Our long lost drunkard is back and he is a ‘nabii’

Marianna broke into a frenzied welcome gig and all drunkards of the county joined her on the dance-floor:

Marianna: nduraga na mahoya ii ngihoera muthenya uyu –

Drunkards: nduraga na mahoya ii ngihoera muthenya uyu

Marianna: Takirore –

Drunkards: wone

Marianna: Mahoya ni –

Drunkard: makinyu

Marianna: Geithia Mundu –

Drunkards: ini

Marianna: na umwire ni –

Drunkards:  makinyu

Marianna: Geithia ucio ungi –

Drunkards: ini

Marianna: na umwire ni –

Drunkards: makinyu

When the patrons ‘cooled down’ Professor jerked up, coughed and cleared his throat to give a brief introduction of the ‘surprise guest of honor’. 

“The Chairman; also known as the Senior Gossiper, the Secretary; popularly known as Daktari, Joshua; the fallen man of cloth, Kariakoo; the keeper of cattle (though to be honestly fair, they are very unproductive, though no ill will against them or the owner), Siddie; the Tamu Tamu Hotel proprietor, sellers and drinkers of this honorable but ‘cursed’ concoction, gentle ladies and gentlemen” Professor started. “I feel honored to welcome back, on my own behalf and on behalf of Thirsty Throats, our long lost friend, buddy, colleague, trouble maker, and a drinker of this Cana Concoction. Before I give him a chance to address us, it is just noble that I parade some of his remarkable achievements. Underline the word ‘Remarkable.’

He is a big old child of two worlds. He is neither this nor that as you can all testify. He is the greatest impostor known to Thirsty Throats environs and beyond. He is a good sales man as far as you all know. He can sell pork to Muslims. On the other hand, he is a very prayerful man. We know God has in most instances blessed the work of ‘his hands’ as evidenced by the many children born resembling his face in this area. He is a hard worker if you agree with me, which you have to, anyway!

Now without much ado, please join me in welcoming the one and only Saa-lllli-----m. Welcome Salim and address the concoction addicts.” Professor took to his seat.

Our long lost friend had undergone a metamorphosis. He had changed a lot for the months he had gone missing. He was no longer the smartly dressed manager that Thirsty Throats knew. His sunken eyes, protruding cheek bone, and wrinkled face said it all; life outside Thirsty Throats can never be a bed of roses. Thanks to the patrons who competed to  cheer him up by making orders of Cana Concoction for him.

“My friends,” Salim began on a very nostalgic tone, “allow me to call you friends. First I wish to apologize for having left you without a formal farewell to you.” He continued.

Different speculative theories kept following me to where I had gone to following my sudden disappearance. We say akufaaye kwa dhiki ndiye rafiki, my friends I esteem you as marafiki wangu wa dhati, wa kufa kuzikana. Nimewezwa na upendo wenu usio na kipimo. Mmesimama nami kwa hali na mali bila kunung’unika wala kunielekezea kidole cha lawama. Naomba mola awanyunyizie Baraka zake zizizo na tamati as we continue to plan ahead.

Many are the times I felt a strong urge to terminate my life. Some of you may be aware while others may not be aware that all that I had counted as my wealth was razed down to ashes in the neighboring town. Some witnesses still hold that some an unidentified armed arson set the buildings ablaze before escaping in a blue Saloon car. They were my only….I am saying that they were my only source of livelihood. I felt weak, useless and unworthy of any more earthly life.

My friends, I left without a notice because I knew – or so I thought and desired – that I  would be back the same day or the day that followed. This never came to be. One day became one week; one week became one month; one month became what you all know by now, I feel ashamed of this.

My friends, I had throughout my life – until that fateful event – asked myself many questions: what makes a good man to be a bad man over night? What makes a God-fearing pastor become a great sinner of the year suddenly? What makes a caged bird sing? What makes God to punish righteous people and reward evil people, or so I thought? What is life and what is money?

My friends, for those many days that I was away I have come to learn that man lives by the graces of God; not by his might, his power, his influence, or his money – and so is to a woman and any other person living on this planet or taking this concoction.

My friends, now that I am back, allow me to end there because I will be sharing with you more about life out of this place. Ahsanteni sana na mola awabariki.” An emotional Salim concluded his short remark.

“He was dead and now he is back to live – cheeeeers people” Kariakoo said. The people in solidarity raised their glasses of – some full while others half-full of the cana concoction and responded “Cheeers”. They continued to respond so every time Kariakoo uttered something in welcoming Salim.

“For the the  health of Saliiiiiim –”

“Cheers”

“He was lost and now he is found”

“cheeeers!”

“For his houses of stones turned ashes –”

“Cheeeers!”

“For the many healthy children he has sired –”

“Cheeeers!”

“For the many years ahead of him –”

“Cheeeers”

“And many women –”

“Cheeeers!”

“And many children –”

“Cheeeers!”

“And riu maundu macio maingi biiiiiiiiiiiu!”

“Cheeeeeeeeeeers!”

Beyond what you can see and touch

“Guys, you mean – “

“Thina waku nikii, whether we are or we are not? Ndugatureherere!”

“Kariakoo, have you forgotten that I am the chairman, the Most Senior Gossiper?”

“So –“

“So you respect the chair,” I was very bitter. I added, “One of these days, you will have your face deformed if you don’t control that mouth of yours Kariakoo.”

“Eheeeee! Ehe! Ehe! Not tomorrow,” he disentangled himself from a girl, likely the age of his last daughter – if he has any, as he claims – ready to cause mayhem. Placing a bottle top on the back his hand, he barked “tharia njata!”

“We know you can’t fight, or rather win a fight. Instead of embarrassing yourself, just warm your chair. Furthermore you are too old for such a ‘boyish-game’.” Marianna advised Kariakoo.

“Whom are you calling old?” he went back to his ‘fiancée’ and with concern asked the girl “swiry heart, am I not young? Ndi-i-i-i- mukuru? No anga ndi ndi ndi na mbui my d-d-d-dear?”

“How old are you Karias?” Siddie asked

“Count emergency, nineteen fifty t-t-t-two-o-o, miaka igana iyo?”

“Kariakoo, now we know. You are truly young –“Joshua said.

“At heart though –“Professor concluded.

I decided to mind my own business at a strategic distance away from the drunkards of the county’s circle, for a while. It did not require a nuclear physicist to hammer the naked reality to my medulla oblongata that I was the odd one out. The circle comprised of love birds only – two by two. God knows what Marianna – the celebrated town nurse was doing with Joshua. I will not dwell on the particulars here (for some reasons).If the manner in which  Siddie and Professor held each other is to be interpreted as ‘feelings’, no wonder Professors’ First Lady is well known in the village and beyond as ‘the woman of tantrums’ – always complaining openly about his unfaithful husband. On the other side, Kariakoo had decided, as he could, to please his queen (All the ladies that Kariakoo has been intimate with can form a trade union if they were to come together, as far as I know and heard). He held her by the waist line gently. In turn, she placed her hands upon his chest and looked direct into his eyes (I know Kariakoo will never admit that his eyes betrayed the fact that he was shy, but no problem).Mwendwa Lucy lyric started to play. Holding each others’ hands and in a slow movement, they made two steps to the left then two to the right before concluding the pattern with a classic semi rotation that climaxed by the girl resting on Kariakoo’s  hands as if saying ‘please do it again’. They repeated this pattern several times. Other patrons in Thirsty Throats Pub cheered the duo as they continued with their theatrics. The lyric began all over again:

Nawe mwendwa Lucy

Andu makwendete

ugithii na njira Lucy

mendaga o makwone

Magego na maitho maku

No ta njata utuku

Naguo uthiu waku ukengaga

Ta ime ria ruci-ini ……

“Cheers county drunkards…..”An overwhelmed Professor took to the floor holding Siddie by the shoulder. Siddie did not resist. He continued “Hei! Stereo-sound coagulator, give us a doooose of another track!”

“DJ iiiiiiii......” from the extreme end of the table emanated the voice of a drunkard Joshua.

“DJ aaaa…..” a shrill voice responded. It belonged to Marianna.

“Give us one of William’s or Roger’ pleeeeeease….” Professor insisted. The other bar attendant did not embarrass. For Professor’s sake – and other patrons who too were on the dance-floor – she played Don William’s “You're My Best Friend": 

You placed gold on my finger
You brought love like I've never known
You gave life to our children
And to me a reason to go on.

You're my bread when I'm hungry
You're my shelter from troubled winds
You're my anchor in life's ocean
But most of all you're my best friend…..

As the crescendos and the diminuendos of William continued, Kariakoo made many fragmented remarks. This remark was the most unique one: “utari na wake ni arie muringa wa nyina” it was clear whom he targeted with the missile. To say the least, it was a hurting remark.

I was capable of joining the dancing troupe but I chose not to. It is said (or is it ‘it is written’?) that when you are in Rome do as Romans do; that cliché did not apply in my circumstance fully among the drunkards. If you go to a mental hospital and find that all the patients are hard-hitting the metal grills with their foreheads, do you also expose yours to a similar excruciating pain in order to ‘fit in’? Well, there are those who would proudly say ‘yes’ to avoid being ostracized by the members of their social group. Some would not. I did not. Instead I decided to take a seat at the farthest table from the hysterical drunkards-turned-dancers.

“Decorate this place with seven bottles of the strongest concoction” I requested the lady-In-Red (Though she had worn nothing that could be described as reddish on that day as far a those  attires in public domain were concerned –  you know there are other ‘small’ but vital wears which I am deliberately avoiding to comment about here, don’t you?). After serving my order, she turned to leave, yet I needed her companionship.

 “You don’t have to run away from me dear, welcome for drinks”

“Thanks!” She replied “A moment please” she left. This was not the first time she had used that phrase. Many a times she had excused herself by repeating the same phrase ‘a moment please’ never to come back again. The fact of a lonely evening in a place full of people was gradually becoming a reality. She could be seen chatting with her colleague. It dawned on me that somehow gods of fate had found a soft spot on me. They had decided to psychologically terrorize me.

“How the hell did I come to this place today?” “Lord have I sinned against you?” “If you can hear me, great grandfathers from the silence of your cold graves, tell me whether you too did not brew and drink the brew? Tell me!” “If it is not your will that I am here my dear guardian angel, then show me where I belong?” I would have continued with this self-aggrandizing nonsense, blaming every blue sky and every wild beast for my fate had the Lady-In-Red not taken a seat close to mine.

“At last you’ve come, welcome once again” I emptied the content of one bottle into one of the glasses and handed it over to her. “Eeeemm Msoo, You are Msoo…. She is also Msoo….Ahem! How is that dear? (I avoided the ‘The-Lady-in-Red’ name tag as I could though it was synonymous with me. This was a more serious moment calling for some decorum by dropping some prejudicial names. Thanks to my brain. How the name Msoo came to my mind, only God knows)

“I am Msoo senior, having arrived here ahead of her while she is Msoo junior.”

“Oh! I get it. In short you are the pioneer, so to say?”

“That’s it.”

“Wonderful! From now on I will be referring to you as Pioneer”

“As you like it,” in a relaxed posture she said as she continued to take the concoction, bit by bit.

“I am their Chairman only that at times they rebel as you can see. They call me Senior Gossiper.”I continued, “In this caucus we keep neither records nor minutes; everything is written in the heart. Ok, Pioneer, before you landed here, you were working where?”

“Ha! Ha! Ha! Pioneer! Anyway, it’s a one long story –”

“I don’t mind even if it takes the whole night to narrate. I will listen to every turn of event. “I interrupted.

“And not very appealing” she asserted.

“I have listened to narratives where men – normal men – have butchered other men and feasted on their kidneys and pancreases. Is your story more bizarre than that?” I teased her.

“Ha! Ha! Ha! Noooooo! No! No! Not like that” she claimed. “It’s like this SG. As a little girl, I harbored dreams, big dreams, just like any other up-country innocent young girl. I would dream of a future as a successful woman in a virtuous country; a country that values justice and peace. I remember how (as a young girl) I felt whenever I had an opportunity in the morning  to watch the sun as it struggled to break-free from the bondage of the sky, to brightly shine  illuminating a beautiful stream of bright yellow rays; Oh! Such resilience!  I saw my success mystified in those rays. You can imagine how I felt whenever I saw it being re-captured by inconsiderate clouds on the other side, not to be seen again for quite a number of hours.

“No, I can’t imagine but please tell it to me,” I did not know how to participate well in this narrative. I kept nodding the head in agreement, at times facing her at times facing the table. She went on.

“That was more than 20 yeas ago when they used to call me Stella the Star. Fast forward to today….Ahm!...” She paused. Her memory had opened a sore wound. I looked at her as if urging her to go on. Despite a strong inner voice that urged me to say a word, I ended up saying nothing. She looked at me. I looked at her. 

“A moment Please,” she left. I looked at her as she joined Msoo junior to serve the patrons. A communion song which was sung last Sunday by Saint Bakhita Catholic Church Choir pre-occupied my mind:

(Mioyoni mwetu tumebeba makuu

Mungu mwenyewe ndiye anayejua)

Mioyoni mwetu tumebeba makuu

Mungu mwenyewe ndiye anayejua)

(Tumwite Yesu Taa inayong’aa

Ataleta upendo na raha tele)

Tumwite Yesu Taa inayong’aa

Ataleta upendo na raha tele

I have made a personal choice; to stick to my own gossiping career

When I said “Yes” to Siddie’s polite request (it is always polite, I don’t know why) I had not anticipated the dangerous dungeon I had started to dig for myself. “Do you mind managing it tomorrow on my behalf since I will be attending the burial of Ciku – my primary school friend?” Siddie prodded me.

“So you want me to supervise your Tamu Tamu Hotel, while you will be away?

“Exactly!” an exhilarated Siddie replied.

Most residents in Thirsty Throats environs must have wondered what prompted the Senior Gossiper to wake up such early particularly on a Thursday. Many people who know me well will tell you that the earliest I can pretend to rise up from the bed; especially on a Thursday is 11:05 a.m. unless lunch is shifted to 9:10a.m .without prior consultation when I can rise up, earliest at 8:50am. Being at Tamu Tamu Hotel at 6:47 a.m. on Thursday last week was a great sacrifice. I hope God will remember this act of charity during the judgment day and reward me with eternal life.

As an amateur (though I must confess that I had zero experience to anything relating to selling food, or tea or customer relations or balancing accounts) I put on Siddie’s white apron and took full control of the hotel.

“You cannot over flow your plate with customers’ food,” I barked at one kitchen 'proprietor'. He was a young man barely 19 years; 5 foot tall – a form two drop out, as I learnt later. “You think I will allow your greed to destroy this business?” I added. His fellow cooks – two men and two ladies looked at me questioningly wondering whom I felt I was to give orders. “Madaraka ma muthenya umwe nimo maratuma wambarare?” a bald headed man – the oldest of them all, groaned from a corner. I went closer to him. He too was feasting.  On his left hand, he held two chapattis rolled together for ease of grip. Beside him was a plate full of goat intestines, meat eaters call them ‘matumbo’. “We have been eating long before you were born” he added as a mater of fact. My presence did not deter them in any way. The thought of those cooks descending on me with those kitchen knives sent a cold chill down my spine.  Stories of women pouring hot water on their husbands while they are asleep worsened my circumstance upon seeing a karai half full of boiling deep- frying oil. “What if my face is splashed with it?” No, I had to leave but not without issuing an ultimatum. “Get me clear people” I was very serious “anybody else harboring similar appetite will definitely face a pay cut at the end of the day. Be warned!” No one dared to utter anything in resistance.

By 10:46 a.m. I had started to wonder how Siddie sustains the business rating with the type of customers that had already come and left. Most of them were men – 50 years and above – some buying only one glass of Chai and others only one andazi; Very few bought both products simultaneously. One man particularly had warmed one of the hotel’s chair since 9:12 a.m. and had bought nothing so far. He was just holding a 1997 Taifa Leo pull out page, and only God knows why. Although Siddie seem to have forgotten to inscribe the warning “NO IDLERS!” at a strategic place on the wall, I thought of dragging the idling man out of the facility; his sight was pathetic and nauseating at the same time. I did not. I opted to be more patient with him. Meanwhile, to fight boredom, I chose to re-study the menu.

Tamu Tamu Menu 2015

Chai glass – Kshs 10/=
Chai kikombe kubwa – Kshs 15/=

Maziwa – kshs 15/=

Uji – kshs 15/=

Andazi – kshs 10/=

Chapati – kshs 20/=

Ugali plain – kshs 20/=

Mandondo plain – kshs 30/=

Mix plain – kshs 30/=

Mix Chapo – Kshs 50/=

Mix Ugali – kshs 50/=

Githeri – kshs 40/=

God Bless!

By 12 noon a different clique of customers had started to stream in. some minutes to 1 p.m. the facility was already resembling a chaotic congregation in a church demanding an immediate resignation of their immoral pastor. Some were standing and some were seated. Everyone wanted to be heard: “Siddie leta Surwa pande hii” “Aaa Mrembo hayuko leo!” “uratua cumbi niwaku wika , nengereria uria uhaana ta Mundu uriaga maratathi!” “Wee, Salome, githi ndiitirie mix na kachumbari?” “aaaa! Nikiii?” it was overwhelming to attend to these customers. The road to madness begins by working in the midst of such rowdy customers. I counted Siddie among the strong people for being able to live in the midst of such people and not loosing her mind. If noise during feasting was disastrous, then what followed was catastrophic.

Having feasted to their fullest after emptying two sufurias of mandondo and one sufuria of cabbages, they started to vacate one after the other without paying. First, I thought my eyes were playing some tricks on me. No, they were not. I had to act expeditiously; otherwise Siddie would curse me for misappropriating her hotel. I jumped on one man and held him by the collar.” You are going nowhere. You either settle their debt (I did not have to explain to him whose debt; he too had witnessed the illegal exodus.) or suffer a jail term!” I threatened him.

“Ndekia! Leave me alone!”

“You know not what you ask for my friend”

“I am not your friend,” he lamented. His effort to flee himself was in vain. The kitchen battalion came and rescued him after one – Susanna – attempted to explain to me the anomalous behavior of Tamu Tamu Hotel food eaters. The allure and merriment of being a one day CEO was slowly fading away. I had not anticipated this. I will forever remain indebted to Susanna – Siddie’s personal assistant – for her astuteness. Little did I know that she was in control of the situation.

“They are stone house builders” I was very attentive as she described the customers . “We provide them with lunch on credit. They all make cumulative cash payments on Saturday evening when they happen to be paid.” She continued in a very confident tone, “I take account of every plate that leaves the kitchen as well as the account of every ‘Pay- Later- As- You- Eat –Now’ customer. Siddie has entrusted me to do this.” Guilt and shame threatened to crush me  but I silently beseeched the God of Israel not to let that happen. “This is the record of their expenses today,” she concluded. I pretended to survey it. The record was clean and clear. It was prepared in a legible smart handwriting. I admired it. Recalling the morning incidence, I felt the need to go down on my knees and beg her forgiveness. I handed her back the ‘book of lunch-hour life’. Facing Susanna (though I must admit that I tried to avoid any eye contact with her) I saw a relaxed and a non-judgmental bright face. Looking at her again, she smiled and went back to the kitchen.