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.