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Mteja 2

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Let's rewind to 1:00 PM when she had texted:   “Souley,  go to this place in Ngara,  ask for a guy called Musyoka.  He has the samples.  Just call me when you get there,  I’ll guide you.” Simple, right?  Now it’s 2:44. I’m here. I’ve found Musyoka. He’s chewing miraa, eyeing me like I’m slowing down his evening high.   “Oyaa,  niko na samples.  Si useme venye madam alisema.  Ni hizi ama zile?” I freeze. I don’t know. I was told to wait for her instructions. I try to call her again. Mteja. I text. Double tick. No blue. I even WhatsApp call her, desperate moves, you know? Musyoka is now shifting his weight like a man about to disappear. I try calling her again, muttering under my breath,  “This woman will be the end of me.” Then the rain starts. Nairobi rain doesn’t fall, it attacks. Boda guys scatter, hawkers scramble to save their goods, and I’m there, hunched under a mabati shade, holding a phone that won't ring, wit...
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In my prime.

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           Kuna hizi silhouettes za a popular figure zimekuwa zikinimaliza ajab, plus story ya Baltazar Engonga ikatokea, that legend, singlehandedly putting his country on the map. The last time I heard anything concerning that country was many years ago, when I was in primary. Kidogo nisahau kuwawekea story mfurahie.  Anyway, nilikuwa nimejipata nimepitia thread ya “in my prime” kwa social media, sikumbuki kama ni TikTok ama Twitter, a few days prior ndio nikakumbuka hii story, after kushangazwa na revelations za watu, particularly, what people's daughters did in their prime. I had an ordeal in the hands of my own mother twenty-five years ago that I have failed to forget. Back in the day kuna wale wazee walikua wakizunguka vitongoji duni wakinunua "chupa na debe" n old stainless steel sufurias. The pioneers of Mari kwa Mari, or old skull Mari kwa Mari.  (For context and for those who don't know,  Mari kwa Mari  are people who go aroun...
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