A Drop Of Life On The Other Side Of Town
I toss in bed just in time to hear the cock crow .No I dont have a cock tied to my be post. That's the sound of my wake up alarm from the mulika mwizi phone I have owned for the last five years.And its a sound I have become accustomed to,day in day out. My phone cannot allow me to change it, let's just say it's a very conservative one hehe.I acquired it from a colleague who sold it to me for a thousand shillings and days after it changed ownership I realised what a reap off it was. I can only receive calls,messages and when she is in a good mood she allows me to punch her and talk to my folks upcountry when I want them to send a supply of maizemeal. We all know life in the city is not cheap. Otherwise I cannot save contacts and since the end call button is not functional I have to free the battery to deny a certain service provider who loves reminding me to pay my ksh 10 debt every two minutes ,the pleasure of 'eating' my money. I wonder why they go after small monies. The geniuses who work there should know they use more in reminding me to pay than the money I owe them in the first place.
I am Makhoha and no my life is not that sad.I live just like you but unlike you KEBS wouldn't put any mark on my standard of living .My house is made of fairly new mabati and new here is in terms of when I bought them not when they were made. But there are many homeless people here so I count myself lucky plus I have electricity though when the neighbour decides to sleep out in a drinking den we have to contend with the light from the lantern whose lamp has been repaired way too many times.I still haven't figured out how to switch on the lights from my place but am sure if I buy Muriuki kikombe moja ya supu he will be more than eager to help me out.
I have a wife, children and sex. That isn't the best combination especially when living in a one roomed hous e.I have to wait for the midnight train to pass for the latter to happen ,ten minutes at most. Statistics show that at least one of my children will be a rapist but there is no way I am helping him live that pre-determined future .If he becomes one he can take full credit .My efforts of keeping our business with the missus private are however a drop in the ocean. The neighbour (the same one who loves in sleeping dens)has an affinity for vocally expressive women. Several times he has brought them home just as we are having supper .We used to ignore those sounds until the little one asked 'kwa nini huyo analia?'I dont have to tell you how awkward those next minutes were. And that reminds me I need to collect old gunias from Wanjohi who works at the coffee factory so that I line my walls. Another attempt at sound proofing and extra warmth for the days wifey cannot come closer without torturing me the whole night just because the train has bailed. She doesn't give me that headache crap that your wives give you when they think you are better of humping a dead horse. She knows that any day the overgrown boys in the area can decide to use the direct (railway) line to reach Sirkal and if that happens it will be a long time before she gets it.
I work as a security guard at a Mhindi's shop on Biashara street.I am there for the aesthetics. Just to complete the picture. Because the shop is located on an"'important" part of town where all shops have glass windows displays, air conditioners, imported goods hence guards .And since Rajesh feels he doesn't need me(he locks anything valuable in his safe daily and has gigantic padlocks imported from that country with more look a likes than bicycles in my hometown),he pays me peanuts. Not roasted or fried at least those you can empty in your pockets and slowly fool your stomach into thinking you are actually eating something, you know just to keep the juices churning. He pays me raw ones. I have to take it upon myself to cook them. Wait for two days for the damned cheque to be processed .
When i started out I used to feel important because am receiving a cheque ,a bank being ordered to give me Mhindi's money. I was even naive enough to believe Rajesh's two pence theory of how he is helping me save by making sure that it gets to my savings account first before it gets to my pocket .He needed not justify his action then, he was the freaking emperor in the invisible gown but now since my lips are a few metres from his ass am able to see him for who he is. A bloodsucker. Out to make sure he gets the most and gives the least. He holds an account with a Mhindi bank called GOA or something like that so unfortunately me and my 'mepa' colleagues had to painfully learn that some few shillings are deducted to process our already beyond sea-bed salaries. That's what happens when you let your mind think Mhindi is your friend. He is what we learnt in school as a necessary evil. He is not your friend. But when you realise the bending over he has done to you and decide to kick his ass back to that subcontinent, you end up paying three million for oranges. Ask Zimbabweans if you think am lying.
He makes us report very early,6:30 am. Not because there is a lot of work, nobody shops at that time, but because he wants to feel he has made the most of his money though as it stands with the current inflation it doesn't deserve to be called that .As such ,my whole day is spent carrying rich people's baby clothes to the car, eyeing Mhindi niece. Her hair is nothing like madam's and that red button on her forehead makes me think if I press it ,she would do whatever I want. Like those robots they are building for people rich enough to want to have sex with the woman's legs at 225® in the air or have her(the robot)moan in twelve different languages. The rich amaze me. The rest is spent scheming on how I will steal enough to buy five chickens and a cock to rear back home though something tells me I will have to grow a new pair of balls to do that. The lifespan of those am housing now is ending tonight. A cousin who works as a conductor in Bungoma Express has finally agreed to sneak in the offsprings. Their grandmother has been relentlessly calling to say she misses them and as fate would have it, I miss something else too.