It had arrived. There it was, in the post office box, looking up at me innocently. I could hardly contain myself as I tore the envelope and fished out its contents. A gasp escaped from my lips as I re-read the letter to make sure I hadn’t missed it. The line went like “ … you have been accepted into this years audition for the Kenya Fashion week. Please avail yourself this coming Monday at The Little Theatre Club for further information.
That night, I hardly slept. Excitement had consumed every inch of my being as dreams kept rushing through my subconscious. I had visions of me strutting down the funky catwalk, a Kapuka hit blasting from the speakers, wearing a slinky, sexy creation by Sue Muraya. Cameras flashed incessantly as I smiled and posed, before turning and walking down the ramp.
“Honey, you kept me up last night! You tossed and turned as if a spirit had possessed you!” my husband Ken retorted over breakfast the next day.
I just smiled and looked at him, mystery and secrecy written all over my face. I had decided I wasn’t going to tell him yet. I would plan it as a surprise; plan a romantic night out and meet him at the Carnivore, where the Kenya Fashion Week was to take place a fortnight from today.
All day at work that day, I was jovial and in high spirits. Even the boss Smirks and remarks sounded like music to my ears as I filed my nails and applied a fresh coat of Maybelline lipstick. Call it being vain, but damn! I sure felt like a million bucks as received the usual stares and smiles as I walked across the expansive marketing floor of the company. I was the perfect model, 36-24-36 and flawless bronzed skin, coupled with great bone structure and sun-kissed autumn-brown hair that I maintained by regularly dyeing it with henna.
Time flew by and before I knew it, D-day had arrived. I left work early to give me enough time to prepare for the auditions. They were rigorous and tiring, but I pulled through and managed to secure a slot as a runway model for the event. The next day, I told Ken all about our date. “Honey, I was thinking, when was the last time we spent quality time all alone, while enjoying a sumptuous meal? Honestly, I can’t think of any time we did that, that which is why I took it upon myself to arrange a date for us tonight. I might be a bit late, but I’ll join you later in the evening.” And with that, the stage was set for an enchanting evening that night.
I made sure I had assigned my tasks to the new intern as I sped off toward the direction of Carnivore at around 3.00 p.m. The weather was fabulous. Large fluffy clouds moved across the azure blue skies as I made my way through the early afternoon traffic. In no time, I was in the changing room, with models in various stages of undressing. The cowpony of conversations sprinkled with laughter and excitement mingled and just above all this, a Salsa beat emanated from the strategically placed speakers. Then the lights were dimmed and the stage bathed in a warm, brown glow that set the theme for the first of Sue’s creations which were African-inspired casual wear. I was to follow and I peeked through the heavy velvet curtains that separated us models from the rest of the madding crowd that was the audience.
There he was my hubby, seated close to the runway on a table for two. He looked slightly puzzled as the ‘Oohs’ and ‘aahs’ of the crowd off to a roaring start, evidenced the show. The last casual model walked back the starting of the runway to a warm applause by the audience. I was up next, in the eveningwear category. My dress was an off-shoulder creation with corset-strings at the back that gave definitions to my wonderful African curves and flowed all the way down to my toes. It was a royal purple shade and I had elaborate beadwork all round the burst area to the waist. As soon as I walked out, the crowd gave a collective gasp and thunderous claps met my ears. “Be professional” I firmly told myself as I walked gracefully, posing at the center and at the furthest end of the runaway.
Then it happened. All I remembered was letting a horrified scream escape my lips as the heel of my left stiletto broke and set me tumbling. The next time I opened my eyes, I looked around and it slowly dawned on me that I was in hospital, with my Ken by my side as he waited patiently to see me awake. His face lit up. “I thought I was never gonna se you alive, sweetie!” Then he proceeded to tell me what had transpired. I had fainted dead away and upon arrival, I was diagnosed to have just had an aneurysm, which had caused my blackout. The doctor attributed this occurrence to high levels of stress. It turned out that the excitement caused by anticipation the fashion event had led to my body breaking down by bursting a blood vessel. I learnt my lesson the hard way as I was released from hospital a few weeks later; if I had shared my excitement with Ken and my colleagues, I would’ve averted the impending health crises. Instead I had chosen to keep it all inside and it ate me up whole and spat me out mercilessly. Poor me!