things. I was done waiting to be swept off my feet. I got comfortable in my singleness.

I remember taking myself out on dates. Yes, I was ‘masturdating.’ Please read that again. It’s masturDATING and not the other one your mind mistakenly read. You sinner!

It was on one of these dates that I met this dashing gentleman.

It was at a theater on a Saturday night. Who would have thought love was going to find me watching a play? It was the way he looked deeply into my eyes as if all the stars in the night sky were stuck in there. I was fascinated by the look of awe in the way he looked at me.

Honestly, he wasn’t my type. What I mean is, he wasn’t tall enough. But I had decided then that it didn’t matter. He was a nerd, and I had a thing for nerds. I liked them tall and nerdy. I didn’t want to ask too much out of life, so I took what I got, short and nerdy. It was more exciting when I found out that he lived just a few blocks away from my apartment.

On Monday night, I received a call from him, I was not shocked that somehow, he had my number because, at the theatre, I realized that we had mutual friends. He asked to see me on Saturday. Yes. It was a date! I was so excited and nervous, I showed up late. I blamed my lateness on Nairobi traffic. Fortunately, he wasn’t keen on punctuality. Great, right? We had a really good date. The more time he spent with me, the more interested in me he seemed. I had already decided I liked him, so I didn’t even attempt to play hard to get. He liked it very much when I spoke his mother tongue. Could things get any better? Yes, they did! I am talking about good morning texts and late-night calls.

If you think things were moving too fast, wait for this, he started calling me his wife. It didn’t freak me out, if anything, it excited me. I could feel my ovaries cheering us on. I was so ready to bear his many children if he asked me. “This is it. This is love. We are so in love.” I said to myself. They say love is blind, but I wasn’t blind. My 32-year-old new love told me he had been struggling with hypertension since he was 22. Maybe that was supposed to scare me but it didn’t. It’s just human to suffer hypertension so it was ok. Hypertension will not stand between us.

Two weeks into our relationship, he said we needed to talk. I panicked, but I tried to stay composed when I called him. He said, “I understand that you are busy with your graduate classes, and theatre. I am requesting that you try to clear your schedule at least by Friday evening so that we can spend our weekends together.” Ahhh what a relief. That was sweet, right?

I decided to sacrifice a little bit of sleep, for a weekend of happiness. So, I woke up at 4am every morning to work on my academic papers and anything that would come in the way of my weekend plans. This even increased my productivity.

On that Friday that I was supposed to meet him, I was very anxious. Not in a good way. I felt a heaviness in my chest that I couldn’t shake off. I had a strong urge to cancel our plans and go spend time at my sister’s, or anywhere else. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t cancel plans. Not when he kept sending texts to tell me how much he was looking forward to seeing me. I was anxious but I dressed up and waited for him to come pick me up.

He didn’t keep me waiting. We bought drinks and food on the way to his place. Our weekend started off with us dancing in the middle of his living room. I couldn’t help but fall deeper in love with him, as he held me in his arms, and twirled me around the room. We rested on the couch when we ran out of breath. He is not a good dancer, and his singing could use a little bit of autotune, but it was all perfect. Before I went to sleep that night, and the nights after that, he read me poetry. Poems he wrote himself. Are you following? He wrote poems for me, and read them to me, every other night I spent with him. He is an engineer. An engineer who writes poetry. He is a complete package. Bless you, baby!

On the Saturday of my visit, we went for a morning run in the Kaura forest. I keep fit to stay in shape, and he does it for his health. See, we’re are match written in the stars. We get back to the house, both beat with exhaustion, having light talks. One thing leads to the other, and we are talking about clans. Ooh boy, he and my mum are from the same clan! (In Kenya, being from the same clan means you cannot marry). Say what? Tears, anger, pain—we cried in each other’s arms. We called our parents, in order to clarify things. His dad, who was vouching for the relationship, promised to look into their ancestry. My mother, a single parent, didn’t know much, so she consulted my uncles.

A week passed after the shocking discovery of our lineage. We prayed and hoped to whoever will listen, that we are mistaken. That he is not actually from the same clan as my mother. I thought about quitting school and work. I wanted to run away. I wanted to go far away from Nairobi. I wanted to be gone. Pain is bad, but love makes the heart bleed, isn’t that what they say? Why does it have to happen to only me? What did I do? Who did I wrong that good guys slip off me this quickly?

Our parents didn’t find anything in their search. We still talked, even though we didn’t know the future. He called and texted every day, but we stopped physical contact. He wanted us to spend some time together, away from everything, so he planned a long road trip.

We set off on a Saturday morning and drove for eight hours. It was blissful. I recall how I prayed, asking God to show me why he was quick to end the relationships I was happy in. I put my trust in Him, but to what end? When we checked in to the hotel at our destination, he gave me his phones. I am an advocate for privacy in relationships, but my hands acted on their own. I say this and I stand by it “All women are certified FBI agents.” I went through his WhatsApp chats in under two minutes. I didn’t find anything, but my soul was unsettled. I felt I was missing something. Yes, the archives! So, I did. What I found shocked me more than the whole clan thing. He had archived chats from twenty-seven women. And all these twenty-seven women have a thing going on with him. Blood drained from my face and gathered at my feet. I held myself together. I had to be strong for myself. I confronted him about what I found, and we fought. It wasn’t physical. He explained, “Some of these women give me work connections. I can’t break up with them.” Ooh, men of Africa! I did not cry. Where would that lead me? We couldn’t be together anyway because of the clan thing.

I tucked myself into bed and slept away my misery. Our weekend passed quickly, and we drove back. I traveled alone to another town, to get away from everything. For an entire week, he called and texted but I had already accepted that we are not meant to be. When I returned to the city, he avoided me for two weeks. Hiccup calls and texts, and even though it hurt, it gave me space to get over him.

He came back to me, but this time, my guard was up. The charm had worn off. I could think clearly enough to know that we had so much going against us. But he never stopped coming. On Val’s day, he came around. He brought me gifts and made the day feel like how it was supposed to feel. It was really sweet of him but that can’t bring us together because we have walls between us—a clan and twenty-seven other women I can’t deal with.

He is moving to Germany in March.

I’m still the unlucky girl!

—Marie, Kenya

Do you have any relationship experience to share? Email it to [email protected]

NOTE: NO PART OF THIS CONTENT CAN BE REPUBLISHED OR REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM WITHOUT THE EXPLICIT CONSENT OF THE EDITORS OF THIS BLOG