You see, this is the thing: if you're a man, and you feel like talking about soccer at high volumes at 2 am on Saturday night, then that's fine. Just don't expect me to participate in your testosterone-driven conversation with the waiter and the other man on the other side of the restaurant. Just don't.
Because, you see, we were talking about pressure. About how women put too much pressure on men. How women have timelines and hidden agendas and plots to rule the world, and how they let them seep out in manipulative ways to their mates. The male then feels enormous pressure to be or do whatever his woman desires. Simultaneously, he feels like pushing her away because too much pressure is bad for his heart, and he knows that. You say women need to learn to go molo, to take life easy and to stop controlling men by freaking them out, forcing them to make big decisions without having the time to fully think them through.
"Name one way I've done that to you," I say, defensively, because, honestly, I think I'm a pretty molo girl.
"Two weeks ago when you said, 'I'm going to leave France after I get my master's and I'll probably go back to the US. What do you think about that?' Do you think that you could say that and I wouldn't panic a little?"
A short pause.
"Yes," I say. "Yes, I can see how that can really put some pressure on you."
But then, the monologue:
"So you see, I've been thinking a lot about this. I've been thinking about it and I've decided that I want to go with you to the US. I don't see why I should do web development in Paris. It's in the US that the web has its roots. I'll launch my site here. Then we'll go to the US and market it there. Once both markets are developed and reasonably stable, we can go back to Africa together and run it from there. I don't see this site as being only an American or European thing. I want all of Western Africa to be involved. At base, I want it to be an African site, but I need investors and visitors and technicians and offices from the US and Europe.
You can go back and get your degree - maybe we'll stay four or five years. Then what will you do? What do you want to do? In the last two years, you've done a lot of teaching and you seem to like it. So who will you teach in the US? Do you want to become a professor at a university? You'll just be helping rich people get richer. Why not come with me to Africa and teach people who really need teachers? Why not teach people to read and write? You're good at teaching, and you like people, and people like you. Isn't it better to make a huge difference to people who really need you than to make a small one to people who only sort of do?
And you know, because we'll be running an international site, you won't be far from home. You have to understand that I am Congolese. My home is the Congo. I can go with you for awhile, but my future is not in the US. And I understand the same about you. If you want to live with me in the Congo, I'd understand if you went back to see your family for a few months every year. You wouldn't be as far away as you think.
You don't understand how beautiful it is there. In the West, life is all about stress. We don't need that. We can both have jobs, we'll make a decent living compared to most people there. We can live comfortably, and have a house and go to the ocean and eat from the mango trees in the backyard. It's not all dreamy and perfect, but I'm here in Europe because my family needs money. I can work and help people, and I've been able to get a good education in France. But for me, life here is stressful. People are unhappy.
And plus, when I'm in France or the US, I have to deal with racism on every corner. But in Africa, nobody would ever refuse a job to you because you're white. It could only work to your advantage. Plus, you'll be Madame Nkou. That's a name to be respected..."
I break it off here and remind him about his views on marriage: He's against it. He thinks it's stupid. He will never, ever get married. I need to accept that about him if I want to be with him. If I can't handle being with someone who will never marry, then I might as well just move on now, because there's no point in hoping he'll ever view marriage any differently.
"Yeah, well, people can change. I've thought a lot about that, too."
Speechless, I sit back in my chair for a moment. This is one of those big moments. Mentally, I had been planning on having to end things with The Boy because of geography. I love him but still feel young and like I need to think about career and location and development and tons of other things. Our relationship is complicated by the fact that I can't stay in France forever, or that staying here is extremely difficult in general. Once I decided that I'm not sure how much longer I wanted to fight to stay, I guess I had just thought that our relationship would have to end. Not because I want it to, but because I don't want to sit around and wait for a relationship if I have nothing else going for me.
It's taken me months to admit this to myself. Months for me to determine if I want to stay or go, fight or flee. And with accepting that I've got some tough, tough decisions ahead of me, I guess I also let myself accept that I might have to let go of the best man I've ever been with.
But now here it is. He doesn't want it to end. He's willing to move to another country for me, maybe even marry me if that's what it comes down to. Drop everything he's known for the last twenty years and move to a country where he doesn't even really speak the language so that I can pursue a career.
I had always pictured myself doing all of this alone. What do I do now that he's willing to come along for the ride?
So, I see what he means about pressure. The tables turned in just under ten minutes. Move with me? Marriage? Africa? I don't know what I think of it all... I just don't know. Frankly, I'm just shocked. And I need some time to think about it. A lot of time. And we'll definetly need to talk this through some more.
And so this is what I'm saying: this is the wrong time to start talking about soccer. I know that the Italian interrupted our moment of reflective silence to ask you if you had seen the match the other day, but that's the point where you admit the truth (no, you hadn't seen it) and you even clarify further by saying, "I haven't watched a soccer match since the World Cup." This should shut up the waiter and let us get on with our Very Important Conversation. It would help me digest this rather hefty serving you just gave me. A little bit of clarification, precision, and further discussion would be necessary at this juncture.
But instead, the three men are yelling back in forth about some really great soccer player's goal record. Was his last goal in Argentina or Spain? Because, apparently, that's the really important issue at hand this evening, not the 30,246 things going through my head.
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