LIZZIE’S WORLD: A difficult conversation

“Hi,” Brian says when I pick up.

I have been sitting at the counter of the place I sometimes visit post-work for a few relaxing drinks and I am feeling mildly irritated not just with the barman who has just implied that I can’t afford a drink, but also with the fact that Brian is now intruding on my personal time. But when I hear the sad, low note in his voice, I put my irritation aside and replace it with worry.

“Is everything alright?” I ask him.

He sighs dramatically. “Not really…” he says.

“What’s wrong?” I prod.

“I’m just… out here in Mombasa, sitting by the beach, having a cocktail and thinking.”

I can’t for the life of me figure out what any of this information has to do with me, with my mentoring him or with the business I run, but let me stay on this course and see what pops up.

“Ehe?” I reply. “Sounds lovely. Why do you sound so sad?”

Another dramatic sigh. “I’m just remembering the last time I was here. It’s been many years…”

I drum my fingers on the counter irritably. The barman glances my way with a raised eyebrow. I note his concern. I am unmoved. I keep tapping my fingers.

SAD NEWS

“Is there a point to all of this?” I ask Brian. He keeps quite for a few seconds and then I hear something that sounds like a sniff coming from his end; oh dear, have I reduced the poor boy to tears with my rough tone?!

“It’s just… you know… I was born here. My dad, mum, sister, cousins, aunts, uncles… My parents and my sister died in a road accident when I was away in a boarding school. I don’t really have anyone I can talk to. I have avoided coming to Mombasa since then but then we have a client for whom we are shooting a commercial here so I had to come.”

My heart softens immediately, especially upon hearing that he is an orphan. “Oh, I am so sorry,” I say softly. I have stopped drumming my fingers. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not really,” he sniffs again. “I mean, I don’t even know why I chose to call you. It’s like I felt you would… I don’t know… understand.”

“Oh…” I say. I have no clue what to say to that.

“You take care of so many people…”

“Oh?” I am genuinely confused. I don’t really have many family members to support and all of them are gainfully employed so I am not sure what he is referring to.

“You know, with your business and your company and everything. All the employees whose salaries you have to make sure are paid.”

“Oh!”

“So I feel like you must be a very caring person.”

INTERRUPTED

“Oh…” I reply. I don’t know when would be a good time to point out to him that one in five CEOs are classified as sociopaths but I feel that that might derail this conversation somewhat.

“Anyway, I don’t want to interrupt you too much while you are busy. I was just trying to reach out to someone. I don’t know. I just felt like you might be the right person.”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” I say. I don’t know whether to further the conversation by prodding a little more, or whether to let him be so he can figure it out on his own – I mean, in my defence, I am not a counsellor or a psychologist so I don’t know how to proceed. In any case, I am interrupted by a man entering my line of sight. I look up, only to realise it is the gentleman who earlier bought me a drink. He perches himself on the bar stool next to mine and gives me a warm smile. I frown back; I don’t know who told him he was welcome to my space.

“Ok, look, I have to go now,” I tell Brian. “I’ll call you later and see how you’re doing, alright?”

“Yea, ok, I know you’re busy. I’m sorry I interrupted.”

“No, no, not at all,” I tell him. I wouldn’t want to be the one who turned away someone clearly suffering from depression if I am in a position to help. “It’s fine. I’ll call you later.” Then I hang up and turn to the man looking back at me.

“Hi!” he smiles widely. I keep frowning.

“Who are you and what do you want from me?” And then I wait for his reply.