I am a man who enjoys speaking in my mother toungue especially when I’m with the likes that understand the language; but the train was not a place to display my prowess in the village language especially then that we had one relative of Wanyonyi in the midst of us, the relatives of Obama wuod Alego. Wanyonyi, for those of you who are not familiar with him, is a Luhya guy claiming to be god. The human god has a strange way of blessing his followers. He climbs his favourite tree and urinates on the heads of the followers. It is claimed that the urine from this poor god has the [power to heal all diseases. How urine sprinkled on someones head can turn into a blessing is something a sober person can never understand.
In the train, we decided to capitalize on our English prowess to the amazement of the majority of the travelers. Due to the fact that all of my colleagues were accountants who went to class during the day and not in the wee hours of the night, we began analyzing topics ranging from the stock market to Inflation and measures the CBK governor should take to cab the drastic fall of the Kenya shilling. We talked about the challenges facing the Oil Marketing Companies (OMCs) and the frustrations which were tailor made at the Energy Ministry. We discussed how the the small OMCs were suffering in the hands of the multinationals and how, in our view, they could get out of that quagmire. All this time the Kasarani, Kariobangi & mathare valley guys were looking at us lugubriously, perhaps wondering how these well informed nively dressed pieces of art found themselves in their territory. I knew for certain that our emaciated wallets were at risk, having run our mouths without punctuations.
On Monday, the 15th day of August 2011, was a day with its own challenges. I woke up late due to the fact that KTN decided to bring my favourite Indian Program, Shree, very late in the night. (The only thing I liked about Shree was the fact that it reminded me of Gapco Kenya Ltd – a company that I worked for for close to eight yrs. The Indians there say “Yes” by shaking their heads in a very comical way. You won’t believe this; they do exactly the same when saying “No”). I took cold shower chap chap, dressed in my charcoal black designer suit, which I bought expensively at Sir Henry’s – Kimathi Street (not River road) and took off. On reaching the bus stage, there was this mandazi guy who I never thought would recognize me; he talked to me in Greek “Omera kawuono inyone mana gi tiendi. En ang’o ma otimoreni? Pashonel mangima nyono gi tiende yawa?” (Brother today you are just walking of foot – as if he wanted me to walk on hands – what happened to you? A whole personnel is walking on foot yawa!). You see, there was this friend and colleague of mine, Boniface Ogallo, who was very fond of eating lots of mandazis at that stage while waiting for a lift from me. I think he must have leaked to the mandazi guy that I’m a very important man in the society. He must have told him that I lived in Umoja not because I didn’t have money but because I prefer staying next to the common mwananchi just to understand the pains they go through.
That morning, I boarded a Citi hopper bus, which had to go round the whole of Umoja picking people and waiting for those who were still in the bathrooms. I’m told this is what people go through every day in Umoja. I did not know how much they charge because, you see, in my world, you do not ask such questions. I paid one hundred Kenya Shillings and was expecting some little change. The cartoon dilly dallied with my change until I almost forgot about it. I couldn’t think of anything while in that bus, my mind had to constantly ring “Change! Change!”. I could not even enjoy the soft country music, which I’m accustomed to. The journey took a whole one hour all alng thinking of the balance. Dealing with Kenyan conductors is not a joke!!! At least I sat next to a beautiful lady whom, from the look of things, was either a Luo or a Luhya. She was slim when coming to the bus but fat when seated. She ended up taking three quotas of the space allocated for both us. He siiting allowance was very voluminous. “Hi dear! How’s your morning?” That’s how I started the conversation. She scanned me through and never replied. That was to say, “I don’t want disturbance - you married man!!” I was just saying an innocent hello to an overly blessed woman yawa!!! Those are the kind of women who wake up when all men have paused (Menopause). I then felt like her overlapping rear wings were taking a toll on me – not in a very good way. The devil is a liar!
On reaching town, the makanga (conductor – for my foreign readers) gave both of us Eighty Shillings (50 bob note and 3 ten bob coins) to share nusus nusu (half half). The beauty queen refused to cooperate. “So you want me to walk around with this man asking some unknown people for change?” She shouted!! If she knew that I was a proud owner of a fully paid for 4 wheeler, maybe - just maybe, she could have behaved differently. She made me look at myself again. I’m not that easy to intimidate, anyway. For those of you who do not know me well, I’m that kind of a guy that many ladies would die for…lol .. and this one wanted to lower my ego!! The makanga ended up sorting us out.
I still had some distance to cover. I repeat; upper hill is not river road - I had either to board another hopper or walk to the office. This was where my economic teacher comes in. Walking to upperhill would mean taking tea with some snacks at 10 o’clock, thereby incurring an additional cost, while boarding a bus would mean taking dry tea. On the other hand walking and being tired & late to work are synonyms. Walking also meant no extra treadmill fees in the evening. Why board a bus then pay your hard earned money to walk on a treadmill at the gym?
I took a bus.
That evening, I understood the real meaning of disaster. I will tell you more in part three.
I remain yours
Migingo Awat
heehehe! You are not easy!
ReplyDelete