Kelvin Kithi

Zeros And Ones Kamau and Sylvia sat at their elegantly set table in Margasa Jungle Spa, a supposedly luxurious five-star hotel nestled deep within the rainforests of Angola. The ambiance was posh, the candles illuminating the room with their soft glow, and the sounds of contented murmurs filled the air. "What's that?" Sylvia leaned in and asked, her brow furrowing as she peered at her plate. Kamau couldn't help but chuckle. "It looks like... well, let's just say it resembles something less than appetizing." Before them lay a dish of brown, thick sauce that defied the laws of appetizing presentation. It was, to put it bluntly, reminiscent of something one might find in the rainforest, but not on a dinner plate. Sylvia recoiled, her chair creaking as she leaned away. Her shawl slipped off her shoulder in a display of discomfort. "I'm not going to eat that," she declared with determination. Kamau shared her sentiment, his eyes scanning the room discreetly. It seemed that everyone else was equally puzzled by their meals, but they all maintained polite smiles and hushed conversations. "I can't believe we paid for this," Kamau muttered, his voice dripping with disappointment. Sylvia leaned in, her curiosity piqued. "What's this dish even called?" "Jinguinga," Kamau replied, his voice low and conspiratorial. "Apparently, it's a traditional Angolan delicacy." Sylvia couldn't help but giggle. "I can't die here! Let them send in the UN, Amnesty, FAO – all of them!" Kamau, however, had a secret. "You know," he whispered, "I might have inadvertently caused this." Sylvia raised an eyebrow. "What did you do?" Kamau explained how he had struck up a conversation with a night shift employee at the hotel's entrance, impressed by the lifelike gecko sculptures crawling up the walls. These geckos, it turned out, were native to Angola. "And then," Kamau continued, "he mentioned that this dish is also a local specialty." Sylvia gasped in mock horror. "No way!" Kamau nodded solemnly. "The chef himself, a man named Anthony, said he'd prepare a traditional meal for us as a special treat." At the entrance gate, the architects and designers of the hotel—assuming there were exterior designers in the first place—had ingeniously woven an intricate layer of ambience into their rainforest residence. A mesmerizing swarm of button-scaled geckos seemed to have taken up residence on the walls. These creatures, native to Angola, boasted a coat of rich, earthy brown, their scales resembling tiny buttons meticulously sewn onto a tailor's masterpiece. Each scale ran seamlessly from head to tail, like the neon lights on a racetrack, hinting at a perpetual forward movement. The buttons adorned their bodies so profusely that, if you squinted just right, their eyes might even trick you into thinking they were part of this captivating pattern. "No way!" Sylvia exclaimed with a pinch of venom. Her face contorted as she surveyed the meal before her. Aside from the rather unfortunate-looking soup, the rest of the appetizer exuded a strangeness that she couldn't fathom swallowing. "They're bringing out the main course after this," Kamau explained with an air of impending doom. "And Chef Anthony will be joining us." "Chef Anthony?" Sylvia asked, her thoughts spinning. "He's going to serve us," Kamau elaborated, gesturing with his hands. Sylvia felt panic coursing through her veins. "I can't eat this," she lamented. "We have to," Kamau insisted. "Have to?" Sylvia retorted, her tone rising above the room's ambient chatter. "Yes," Kamau replied. "What would we say if he noticed we hadn't touched the food?" Chef Anthony was known for his perpetual smile. During their earlier conversation, the two men had engaged in a lengthy discussion about the country's economic outlook. Chef Anthony, surprisingly knowledgeable, had shared his brief history as a welder before venturing into the hospitality industry. "We can't disappoint him," Kamau said, reality setting in like an African sunset. "Count me out!" Sylvia declared. "You know what? I'm on my period!" She asserted this truth with a determined expression. "In fact, I'm experiencing nausea right now. Where I come from, people don't typically indulge in appetizers." Sylvia was dead serious, and Kamau knew her to be a person who meant what she said. "What about me?" "Tell them you have tonsillitis," she suggested, "or a sore throat." "But I don't have tonsils," Kamau lamented, contemplating the impending arrival of Chef Anthony with his infectious smile, only to discover that none of his esteemed guests had tasted his specially crafted soup. "I don't know!" Sylvia stammered. "I'm not menstruating either." In the background, soft chatter filled the room, with the table behind them occupied by YouTube content creators who couldn't resist boasting about the thousands of likes their posts received. Not one of them seemed inclined to comment on the food. "Are people actually eating this soup?" Kamau wondered aloud. "Who cares," Sylvia muttered, her eyes scanning the room to see what the other guests were doing. Overhead, warm lights illuminated the scene, while specialized candles on each table emitted a pleasant scent. The candles were enclosed in glass structures that resembled openended jugs, casting a warm and inviting glow on the diners' faces. "Why did you talk to him?" Sylvia scolded Kamau after noticing his horrified expression. "I told you never to experiment with things you don't understand." She referenced another incident when Kamau had impulsively bought an aesthetically pleasing pot from a roadside vendor simply because the man complained about not having anything to eat that night. "You could've just taken photos and slipped away." A round of applause suddenly filled the room, prompting Sylvia to grow increasingly anxious. She glanced around, attempting to decipher the meaning behind this ovation. "He's coming!" Kamau informed her, shame lurking while he stared in the direction where all the chefs stood, ready to invite everyone to the buffet. Chef Anthony had promised to seek out Kamau once the orientation was completed. "I'm sorry," Sylvia consoled herself. Her first trip abroad, and her initial destination, Margasa Jungle Spa, wasn't unfolding as planned. Before leaving, she had promised her friends photos of food and culture—an amazing experience that would leave them astounded and their mouths watering. "I can't be the one to spoil my trip," she lamented. "It's a five-star hotel," Kamau remarked, acknowledging the absurdity of their predicament. "If this is five-star," Sylvia joked, grinning, "I might as well start cooking." They both chuckled, shaking their heads.