Random Restaurant Conversations And Other “Special” Events.

She was alone on her table when Judy and I got into the restaurant. We’d planned to talk about the trip to Douala — alone in a corner. And to catch-up on the past few weeks. The only table with empty seats was hers.

Could we share the table with you?
She smiled. Of course.

She’d quit her job. Her health was deteriorating. She wasn’t able to get back to her Masters programme. She had no place to stay. Her Android device was giving up on her. She showed a pack of medication.

Gastritis, she said. And smiled. My father says I should change my diet. She shrugged. Smiled.

She told us about why she’d quit her job. About the person she thought was her friend who had demanded that she go against her principles for money.

She told us about how she’d stopped writing two years ago. How she didn’t want to bother her parents about her current situation.

I’m a hustler, she said. And I hate staying idle. She was smiling.

This afternoon was the first time Judy and I met her.

I don’t believe in luck. Even when I hate my life, I always find out that whatever happened brought clarity to the path ahead.