eggshell of an easter

March 27, 2008 at 11:53 am | Posted in life | 6 Comments

In the hood, anything can happen, anytime.
The remedy is not being on with UAP insurance. Ama having the hotline to the fire brigade, ambulance or police on speed dial.
The roads are impassible, ngachifo anakusaka/ you are in bad books with the local Chief.
My verdict? You need to hustle for survival. By fight or flight.
Well, this Thursday, I woke up in relatively good moods.
No school, no bus to catch, hoped I’d bump into a great bash around.
I was reading from a different script.
The devil had his and apparently, he made past the auditions of fate.
I had purposed to collect some parcel left for me by this lecturer, an appreciation of this talk I gave at her class.
So I pulled my lazy self out of bed, got ready and as the warm Easter sun greeted me, I decided to check on my boy K_ before heading to town.
Wrong decision.
Ok not until amidst our banter on the rooftop of their Esto, this buddy of ours stormed between us screaming obscenities and some mumbles to the effect: “we tumezoena sasa…”
I thought it was some joke or something and even so, I assumed he had directed it at K_.
Dude! Before I knew it, msee alikuwa juu yangu, mangumi ka fifte ivi kwa kichwa…
Instinct fight back took charge and for what I knew not, I gave him a share of my numbed mind.
Before K_ came in between, to Annan-ify the ‘crisis’ all of us looked like chicken, brutally thrown off from a Kachmega bound bus.
Ruffled. Enraged. Hurt. Paining.
I was still in a pandemonium when he finally tried to explain himself.
“ huyu msee ameshow Mwikali ati mi ni hussla, na huyo malaya akatusi mathangu….”
He breathed heavily, smoke literally coming out of his ears.
“Nani??” I was speechless. Ok, at least that was the weak word I could manage to let out.
A cloudy thought of upheaval, amusement descended on my throbbing head.
The next attempt to raise my voice was stopped on its tracks…I could actually spot my upper LIP!
Whadhafaaaak I touched it and yes…it was a watermelon.
When guys were rounding her undercover and slander spread, it was fun.
Now that someone had earned Jay Z lips, it was going to be damn hilarious, I prophesied.
BUT what had I done?
It came to me in different forms, discordant thoughts hitting my thought chambers…
…pesa siasa pombe na wanawake…zinafanya wanaume wauane..
“MWIKALI?”
K_ was not shocked, even as he restrained the wounded tiger.
Boyo, haha, I thought you were honorable, straight forward, son of a preacher?
Mwikali for your NOVICES is this over-24 kao in the hood whom every thirsty dude been quenching with.
“I will never open my legs till an engagement ring is slid down my finger,” she told me.
We happened to meet in this local and even when I laughed at it, I knew some LOSER around who owed his virginity to hers truly.
In a nut shell, Potash Poetry (Ghettolivitiy-Kwani? 04) summarizes her better
“…But Bobo (insert Mwiks) has no time to marvel
Tayari ameona ya Musa, Firauni labda hata ya Yesu
She just scratches her crotch and wait for the next,
The line is seven deep…”

“ mi nitakumada walahi wewe..” he was now speaking in capital letters.
For chrissake, this was all rocket science to me…and even as I took Herculean efforts to explain, deep inside, the DIFFERENCE I have been craving for my life began to eat at me.
Note, I dint say CHANGE. Different problems, different hood, different lifestyle?
I can’t handle the heat of the hood? You dead wrong.
Eventually, when the flair cooled it turned out Mwiks alikuwa anagonaganisha ma-mboy vichwa/ Mwiks was gonganishaing the heads of boys haha/
And I was in the mix.
Crestfallen, this ex-buddy said ‘sorry for the trouble’ and I accepted it, halfheartedly.
Makosa ilikuwa imeshafanyika/ the damage was already done. I was innocent, very.
Despite the bad start, I dragged my rugged ass and different enough, the thingy turned out to be a voucher to this coffee house.
“KAWAIDA!” I’d have wanted to shout, but hey this was Java not my kawa Jenga mwili.
The attitude was different, menu unreadable faces (mostly) white.

I smothered the split lip with my thirsty tongue and with red eyes encased in a long smooth face I knew what I wanted- like always, when I see it.

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6 Comments »

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  1. eis pole msee, a bad case of ‘being put for’. and that ‘pal’ of yours who was talking in CAPS (kidogo useme times roman bold) just came guns blazing…hataki kujua story kwanza…boss!

    ahaa, even you you chill on rooftops? used to, was bliss nakuambia.

  2. damn! sorry about the fat lip man.

  3. Modo, LOL at being put for.

  4. Pole, but which hood is that? Scared I might lease a flat and Mwiks and K be maneighbour.

  5. Ati Jay z lips ha ha!!Ur hood has drama…

  6. […] try to stop an elephant with a walking stick and just let it be – and wait to be creamed? Last year, the same time, i was creamed into neat pulp for reasons i won’t tell. Now, on this good Moan-day, i open my […]


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