The First “Hangout”

Which I very clearly considered a "date"

Indabo Cafe, 2023

“When can I see you?”

I texted. Simply because I hadn’t seen her in a while, and as much as I hated to admit it, I missed her; really did. We were still texting, a lot actually. Daily texts, long threads, and inside jokes. But texts can only go so far; I needed to see her in real life again.

Because her schedule was a delicate balance between being incredibly busy and fiercely loyal to sleep, we planned what she called a hangout (and what I very clearly considered a date) two weeks in advance. Two weeks. An unreasonable amount of time. I counted down like a child waiting for Christmas minus the gifts and with a lot of overthinking (this time, thankfully, kept to myself).

When the day finally arrived, I was ready; too ready. I got there before her, pretending it was all about punctuality when really it was excitement in a responsible disguise. Indabo Cafe was as busy as ever, but I got lucky and snagged a table for two at the far end. I kept checking the time, perfecting my “totally nonchalant” face.

She arrived late; what she called “fashionably” late. Shockingly, she burst in with a flurry of sorries and a hug, and just like that, every nonchalant bone in me surrendered. Before I could even register mild annoyance, she smirked and declared that anything under fifteen minutes doesn’t count as late and that next time she’d bribe me with something I couldn’t say no to. And all I could hear was: oh… there is a next time.

The moment she sat down, I knew the evening was already a win. We ordered strawberry lemonades, both of us, unintentionally in sync. I had banana chips; she had waffles (I think). Honestly, I was too distracted by her to take accurate notes.

Conversation flowed effortlessly, we discovered our mutual love for Sauti Sol and created a Spotify Blend right there at the table. Watching our shared songs stack up felt like unlocking an achievement: Compatibility Level Unlocked.

Then we talked about tattoos. She asked about mine without being too pushy or so I thought (later I realized she was curious, especially since she’d get mildly annoyed whenever I inserted “commercial breaks” between my stories). She listened carefully, looking me straight in the eyes, like she genuinely wanted to know. She didn’t have any tattoos, but casually mentioned she’d love to be part of someone’s tattoo journey. When she even offered to come with me to my next appointment, my brain immediately fast-forwarded through several future scenarios it had absolutely no business visiting yet.

At some point, I tried on her glasses. She laughed while I squinted dramatically and asked, “Is this what you see every day?” She nodded, amused. It was playful, but also strangely intimate; like borrowing her perspective for a moment.

When the hangout (date) technically ended, we spotted a pride flag on our way out—something neither of us had ever seen hanging anywhere in Kigali. She took a photo of me in front of it (which I can’t share for obvious reasons) and warned she’d use it against me if I ever bully her again.

Me in skinny jeans… pretending I can breathe.

The night wrapped up after a long, winding walk filled with laughter and easy conversation. I didn’t want it to end, but I had to get her a moto to take her home; I didn’t want her getting back too late. “Tell your mama I said sorry I didn’t bring you home early last night…” (go listen to Isabella by Sauti Sol if you missed the reference).

After a hug that lasted a little longer than a first hangout (date) usually allows, I looked her straight in the eyes and said, “text me when you get home” Yes, that line. Then I watched the moto carry her away and smiled. I had just had the best first date of my life.

Thanks for dropping in… if you enjoyed this, you might want to read Part II. It might make you smile… and blink… a bit more.