Mamu

Unlike most areas of this beloved city of ours, it was not uncommon to hear noises and yells at this time of day. 5 AM is not the best time to hear someone shouting and screaming their lungs out. Makes you shudder, makes you conscious…is my phone safe? Am I carrying anything expensive?
Where I come from, this was the norm. This was my local gym, a sanctuary where all who were obsessed with the bulges in their bodies came to meet and exchange ideas on just how to bulge even more. A temple where men and women came to give offering to their bodies, no pun intended. While the rest were asleep, some came out to play.
The yells were unnecessarily loud that day. There must have been at least 10 people in there. I enter and find only two. To say these men were huge is a big understatement. I had only come across such human beings when watching Mr. Olympia. One of them, the slightly smaller one, had a deep voice, terrifying. He made the crickets outside silent as he spoke. ‘Mamu, njoo unipe support’. The bigger, but shorter guy, who I now knew as Mamu, walks over and they start the count to 6. A weight I assumed could encapsulate 4 of Me. I wonder what the other guys voice sounds like, he being bigger and all. He finally speaks, ‘Utasimama hapo ama umekuja kutizi’. How could such a huge guy have such a small voice? I don’t say it out aloud I only think it. I realize that I had been staring at the huge blocks for a while now. I didn’t want a beating so I start struting my steps.
I find it extremely difficult to find any weights. Unknowingly, I find myself, again, staring at them. I didn’t know this, but around there, especially around those times, people lifted weights at the pleasure of Mamu. The two had taken hostage of all the metal plates in the gym. Through my eyes it looked like Mamu was training for some Strongman competition, so I asked. From time to time, I pull out my slang of the cabinet and give it a slight dusting, ‘Mzito, tournament iko when?’ ‘Nina gig fulani hapo Club Rumourz on Friday’(Notice the ‘z’, all cool spots have a ‘z’). The guy was a bouncer.
I wonder how it all started. Did he one day think, ‘Let me build this muscles of mine for no apparent reason?’. The next time he thought, ‘Why not just stand outside this night club for a night’. Before he realized it, he was addicted to the night breeze and silence. Was that how he probably got hired? Or was he, probably, in the family business that dated back generations? He probably had a family. A daughter and two sons. I wondered what he would do were his 16-year old daughter walk up to Club Rumourz with a fake ID?
Before long, the gym was packed, 8 or so people at such an hour wasn’t all too shabby.
To me, he was just a bouncer and noise maker in the wee morning hours. To others, however, he was a trainer, he was a motivator and some even a mentor. Mamu was the voice to the weak in the gym, he heckled as you lifted weights. He was the strength to the weak, he gave you support when you started failing. He even gave out training regimes to his mentees. Around there, Mamu was a living legend to the 6AM gym crowd.
So, finally, I say hi to him. I wanted him on my side. Nothing could go wrong. I could finally get to access those 25 AND ABOVE only night clubs. I had an inside man. I still didn’t respect Mamu though. He was all about talk. I didn’t once see him lift weights. The bench is free for the first time that morning. I’m facing the roof, I make sure the weight is well aligned, I lift the weight. The weight doesn’t seem to want to go up. My arm seems even more lazier. The weight is on my chest. My chest starts losing air. I start gasping for air. Just as I am walking towards the white light, the weight goes up with unnerving ease. Mamu looks down at me and in the same small voice asks, ‘boss uko sawa?’.

Code of Politics

Nothing infuriates a programmer than code that just won't run. I tried all the tricks I knew until I was convinced that this just wasn't the right path for me or maybe it just might have been the hunger. Lunchtime was fast approaching. I make my way to the kanjo vibandas right next to central police station. It wasn't the best time of the month for my pocket so it had to suffice. I am met with kindred spirits there. This was the true KFC. Kanjo Food Court as some would call it(only me). This was a place where the real hard workers of Nairobi CBD came to hold a feast. Nduthi drivers would drop their customers there as they both walked in and shared a meal. You would buy a mtumba boxer from a hawker at globe round-about only to find her spending your money on matumbo fry. Programmers who aren't so good also tend to flock the premise.
 The thing about the real workers of Nairobi is that they like to eat and are not at all shy about it. The sight of someone stuffing a whole chapati or in the very least half in one mouthful is not uncommon. I felt at home there. I could finally be myself.
Being quite popular, the place is almost always full. The only available position was next to a young lady. I couldn't quite see her well but I could make out her complexion. She was light. The seat was in a position that faced her. I wasn't too thrilled about sitting next to her. The table was narrow and the sitting position on such an arrangement would make it look like a date. It just hit me that she was the person I had earlier seen stuffing a whole chapati into her mouth. I wasn't about to explain to my would-be discoverers why my date was stuffing an entire chapati into her mouth. But I had to eat!So I sat.
You know you frequent a place a tad too much when the waitress hits you with, 'ya kawaida?'. My usual poison came. Just as I was about to eat, the chapati-stuffing mouth opens. It was the first time I had seen her face. I was too busy rush-eating before anyone saw me with my 'date'. She tells me that she is having a bad day. She says that she had just buried someone she knew. I offer my condolences. My curiosity gets the better of me and I ask who the deceased is. She names a renowned Governor who had just passed away. I was adept with current news so I immediately knew she was talking about the Nyeri Governor. She says how her home and the late Governor's share a fence. Show me someone who does not share a rural home fence with someone in the government and i'll show you someone who is not Kenyan. She talks so passionately about politics, you might think she is a politician. She mentions how she was an athlete until the end of 2014. She was an aspiring 1500m runner. She mentions about the five stadia promised by the government of the day that she had hoped would better the sporting community of Kenya. Stadia, which up to date, have not been constructed. She tells me how she lost her uncle to malaria, a disease that is treatable, in December 2016. The doctors went to strike and the rest was history. She mentions of how she has two children. One was a schoolmate of mine taking a course in commerce and the other one had just joined class one. She had all her hopes in the elder son graduating and taking the smaller brother through school. With the lecturers on strike, she wasn't even sure where she'll get money for the next term's fee. She says that she thought that the only laptop her young son would get would be a plate of hot githeri on the top of his lap.
I then ask her if she would be voting come August later on this year. I thought I had her figured out due to her rural home. But her answer is she didn't know. The sitting government had failed on its promises and the opposition wasn't all too convincing. For now she was only worrying about how to get to August...alive and well. We had connected on another level. I was in awe of her thinking. She had the thinking of ten grown members of parliament.
As she was leaving, she orders for a nduthi. At this point I'm left in astonishment. As the motorbike pulls off, she says some words that prove inaudible to me so I ignore it. Just then the waiter comes up to me and says, 'amesema utamlipia'. And to think I was almost asking her for twitter handle.