Hawkers jameni!

 I no longer trust hawkers.

Flashback

Two years ago I bought a black tie from a hawker in town, at night, only to find out the next morning that it was a green high school tie with a school emblem stamped in black ink and a name Brian written at its base. Brian must have been a form one student. 

I should have learnt my lesson, 

but that 

is a story for another day.

I left work early , for Easter, and took a matatu straight home. I found my wife seated on the patio, weeping. Upon inquiry, she told me that our daughter had hit our T.V with a serving spoon and broke the screen.

The T.V 

is one of those cathode tube ray T.V’s 

(the ones with huge backs)

I love my T.V. and my wife knows it. I can kill for it. My love hierarchy is; T.V, daughter, parents, wife, other things follow. I guessed she (wife) must have broken it and blamed my princess. On Friday I decided to take the T.V to Luthuli Avenue in the CBD to have the screen replaced since I planned to keep myself busy watching movies the whole weekend. 

Being a long weekend, as my norm, I wore baggy cotton shorts, commando (without underpants). Walking commando gives me a nice feeling of freedom and fresh air circulation to my Mbaruki terminal. 

I carried the t.v and left.I  took a Star bus (the yellow buses you see at Odeon) to town, took a seat next to a window and placed the T.V on my lap. At Museum hill, the driver exited Waiyaki Way unto forest road (now Wangari Mathai road) down to the Limuru road overpass. 

For anyone familiar with this route, right before you take the overpass, there are five speed bumps that hawkers, taking advantage of the slowing vehicles, hawk their paraphernalia; sweets, USB chargers, power banks etc. 

One of the hawkers ran towards the bus with a bunch of brown sticks tied into a bundle. I have seen several Somalis chewing on sticks that they use as toothbrushes and frankly most of them have sparkling teeth. I have spotted a few Masais and Indians as well. 

I have always wondered where they bought or got them from. Seated next to me was a young boy, about 20 years of age, with big ass headphones and a Mohawk, looking like he knew everything. I tapped his shoulder,

“Hi stranger, how are you?”

“I am okay,”

“Aren’t these sticks, used for brushing teeth?” 

I asked Mohawk, pointing at the hawker with sticks.

“I am not sure, 

but,

I think they are.” 

He answered. I slid the window open and beckoned the hawker

“Hizi ni zile vijiti 

za 

kubrush?” 

I asked, making an impression with one hand brushing my teeth. Later, thinking about it, I guess he must have thought I meant a blow job (the hand movement when signaling a blowjob resembles that of brushing teeth)

“Ndio mkubwa,” 

he said, smiling wickedly, 

“Unataka ngapi?”

“Unauza how much?”

 

I asked.

“100 shillings.”