Stories from the banking hall

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  People out here are angry, really angry. I know this is no way to start a story, but relax it's heading somewhere, I promise. It's a chilly morning and I'm at a bank waiting for my turn to be served, service yao ilikuwa imeanza kusumbua from Monday, but hey, that's a story for another time. I could feel like I was a bit out of place, you know? because the last time I remember I was in a bank was many years ago, when I was on campus, paying for my fees. Mzazi aliniamia bana, alijua ningepata guts, temptations za kukula fee ingekam, ningejua venye ningeilipa. So where was I?  Oh yes, there is this guy who is seated like 2 or three seats away from me, bigger and older than me from the looks of it, looks like a business man, or in lay man terms jamaa wa madeals. After a few minutes waiting, he starts getting impatient, and frustrated so he starts complaining, why is the service taking so long, can't they go a little faster, and so on and so forth.  I'm seated ther...

Nyama!


This days, I don't eat meat, be it red, white, or multi colored like an army's gear. 


Reason why? 




Let me take you a few years back. I used to live at Naivas by then, a common hustler in that lakeside estate called Kihoto, kwa mukorino mwisho. Living in a single mabati apartment room posh enough to have a cemented floor. 

When I say hustler, I mean hustler or rather what Mbusii says, “sufferer”. There are people who came through massively for me in my life a lot like Mama Njoki. Mama Njoki had certain a “Villa Rosa Kempinski” kibandaski, near the stage offering, and serving all types of meals. 

At Mama Njoki's place you could even have a pizza if you fancied. 


Let's chill on that for a moment.


Back to the main story, I was a life member at Mama Njoki's, meaning it's where I took all of my meals. I could eat, without a coin to my name because I was trusted.


You are wondering how I pulled it off, 

aren't you?


We used to supply the place with assorted foodstuffs managu (African nightshade) grown in dirty water to roadkill to chicken that had died mysteriously on farms, and that is where my story comes in. 


Aaaah, 

kitanzi sasa!


It was one morning, I was going out there looking for a hustle, until the devil decided to give me an escort. I had left the warm embrace of my blanket and bed early in the morning to try my luck out in the streets.

I was on a two wheeled cycling chopper from a certain friend of mine from Bungoma. My first stop was straight to the “Villa Rosa” 


“Kata katia mimi masikio ng'ombe, 

na uweke stew.”


(Apologies for using a scientific name, what it means is cut for me a few local mandazi made from wheat grinded at a local posho mill, and add some soup.) 


Too bad for me, the meat supplier had delayed, so I had to make due and eat ma capsules (beans) or in layman's terms madondo. I hurriedly ate my breakfast, and hopped on my chopper. You would have seen me, morale up there, it's on the 10th floor. 

From the way I was cycling, you could have felt the power of Mama Njoki. From town, I took the Mai Mahiu road, just right before kwa Fai Amario, I changed route and took south lake road towards Oserian. A few metres ahead of me, I saw black and white stripes. A zebra had stretched out besides the road. 

I said the Lord's prayer and 

the grace combined.

Comments

  1. I used to think these stories about sukuma ya Nairobi being grown on sewerage ni story za jaba until you confirmed everything ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚ I thought it was a fragment of my imagination kumbe it was true ๐Ÿ™‚na vile zilikua green vizuri

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  2. What did you do to my dead donkey? ๐Ÿคฃ๐Ÿคฃ

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  3. Now I wanna know what you did to that zebra๐Ÿ˜‚

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  4. ๐Ÿ˜†๐Ÿ˜†Nyama, nyama, nyama! Ya Zebra?! Nyama!

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  5. Wee kwani iyo zebra ulifanyaje kwa njia ๐Ÿ˜น๐Ÿ˜น

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    Replies
    1. Find out in the continuation that has dropped today.

      Delete

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Is a pleasure to keep you as my reader entertained. Peace✌️