Happy New Year

It’s a chilly Saturday evening. It’s chilly because the dark is slowly creeping in. It always has to be chilly at this time of day. The atmosphere is the complete opposite, it’s warm. ‘mulooongo….ahooo, mulooooongo…ahooo’. Music is playing, the music is loud, noisy. No one seems to be bothered as bothered as I am. On the contrary infact, they seem to like it. They are exuberant, ecstatic. They are clustered in tiny groups of 5-10 men and women. They form a circle, a bit rudimentary, sometimes an oval and maybe even a triangle at worst. They take turns, each stepping up into the middle of the circle, when they feel touched. They strut their moves…what they don’t notice is that their moves be similar. Amidst the exuberance, I notice a lone figure seated in the shadows. Sipping on something from a metal mug. It looked like tea from a far. Kindred spirits had finally met. I went and sat next to him. He welcomes me with a glass of whatever he was sipping. I had taken tea before, tea had milk, this didn’t. This was not tea. He introduced himself as Wanjala.Wanjala looks atleast 24. I could tell from the look on his face…it was not written…but his face didn’t look young. Wanjala looked somewhat sad, fed up with life in fact. I try to make conversation, I made the mistake of asking why so blue.Wanjala doesn’t know where to start so he starts from the most reason. Wanjala says how he has gone to three different high schools. He says how he has sat for his KCSE for the third time. He does not tell me his results but I figure they are not noteworthy. He thought that he had finally mastered secondary education but then Matiang’i happens. Wanjala says how he is going to be a father in the coming year. Wanjala says how he is not prepared, he doesn’t know the first thing about taking care of a child. He is excited. That was written all over his face.Wanjala tells me about all the problems he has. He says how he had planned to drown all his sorrows on that chilly Saturday evening but his poison proves to be, well, not potent.Midnight reaches very fast. Wanjala puts down his not so potent drink, excuses himself, takes up a long stick, gets to his hut and strikes the s**t out of his roof. Wanjala believes this drives away the evil spirits from the ending year. A countdown ensues, 10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1. A new year has started. Wanjala has driven away the evil spirits. He still sips on his not so potent drink. He is not alone this time. He had hop. Hope that things will work out in this new year. Things will be different, Matiang’i will not interfere in his business, he will pass his exams, his drink will become potent.Happy New Year 2017 everyone.
Like and don’t be afraid to share.Its a new year.

Hope for luck

I recently found myself in a not so flashy part of Nairobi. With the bad roads coupled with the poor driving skills possessed by the residents of this great city, one finds it hard to avoid the company of a mechanic. This time I had lost a side mirror. Whether or not I remember how or who lost it was unimportant, but one thing- it was lost, second thing-it had to be replaced. So i park the vehicle at Kirinyaga road, a place not so unfamiliar to the fellas of my generation as i had learnt earlier. When you stole your paroz car for a ten minute pleasure ride then suddenly a tree appears in front of you, thats the first place you run to before your old man arrives from upcountry.
This time however i hadn't stolen the ride. i was under commission by my paro. I alighted the car and a hoard of guys rushed towards me. they were all wearing overalls, different colours;mostly grey though. you see all these greasy hands rushing towards you and suddenly you recall of all the stories you have heard of people being conned of their money. you are suddenly afraid, but you do not show it, because you think they can smell fear. 'boss nikuuzie tyre?', 'boss nukufungie hiyo bumper?', 'boss nikufungie hiyo kioo?' . at least one of them had impeccable observation skills. he had already passed the interview. i realise that most if not all had a kyuk accent, because thats what we learn living in the streets of nairobi, how to tell apart different communities, which one is yours and which one is not.
'Mzito, niaje, Nataka mtu wa kunifungia hii kioo'. mzito, a word, a noun, that i always used to make myself look a bit streetwise. You hope it works. 'wagwan, nifuate'.you let out a smile, inwardly though, you know it has worked but you don't him calling your bluff.
so the guy detaches the side mirror and i follow him. We pass through alleys, streets, fruit stands and mombasa just to get there. long story short, i lost my bearing. The road was so muddy but you have to follow his steps. your shoes get muddy but they are on their own. you don't want them finding out that you are not one of them- and not streetwise, because they will bite...your pockets.
He hands me over to some other guy there working with fibre, as they called it. He quickly assesses the damage and says 'Hii nitakufanyia soo tano' . As soon as he opened his mouth, i thought, huyu ni wa ingo. My radars were on fire. So I try to convince him to give me a good deal, which we meet halfway.
This fella is so engrossed in his work but a colleague comes and asks in luhya, 'jana ulikula?'. He replies in the negative. I felt like I was back in Kakamega. To make it better, they were all sipping tea, I felt at home. I couldn't help but pity this guy for not having had supper the previous day. The other fella also replied in the negative when the same question was possed. All of them had not eaten. It took quite sometime to realize they were talking of Sportpesa. They talked of how 'Chievo Verona iliwaangusha jana' and another interjected on how 'Barcelona iliunguza bet juzi'. One thing so outstanding is that they had even lined up bets for that very day, that very night. They talked of which games were in the Jackpot that weekend. Which were sure wins and which were tricky. They didn't make a lot of money, but the little they had they did try to multiply it. They heard of low bodaboda riders winning 26million and farmers winning 10 million. They believed that someday, the same gods that make them lose their bets will also open their jackpot bid. They dream that one day they will carry the huge dummy cheque and will ask to give an interview on citizen tv and will first thank the Almighty, he will look to the camera and will send greetings to his parents in Funyula. He will encourage his fellow dreamers to keep on betting, he will assure them that their day is coming and just to persevere.
I guess that's what makes us human. The belief we have in our choice, the ability to dream, to think of a better tomorrow regardless of the wretched present.
He had finished the sidemirror in no time. He didn't even need any luck to do it. As I paid him, I reminded him not to forget us when he won the Jackpot like the rest and to invite me to Funyula later on that year to celebrate his good fortunes.