Novel Excerpt: Y2K and a Wasted Date

A Novel Excerpt from The Home We Built

An upcoming novel by Betty Phanzu

Featured in Vol. 22 Botsotso Publishing

Novel Excerpt from The Home We Built: Y2K and a Wasted Date

Thomas was a young man from a well-established family in the heart of Lubumbashi.

During his first year in active life as an architect, he quickly realized the loneliness of the rise and grind and felt ready for a relationship. Luckily, his brother’s girlfriend, Patricia, had just the plan for him: a hot date with one of her friends on New Year’s Eve.

On the big day, his uncle Thierry stopped by and joined the family of five (because he had two brothers: Jean-Pierre and Éric) for lunch.

“Why don’t you tell us how you met the love of your life, Tonton Thierry?” asked Thomas. Perhaps that would inspire him for his evening rendezvous.

The reason for Thierry’s visit was business-related, and soon everyone left the two brothers to it.

Looking at the clock: one in the afternoon, Thomas freshened up, then sat at his desk to study old models from Fernand Tala-Ngai’s portfolio, a renowned Congolese architect. His mind was still set on the hotel he kept dreaming about. Suddenly, the previous night’s dream came back to him: a woman with the softest features, brown skin with a glimmer, jumping out of one of the golf carts at his hotel. She looked at him, smiled, then looked away while a clerk attended to her equipment. He wanted to offer her a refreshment on the house, but alas, Caro and Freddy (the house help and the driver) had to wiggle the fence so loud it woke him up earlier that morning.

While examining old portfolios, he came across the previous week’s newspaper. Since the nineteen seventy-seven eruption of Nyiragongo, the reconstruction of the region in Kivu had orbited around sustainability. Dry lava moulded into bricks could offer excellent insulation for houses; an innovative take born from unfortunate events.

“What about the population?” he thought. “We’d make money off someone else’s misery… with something they wouldn’t be able to afford.”The material, though expensive, would be durable and perhaps he could source it for the building of the hotel he was yet to name.

At five in the afternoon, his red shirt was ironed, and he knocked on Jean-Paul’s door.

“Hey, what time did Patricia say I was meeting her friend? Tanya, am I right?”

“It’s dinner... I’m pretty sure she said seven. You’ve got her picture, don’t you?” Jean-Paul replied.

“Yes, yes I do. Are you okay?”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter really,” Jean-Paul said, his face toward the ceiling with a hopeless look all over it.

“Is it Mom?”

“She came in earlier. It was like talking to a wall. But I’m not the only one who sees it, right?”

Thomas closed the door behind him and leaned against it, facing his brother.

“No, you’re not. She’s a bit odd when Patricia comes over.”

“That’s what I told her. She said she doesn’t know what I’m talking about and that if Patricia doesn’t care to respect her in her own home, she’s not welcome here.”

“That was not necessary…”

“I don’t know what to do,” Jean-Paul said with a sigh.

“Remember how Grandad wouldn’t let Dad sit in his living room after the incident? Do you think it’s something similar?”

“You can’t compare the two! Pat hasn’t done anything... that’s the difference.”

“Give her time,” Thomas said calmly. “She’ll grow out of her feelings.”

Jean-Paul sighed again, closed his eyes, and changed the subject.

Soon enough, Thomas was starting his Toyota, on his way to wine and dine a woman who looked nothing like the woman in his dreams.

At the Park Hotel, a small band was playing something from Papa Wemba’s newest album.

…Pesa ngai mbote, nga na yo likambo te, pesa ngai mbote, nga na yo binemi te…

It was quarter past seven and she still hadn’t shown up.

The Park Hotel was vibrant, with each table on the patio covered in a blue and purple African print, and umbrellas hovering above, just in case of rain. He looked down at his watch, up at the band, then down again at the patterns on the tablecloth.

“And for the handsome man, what can I bring?” the waitress cheerfully asked, interrupting his train of thought.

“Good evening,” he replied calmly. “Nothing for now, haha. I’m waiting for someone.”

“No problem, just wave when you’re ready.”

Shortly after, he saw her: black thin heels, a lavender midi dress, a matching handbag, and her relaxed hair gelled into a low ponytail with some black extensions. She walked gracefully toward him. He recognized her from the photo; only she was much thinner now. He stood to greet her and kissed each of her cheeks, as was custom. She smelled of amber.

“You look so much like your brother,” Tanya said. “If it weren’t for the beard, I’d think you were twins.”

“Except I would be the handsome twin,” Thomas replied playfully.

She let out a nervous laugh, and an awkwardness was cast over them.

“So… what do you do?” he asked.

“I am a chemist during the week, and I lead my church choir on the weekend.”

“Brilliant! I am an architect.”

“That’s lovely”, she smiled, waiting for him to flirt with her.

Sometimes she’d look at the band, sometimes she’d look at her nails, freshly done, sometimes she’d readjust herself in her seat.

“It’s a full moon tonight,” Thomas tried.

“Yes”

“What would you like to drink? I was thinking of ordering some wine for the table?”

“Oh, I can’t…early morning…”

“My apologies, how inconsiderate of me. Perhaps you’d like a Djino?”

“Water for now.”

Thomas gestured at the waitress, who ran up to them, bouncing her generous chest.

“Has the handsome man decided himself?”

“Yes, please, a glass of coke for me.”

“And for his plus one?”

The waitress did not call her beautiful; in fact, she barely acknowledged her, eyes fully set on Thomas, who was staring back.

“Uhm, may I have a glass of water with lemon in it?”

“And anything to eat?” the waitress insisted.

“Fries and a Greek salad.”

“No meat?” asked Thomas.

“No meat,” Tanya replied.

“Well, for me, a rib-eye steak, well done, with mashed potatoes and mushroom sauce, please.”

“Coming right up for Mr and Mrs.” The waitress said, taking their orders, then disappearing inside.

“With all those onions, I hope she’s not expecting a kiss at the end of this date,” he thought. Thomas was bored out of his mind. His date did not reciprocate his questions, did not ask about him, showed little interest in the band playing, and did not even notice what he was wearing. “I couldn’t care to see her again, but she needs to walk out of here liking me at least a little bit,” he thought to himself.

He noticed her nails were a dark blue, glossy, and perhaps freshly done. Her low ponytail accentuated her cheekbones, and her lip outline, covered with shiny balm, indeed made her appealing.

She was beautiful, but perhaps the lavender dress was not suited for the occasion. “What’s wrong with her? “he asked himself. Her complexion was a deep brown, and he thought to himself that richer colors would brighten up her face, because the pastel on her eyelids washed her out… He observed her while she kept her glance avoidant.

“That’s a lovely color on your nails, let me see,” he said, extending his hand to her.

He gently stroked her hand, playfully observed her fingers, then rested it on the table, still holding it. She was looking at him, and his chance to impress her was now or never, so he started singing along with the band, loud enough for her to hear him from across the table. He knew the lyrics after all.

“You’re a tenor,” she calmly said.

“Am I? And yourself? You don't have a high pitch... no... I wouldn't say.”

“I’m a soprano.”

“And how long have you been singing?”

“Since I was little.”

“That’s very young!”

“Some would say, yes.”

“And besides the choir, what do you like to do for fun? Do you dance?”

“Only at church.”

“Any sports?”

“Not since high school.”

She did not seem to want to be there, and Thomas could unfortunately sense it.

“Hard nut to crack,” he thought. But he liked the challenge.

“Do you have siblings? What is your family like?”

“I have four siblings, I am the second born, and the only girl.”

She was brief, almost cold. Thomas thought he might not be the only one asking her out. What was it? The genre of music? The Park Hotel? The weather?

“What’s going through your mind?” he asked, pretending to care at that point.

“Nothing, I’m just a bit hungry…”

“What do you usually like to eat?”

“Pasta, but on the other hand, nothing fills you up like our local dishes!”

“Tell me about it!” he responded, hopeful this would be the beginning of an animated exchange.

“Also…I’m not a big fan of the Park Hotel…” she finally admitted.

“Why? What happened if it’s okay to ask?”

“I’d rather not say…”

`’Hear me out: let’s have a little bit of our food, and I know a place that makes excellent Mitshopo and doesn’t smell like a dump. What do you say? I could drive you home after?” Thomas confidently suggested.

“No, we’re already here, we might as well stay.”

He looked at his watch: five minutes to nine. In truth, Tanya was enjoying playing hard to get. She had very little interest in Thomas and loved watching him try so hard.

Shortly after, the waitress showed up with their food.

“I’d like a glass of red with it, please," Thomas said, contemplating his plate. "What would you recommend?” he enquired.

“We serve a good Merlot, but you seem to me like a Pinot Noir kind of guy. They both hold a potent taste.” The waitress was flirting with him.

“Which one is your favorite? I’ll go for anything a woman as sweet as you would recommend.”

“Well, I personally enjoy the Tâche Noire to be specific”, the waitress responded, blushing.

He could sense Tanya frowning on the other side of the table.

“Tâche Noire it is then.”

The waitress giggled.

“Sorry, I did not ask for your name.” He asked, staring at her soul... and her chest, revealed by three open shirt buttons.

“Sarah, she responded.”

“Beautiful”, he briefly added, winking at her.

And she ran away with his order, bringing back an empty glass in one hand and a bottle in the other. She slowly poured it in, her shirt unbuttoned to the fourth this time.

Thomas swirled his glass, smelled the wine’s aroma, took a sip, then raised his eyebrows.

“Pretty good.” He claimed, nodding.

He then looked away at the band, Tanya still silent, staring at her nails, then crossing her arms. Why did Thomas stop trying? “Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all,” she thought to herself, after feeling a wave of jealousy at his exchange with the waitress. Finally, he slowly extended his arm to her. That was his last chance.

“Do you want to dance?”

“No, thank you, I am fine,” Tanya responded, shrugging.

“That’s what I thought. Definitely not my type,” Thomas thought. As she checked her phone for the fourth time, Thomas felt something shift. He had tried (he really had), but the truth was settling in, slow and cold: he was more invested in this moment than she was. And nothing was more unattractive than indifference (at least to him).

He took another sip of his wine, unfazed, as if he anticipated her response. The waitress enjoyed his banter earlier; surely nothing was wrong with him. Perhaps Tanya had a particularly hard day and could not get her thoughts into a different space. It was almost ten o'clock at night. The band would be there until one in the morning, and the kitchen was closing in the following ten minutes. Any additional time spent there felt like torture for both.

He excused himself, discreetly handled the bill, and made his way back to his table.

“Would you like me to take you home?”

“Sure thing. My house is near the Saint Elizabeth Church.”

She seemed cold, so he brought his jacket over her shoulders, which she did not fight against. On their way to his car, one of the photographers who usually offered to capture beautiful moments tried his luck with them, but Thomas was quick to brush him off. There was nothing about that night he would want to immortalize on the red carpet of the Park Hotel stairs.

The ride to Tanya’s house was quiet, so he turned on the radio. The year two thousand was near. He changed stations a few times until he stumbled on one that played something he enjoyed. Sometimes he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, following the rhythm of the bass; sometimes he was looking at his watch, and other times, he was looking at Tanya, who stared out of the window of the passenger seat during the entire ride. “A bit entitled, I suppose,” he thought again. But he was a gentleman and committed to the date until she safely entered her parents’ house. Before driving off, he phoned Eddie, his best friend, who was about to head to the club and meet up with Charles and some old pals.

“vingt-deux heures e beti kutu te, c’est que e lekani bien te?” Eddie playfully said.

It’s not even ten; it didn’t go well, did it?

“Soki na bandi ko betela yo lisolo’yo, batu bako mi yamba bonne année, kutu to silisi te. Position?”

If I start to tell you this story, people will be shouting happy new year, and we still won’t be done. Where are you?

“Ko lemba te, yaka to kutana na de la révolution.”

Don’t bother then. Let’s meet by de la Révolution.

“Probleme te, na zo ya kasi.”

No problem, I am on my way.

And he drove like a madman to join his friends and clear his head off this awful night. The club was booming, red, blue, and green lights were flashing from the ceiling, while everyone enjoyed the music, and the drinks flowed.

The year was nineteen ninety-nine. Not a single soul was worried about the end of the world. Before he noticed, the clock struck two minutes to midnight, and a screen showed a sixty-second countdown that would begin shortly. Soon enough, sixty went down to thirty, which went down to twenty.

15…14…13…12…

Eddie stood up, wrapped his left arm around Thomas, while a short waitress brought a third round of Simba for the table.

10…9…8…7…6…

Thomas felt dizzy, as if his legs were about to give up. Everything around him became blurry, and a whistling sound was shooting from his right ear.

5…4…3…

As the clock struck midnight, his tall body collapsed, his knees hitting the floor first. Charles, his other friend, who was always alert, hurried to catch him and check his heartbeat.

“Benga Jean-Paul!” he screamed to Eddie.

Call Jean-Paul!

The music was still playing. A crowd gathered around his body, lying in a fetal position.

“He’s breathing well, do not panic,” Charles shouted.

The waitress who brought around more beer earlier hurried with a wet towel, which the faithful friend placed on his head.

Shortly after, Jean-Paul, Charles, and Eddie threw Thomas in the backseat of his car while JP drove home.

Charles and Eddie, left behind, wondered if the wine he had before that caught up to him. “What a way to start the year,” they both thought, worried about their friend, but happy he was safe. Thomas woke up the next morning, hungover but glad to be in his own bed.

“Happy New Year, my darling!” his mother said, leaving a kiss on his forehead when he joined the family for breakfast. The world did not end. In fact, the year felt like a new beginning for him.

***

If you have made it this far, I would like to thank you once again for reading this second public Novel Excerpt: Y2K and a Wasted Date. It has featured in the 22nd Volume of Botsotso Publishing this August.

The Home We Built is a beautiful novel taking place in my hometown, and exploring themes like family, adulthood, relationships, progress, politics, coming of age, and culture. This project is very dear to my heart, and we are nearing the completion of my feature milestones.

Stay tuned, and don't hesitate to reach out, I write back ;)