Men love women who like presents!
When Susanna asks for Ksh 2000 for salon, I feel financially abused, economically used and even politically misused, most of the times. When I am loaded, I am a cheerful giver.
As a matter of fact, I am working on how to acquire and possess some small tear gas canisters. I require them. A time is coming when she will visit me only to find a changed man. When she does, and she rejects all that I offer, all that I can offer, I may be prompted to use the Guerilla means. Freedom is never given freely.
I am intending to seek an off day and invite her. As soon as the CS for Treasury reads the budget, I will outline mine too. As for Suzzie, her favor and funding will go too low.
I seek to increase the token taken to my little sister and the blackest boy in the village, Wamuroha to 100 from 50 per visit by myself. These two are my best.
My Susan scares me,
It is just the other day,
A few years back,
She used to make her fair auburn hair with a Chinese cup fitted with holes and inside was put burning charcoal.
That is the blow-dry I grew up knowing. In a best case scenario they used broken porcelain from the Githeri pot. I remember once I broke my mama’s pot just to give her the piece. And to this date she still doubts my commitment in this love.
It is the city that has changed her. She was a country girl.
Now I am at the Nigerian gate leading to my hot bedsitter and the landlord is some few meters from here. When he sees me, he jovially says, “I knew it”
“What?” I ask….as Wambui, the landlordress appears.
I cannot think straight at this moment. This is one of the instances I ask the ground to swallow and grind me, just like Nathan and Torah. Yes, in spite my innocence.
Like you know, yesterday some not so serious Agrovet guy refused to sell some rat poison to me. I wore a suit: a marine blue slim fit suit. Maybe he thought I lied on the existence of a small rat in my rental. He told me to produce a letter from my landlord or the area headmen. This is Kiambu, this can get crazy!
“What is it…? Bwana Thige”, I stammer to my landlord half asking, half pleading.
“She has a story to tell”, he says pointing at Wambui, her daughter.
This landlordress has so many fairy tales so it seems. She smiles, like the Cheshire cat, she always does it.
I reluctantly join them in their large mansion. At least I have a chance to sit on my money. I am sure that my rent was used to purchase one of these sofas.
I sigh and take a deep breath.
If she was here,
If Susanna was here,
She would ask for these Chiffon covered sofas. I am safe.
My sweet pie,
Has demands of an unmatched tie.
Practically speaking, I am out of place here. I don’t even understand why we are here.
“Si mamba mbaya“, the landlord says in a bass.
“I know mimi si mtu mbaya“, I tell him in alto.
I wait for Wambui to say something, in soprano.
She does not. Up to this minute, Wambui has not spoken a word. I wonder why she studies Journalism. Anyway, she will be a news presenter because she is presentable. If only I owned a media house.
Tea is served.
I sip slowly,
Watching every movement of everyone in this room,
Funny enough, the discussion changes to the 7pm news. Why the hell did they ask me to come quickly? At the corner of my eagle eye I am stealing a look at this girl. Once our eyes contact I change my view. I am a shy guy. It keeps me safe. My aim is to see if she looks different. How different, I cannot expressly tell.
Ten minutes later, supper is here. I was warned of these favors. My mama told me to hold my hunger to myself. I excuse myself that I need to make a call.
“hahuhihe we are a family, feel free”, he says.
I feel uneasy. In the midst of this confusion after cleaning my hands ready to exercise my incisors and molars, my Cheap Chinese phone vibrates, and then rings. A familiar tune of a ringtone. A tone specific to one person: My Santa Susanna!
I remove it from the jacket pocket and look at it
The screen reads” Babe calling”.
My mind reads” Bomb ticking”.
I have to leave, at least for a minute.
I rise quickly, so fast that before anyone realizes I am at the door. Receiving the call while smiling in the dark with the softest voice I can ever make.
“Hello my sweet pie”, I say
I only hear three words.
“Niko kwa mlango wako, uko wapi?” Susan asks….