Indian Date

I shot my own foot. I ate the crisps. These snacks stay in the cabinet, untouched. They had been there for almost a month. The owner had traveled to South Africa but that is irrelevant. The thing is, I was working late, I was alone in the office, it was raining and I was hungry. I ate the crisps. Dint they taste great! When I finished the whole pack is when I realized that I actually ate the whole pack, well not the entire pack since it was a little bit above the half way mark. It was half full!! I wanted to check how many grams those were when I noticed the price!! This was the catch. Nkt! There had to be a catch. The price tag shamelessly read 835sh. Ok, here I am, having eaten half a packet of awesomely delicious crisps that cost a whopping 835sh. My only silent prayer is that I am not asked who ate them. Am a pathetic liar!! When I lie, I tell so many stories after that. You will definitely tell am trying to divert and it is very pedestrian so it wont go far.

It is uncommon that one would meet you with a question on “who ate what” immediately you walk into a room; worse still if you are coming from the ladies. It would send a series of weird thoughts racing in your head. First, you’d definitely have to recall is you were from a short one or the opposite. This,  and many more questions marathoned in my head for two seconds when my welcoming statement was “who ate my crisps?” I couldn’t lie; it was right in the middle of a meeting. Every one was staring at me. I felt my face turning red. I cursed my light skin. “I did! They almost expired” Okay so why did I say this? Am I an expiry date saver or what had I become? The guys in the meeting did not laugh. I very, much wanted them to. It would have made the burden on my shoulders way lighter, they didn’t care. It was crisps. But it was a huge matter in this place, they were “The crisps”, no matter how hungry, you don’t eat these. I had sinned; I had craved for, consumed and even digested the crisps. The waste was on its way to a recycle plant. I cannot be saved even by a crucified cat!

“They are still mine, expired or not”. True story! “Then you shall get me another pack” That was the verdict!! I needed to call my lawyer. That very moment, I realized it is an unfair world. Here I was, being sentenced to a micro financial death by crisps without being given a chance to tell my story. I wanted to say it was raining, I was lonely and hungry. The crisps were my only refuge!! There was no chance. “Do you know where they are bought?” I should have said no but when my face is reddened, I can’t think straight, even crooked, I just can’t think. “Chandarana Supermaket.” I said. “Deal” came the answer!!

I had shot myself in the leg. We had a deal. I am now to get “The crisps” in any case; I know where they are bought. 

835 KSh is not the issue; the issue is that you are spending it on crisps. I am now actively looking for the person who stock these crisps at Chanadarana, credible sources tell me its an Indian lady who also hawks a poorer quality in small packs in town. I have so far established contacts and she shall supply the same at a wholesale price. However, I have to buy more than two packets. I am therefore looking for two people who love crisps a lot, otherwise I will have to settle for a lower quality brand, but she promises the same great taste!! I have bought her lunch on two occasions, both of which I use to see if I can lure her into making this one packet like a charity thing. I mean two lunch dates are already too many!!

I hate crisps!!

?

I had no idea asking questions can be a talent. Not until I met Susan; my domestic manager. She is a nice young girl, still trying to understand life; in so many dimensions. It is for this reason, I presume, that she asks so many and mostly mundane on the edge of irritating questions. When is the next census, she should be an interviewer.

I had planned to spend my Sunday afternoon lazing around the house. To celebrate the emergence of Miniboo’s third tooth by taking the afternoon nap with him and we dream of biting apples, chewing maize and tips of biro pens!!  Great!!

Susan was on a high with her talent: questioning. We had traveled to my grandmother’s place with her the previous weekend. Little did I know she was gathering questions along the way. Remember how teachers would make us ask questions during school trips the national park so that we can use those answers to come up with a composition when we got back to school? She must have been a keen student.  Most of the questions however, were unrelated to the trip. I think they had been gathered over time since she got to the city. I must have acted too unavailable to answer any of them. Today was the opportune time. 

“Which is that river we crossed on our way to cucu’s” (grandma) this was the curtain raiser. I have used that route for more than 40 times I bet but I, solemnly swear that I have never bothered to know the name of that river, worse still, it always passed for a dam in my head. I ask for water, the question dissolves.  The stage has however been set. “Between DSTV and Go TV, which one is more expensive?” She must me trying to measure my financial muscle so that she can ask for a pay rise. I refuse to answer that and ask her to warm the water she had just brought me, “I wanted warm you know?” 

As I sipped my warm water and hoped that we were done with QA or rather Q and divert session, she popped the next. “Why is the government introducing mother tongue lessons into the curricular? Which ethnic language will kids in small towns with various ethnic groups learn? Isn’t that tribal? This may actually be a valid argument but for Christ sake, it’s the government, it makes absurd decisions and it’s a lazy Sunday afternoon, we do not question absurd decisions. 

Lil man is crying, maybe he needs a diaper change, or he does not want to imagine he may to take Chinese lessons, if he ends up in the same school with our Luhya neighbor’s Chinese boy. I live along Thika road this should answer you. Before the diaper session, am asked if I know that human beings blik (she means blink) more than 10,000 times in a year. Well, I dint know.

At this point, I am really trying to take a nap; Susan asks why a learned good looking man would choose to be polygamous. This raised my antenna. “ Who is?” “Diamond the Tanzanian rapper. He has four wives.” Cool. That is good for economic growth, its called distribution of resources. I mean, the guy is rich and can support all the four wives. Opposite to my expectation, this does not close the session………..”Kamba men are so short, why is that?” Okay, does she prefer kisses to diamonds? Is she interested in rich Tanzanian men or in short Kamba men? Am lost.

I lose myself to a good lazy Sunday afternoon nap.

Trip to Houston

 

This trip will remain very memorable to me. First because it was a first and second because till now, it comes second to none. Let’s get jargon out of the way first. Houston is H-town.  Huruch, Huruma Estate.

My cousin Grace told me that we can get furniture made for us in Houston at good rates. Same furniture they display opposite Naivas Kasarani,  all along Thika road and on Jogoo road too. That’s a good deal. The current economic situation is biting hard, so we set a Houston date; early Saturday, morning. Houston business is for worm catchers, no lazy Saturday morning for me that weekend.

Grace can be a little bit of a nag, hahaha hope she does not get to read this one. Okay Grace makes sure you keep time when ever you are meeting her but she takes her time. This day she woke me up threateningly on sms “chelewa utajua Houston kuna wenyewe, utajisort.” If you get late, you will know you do not own Houston, you will sort yourself.   The sound of this sends me off to the bathroom at 6.30am on a Saturday. Things we do for good deals. 

 In spite of it having rained all night, our water tanks must have been contributing to the showers by leaking or something of the sort. I had just finished applying soap when the shower turned into a drip irrigation machine. Drip!! Drip!! I would never get all that soap off my body with that irrigation thing. So I use a bucket to fetch water from the tap. I don’t know how this water is piped. The shower can go dry and the tap still has water. Cold water! I think the landlord wants people to suffer. A cold bath on rainy Saturday morning!!  Big brother is watching!!

The rain starts again as soon as am finished dressing to go to Houston. That last part is very fundamental. I dressed for Houston. There are places you just can’t show up in your normal style. You got to be in sync. Respect the ghetto!! There I was in a baggy pink t-shirt, a black faded trouser, not fitting at all and a black trench coat. I knew I looked so ghetto and even maybe 70% shagzmodoz which is also a potential danger but I couldn’t start changing, Grace had already sent me 4 of those “please call me” messages by now. I had to start my journey fast, and call her while on my way so that I can lie about how early I left. I don’t tell this lie while in the house, there is a possibility of an echo exposing you. Off into the rain and at the bus stop, a call comes in, Grace is the type that goes straight to the point. “Umetoka? Juu huku kunanyesha, twende baadaye, nitakutext utokee.” (Are you out already? Because it raining here, Il give you a heads up when to leave.) Call ends. Ok so now, after all that hustle, those “please call me’s” were for us to delay the trip?!  I walk back to the house, am now sneezing every 3 minutes.

The promised text giving me a heads up to leave the house comes in at 9am. There were instructions on how I would get to Houston without having to get to CBD. First stop at Allsops on Thika road; the super highway. I pick a matatu heading to K-south (Kariobangi,  Bangu) to drop me at a place called market. I seat next to the driver so that I remind him frequenttly that I am alighting at soko. He is good man; he tells me soko two stages away. At the stage before soko, the man next to me alights and another hops in. He comes with a sack whose contents had the smell of roasted intestines. The guys’ hands had the same smell and traces of minced meat that looked charred. As I was alighting, this guy had to step out first, the interesting bit is that he never let go of that smelly sack at all. It was heavy but he dint let it touch down. 

Next matatu would take me to Houston at a place called “flats”. Everybody who got into this vehicle had the smelly sacks others used recycled packing bags. Including the one who sat next to me, his clothes too were not spared of the smell. But I would not change the sitting position. I had to keep reminding the conductor to drop me at “flats”. One guy’s meat peered out of his paper bag, it was a hind leg. This made me confirm there was some meat trade in the area. What was being butchered remained the big Q. I wanted to ask questions but I feared for my life. So I settled on a photo without using the flash light. This is the shot I managed. 

Notice the recycled KTDA bag and a sack at the far right at the feet of the guy in a blue jeans.

As the conductor was collecting the bus fare, he apparently found bread on the vehicles’ floor. Someone must have dropped it. Its now lost and found. In Houston, such items are for communal consumption. One guy from behind stood up and said that bread is a blessing to all of us. He had a loosely hanging hand cuff on his right hand. I think that is why nobody argued with him. The bread was passed around from behind for all to indulge. This, I never expected. People were actually waiting for their turn to eat bread. I was not sure how I would say no without appearing “non communal”. The bread was two rows away from me when the conductor said “madam, flats ni hapa”. I have never alighted from a matatu so fast. What the hell would I have done with a piece of bread offered by a guy with a cuff on his right hand in Houston. Hail Mary, I was at Flats.

This must have been a meeting point. There were several by standers. Two men were standing on either side of my position.  They seemed least interested in boarding matatus, neither did they keep calling like I was yet their wait had lasted as long as mine had.Patience!! I decide to walk away from the drop off point to kill monotony of vision. The two men walked away, in the opposite direction. It dawned on me; this is Houston, no more phone calls. Patience had to be my friend. A mad man waked past a puddle of water. Then looked back and came running right back into the water splashing it on every by stander. Then he asked, “mtadoo?”What would we have done? We just moved. This is Houston, you take the chill pill or you lose your neck.

Grace took two hours to get to our meeting point. I strolled around the stage aimlessly and hoping I dint look so lost. Five donkeys came running from the Soko side towards where I was, two guys were running after them, I think I found an answer to the big Q.  I was sure I wanted Grace to buy me lunch to replenish after losing so much energy turning my neck left, right and center to look out for my safety. However, I settled on having only a mango for lunch. You are better of hungry than full in Houston.