THE WEEK THAT WAS (Part 3)

I knowingly decided to separate part 3 from 2 just to take care of the Kenyan readers. Kenyans are not that good in reading long stories. The very first thing they do is to scan the number of pages and procrastinate reading the whole thing altogether. 

It was Monday evening when I had to set off from my Kenya-Re, upperhill office for another tortuous journey back to my humble abode. The thought of train had already become a horrific idea that I avoided at whatever cost. I decided to join my trekking colleagues to town, ones again, but with a firm decision to Citi Hop through to the estate.

My first stop was 2M (Double M depending on which school you went to. I went to Ngere High) commuter buses. Unlike the iron snake and Citi Hopper, the 2M buses were very organized. One had to endure or enjoy the long queues for close to an hour before finding your way to the bus door. The queues looked like a very long snake – longer than the anaconda itself with the head directly opposite Kenya Cinema and the stomach in Tom Mboya Street going round ambassador Hotel. The tail of the queue was almost next to the head – yawa!! It would take around twenty 62 seater 2M buses to swallow half of that it. I’m never that patient but the human beings in the queue were so soberly patient as if they were majority shareholders in that transport company. I think there was something those guys were fitored with (afita). Afita is Latin word for “forcefully taking through the nose”. When I was a child my mom used to fito me for almost every disease. She could hold both my hands tight as Agneta, my aunt, held my mouth. This forced my nose to pull in whatever substance the two women wanted to dump into my innocent nostril. I would then sneeze uncontrollably for close to four hours thereby scaring all the bacteria, viruses and whatever demons occupied my pathetic body. Fitoring brings addition that can make one do unimaginable things including but not limited to standing in a queue for as long as it takes waiting for a bus which does not belong to your father.

I saw no need of lining up as if I’m a school boy waiting to be served with a conspicuously translucent piece of ugali. I decided to move on to the 1st lane (If you’ve never been America, a country where my cousin – Obama - is the presided, you’ll not understand the meaning of 1st lane and since you did not contribute to my air ticket, I have no reason giving you any further hints) On reaching Tusker (Currently Tuskys) stage, I found multitudes of well dressed men and women eagerly awaiting whatever means of transport available. This group was not as decent as the 2M ones but were far much better than those in part one of this story. They looked like people who were in a hurry to catch up with the Mexican Soaps. (Blessed are you when your wife is not interested in such soaps for you shall live a happy life. To be as perfect as Edwardo and the likes is very hard men!!! A Pastor friend of mine banned watching such soaps in his house. He’s very happy!! You want your wife to appreciate you more? Fito her with the Nigerian village movies where women are being loaded with heavy burdens – she will always thank God for giving her such a wonderful husband).

Was it me or it was just the Umoja buses which refused to come? Every bus, including the Citihopa I boarded in the morning, was heading to Buruburu – Mtindwa Mwisho. People were scrambling for chances like nobody’s business. It was like I was the only well mannered guy around. I never struggle when getting into my fully paid for car!! This was a survival for the fittest scenario! Ladies were being pushed left right and center by the married folks!! I knew the men were married because most of them looked pregnant. You can’t afford to have those overfed intestines if you are still single. At long last I said “Aih Sulu” and decided to do what the Romans do. “Buda!!! Budaa!!!” Someone shouted and I believed he was referring to me. The name “Buda” comes when you’re a proud owner of a matatu (taxi for Ugandans). I used to own one but sold it for reasons I will tell you later. When I looked yonder, I saw it was the Citi hopper driver beckoning me to go and board the bus through the driver’s door. I ran very fast and found myself in the co-driver’s seat while the common wananchi were still struggling at the common entrance. It felt good to be a “Buda”. I was very fortunate to, ones again, be sitting next to a lady. I knew the journey would be less boring anyway. You know, starting a story is easier when you’re talking to the opposite sex than when talking to a fellow man (unless ur gay). I never looked at the lady’s face but concentrated of fixing my laces which were untied during the commotion. I glanced at something - a vein running across her legs from the souls upwards. I didn’t want to imagine its destination. Remember I still wanted to make it to heaven. On her neck was another one – it couldn’t be the same vein obviously – conspicuously shouting. This was a fighter and she looked married making the journey even more interesting since we had something in common. She literally blamed her husband for every little thing under the sun. I knew I was in danger. Ciko (sp), a radio presenter, also helped her blame the man the more with her busted thing. That day busted went to the Kalenjin nation.

All this time our driver was behaving as if he is the owner of the road. We suddenly became liabilities soon after paying our fares. I do not know whom he was trying to please but he refused to follow Njogoo Road but went to Vichochoros. On reaching a place which looked like Jericho or Uhuru, the driver decided to behave funnily…. Pwap!! He kissed the behind of a new red CRV car. The owner must have been a Luo man judging from the way he walked out of his vehicle. He came out flashing his iphone “Hello Inspector, this stupid Citi Hoppa driver thinks that my car is a mkokoteni (handcart). He has hit me from behind” He spoke with authority while walking around his car as if it was in a show room. Soon, the rains started falling cats & dogs. I looked at myself and realized that I was not in a cheap suit. Crossing Mtindwa while raining or after the rain needs something from Gikomba not Sir Henry’s. Mtindwa was a muddy market and most of the people there were loaded with bad manners.

It took almost an hour of negotiation before issues were sorted out with the guy. Our driver was shivering due to the fact that he was being rained on as he was trying to plead with the other guy. All these while the human being was seated in the car with just a small section of the windo open to allow the drivers pleas to pass through. After sorting issues with the Luo man, we were dropped right at Mtindwa. It was still heavily raining!! “Mzee shuka chini haraka – uoga ya nini?” (Old man alight faster – why fear?) The conductor shouted at me. The last time I looked at myself in the mirror, I never saw any wrinkle on me. How could he….? Man, I was rained on thoroughly and you know at Mtindwa (the old one not the current tarmacked one) there was no where you could take shelter.

There were these guys carrying huge luggage that kept whistling and shouting at us!! They smeared me with the dirty luggage and splashed muddy water on me like nobody’s bizna. I had to walk on the rains upto the house. I looked like some scare crow before my queen and the Migingolets. “Daddy, you left your car because you are tired of driving – Yes?” Mike, the snr Migingolet asked. “Honey please don’t come to the house with those shoes” The queen said. “Kwani – no hugs today?” I asked and the whole house went into uncontrollable laughter!

Nairobi life is hard.

I realized that you should not ignore the blessings God has given you. If you have a car, please use it. The God who gave you the car is able to fuel it – sawa? Look at me, I saved Kes. 300 on fuel, that day, but lost my suit plus hugs.

I’m would have died of pneumonia.

The following day, Rav4 was fueled to capacity and I went back to my normal life.

I’m fully yours,

Migingo Awat