Letstoriesunfold ™

You may or may not believe it, but I used to work in one of the big bus companies for long distance travel in Kenya as a conductor. The two drivers I used to work with, one was called Nduki Moto Makopolo and the other driver was Kata Funua Macharia and our route was from Meru to Mombasa and vice versa. It was a day like any other, but on this particular day, we bought our daily dose of mgox (mgox is what we used to call Mogoka) from the wrong guy. Huyu alikuwa anakaa elchapo flani sababu he would tell us tunaweza hata nusa hio mgox na stimu zitapanda.  I assumed that perhaps, it was the normal salesman hype lakini  WUEH! By 1900 hrs tulikuwa Embu. After kuchukua abiria wa Embu, safari ikaanza fiti, tukasema sherehe ianze. Our cockpit was one of its kind, sema kaportable mid speaker with bass abilities, madere wanaelewa. We switched off the passenger’s speakers and the one that was left was our “mziki” speaker. Nduki Moto had this flash disk that had everything hadi national an...

           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...

This is a continuation from  Hawker Jameni III            Why would they place such important things so distant from one another? I wondered. I ran up the next flight of stairs, knocking down a couple of mannequins. After asking yet another attendant, she pointed to the changing booths at the far end of the floor.  I limped into the changing room and shut the door. I quickly chucked the shorts and stretched one rubber band, slid one foot into it and rolled it up to my thigh. I then tucked my homo erectus and held it against one thigh with the band.  The bands were quite small and tight, the poor quality has a low elasticity so I added another one and walked out, like a normal human being – relieved- albeit with a slight limp. The bands were a little tight and uncomfortable but they were better than a dangling deek in public. I was so relieved that as I walked down the stairs, I confidently saluted an attendant who was redressing the mannequin...

From the creator of 👻Booo👻 , Wanjiru the Storyteller, & Letstoriesunfold bring you the continuation. Normally, how I walk to my place after work is the same as how someone pressed to use the washroom moves. That evening, I kid you not, I walked all the way to my place with a bounce in my step, and giddy like a six-year-old girl. The way I waited, even after drying off, freshening up, in pajamas munching on something to quiet the hunger pangs. There was no text, not even a missed call in the morning even after dozing off on the bed with the phone in my hand waiting. The crazy part about adulting is that you do not have time to brood over such things.  Preparing and going to work while thoughts were turning in my head on what I had done, or not done, to scare him away. The day dragged itself slowly, time slowly ticking towards the end of my shift. I had accepted what I saw as reality, that it was, what it was. Coming to terms with it, as they say.  Let me tell you, no wors...

   👻 booo! 👻 Ghafla bin vuu,  mvua When boarding this matatu, the tout said to me sweetly  “mrembo, wee kaa starehe hapa kwa kiti yangu, nitakaa mbele.” I think, oh well, why not, how kind sir. I shut my umbrella and get in and he closes the door, again and I think, how chivalrous. Little by little, water starts trickling and then pours on my left side, and now I think, how cunning. The lady infront of me has her umbrella strategically placed to cover her left leg. There's a drenched gentleman at the back who's been yelling profanities I cannot say. Do I say, when it rains it pours.  As the memory played in my head, I realized your life can change in a snap, like Nairobi weather.  Here I was, past the talking stage, in the we doing this stage in a relationship with someone's son. Who I couldn't have met if it wasn't for the cards that had been played by fate that day, the tout offering me his seat, me being drenched by the water trickling in little by li...

Under the TV I adorned the biggest boner I have ever seen. It looked like it was supporting the tv on its own, trying to rip off the shorts. Since I was a commando with baggy shorts, it protruded and looked like Pinocchio’s nose after telling several lies. It stood like a jousting lance. Shit!  I froze.  I pressed my thighs together, trying to hold the dingdong back in vain. Shit! What should I do? I panicked and almost threw the TV down.  (I might have dropped it,  but,  with my sperminator  at that angle  it could never have fallen down)  Mohawk had walked two steps ahead of me. He stopped, looked back and asked “Buddy, what is wrong?” “Kuna shida, njoo kidogo,”  When he came near I whispered,  “I have an erection.” He looked beneath the TV and then looked at me, while holding his laughter, he whispered,   “It looks like a rhino’s horn,  it looks angry too,”  After laughing for a while he added,  “I actually have a ...

I looked at Mohawk and asked him if he wanted one. He nodded. I told the hawker I would take two at Kes 100. The bus was on its last bump as the hawker reluctantly agreed and took the money. I gave Mohawk one stick as I tried to figure out how to start chewing the toothbrush.  The stick had a thick bark that I tried peeling off but I soon realized I might be doing it wrong. Mohawk had already started chewing on his, so I just followed suit. He looked at the TV and asked, “What happened to the TV?” “It fell and the screen cracked,” “Pole,  I know an electronics fundi along Luthuli Avenue.  A very  trustworthy fellow  I could hook you up  if you are interested.” “That is exactly what I need,  would you mind taking me to him?” “No problem buddy.” We chewed and brushed while making small talk like old pals until the bus reached its destination at the Odeon cinema about an hour later. We alighted as I carried the TV with the screen resting on my tummy while...

 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 m...

This is a continuation f rom  the first part of   Nyama Enjoy. I parked my chopper and went over to check the carcass. I found it was still oozing warm blood, then I quickly scanned the area and found that it was clear, not a car in sight for miles. I was still scratching my head, thinking about what to do, when I saw Jakofu.  He lived a stone's throw to where I was. He was herding a caucasian's goats when I whistled to alert him. He knew what was up because he came with a major (hunter's knife). The moment Jakofu came, we moved to where the Zebra's carcass was and started to quickly divide up the meat.  I even got a gunia to carry the meat in. I thought to myself, today at Mama Njoki's place there will be an invigorating aroma that will make people's mouths water. I also knew that my hands would be fortunate to caress some notes and coins for my thoughtfulness.  The day was promising to be a success. Jakofu helped me to load my luggage onto the bike, and I left...

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 foodstuf...

The following proceedings occurred when Anko Ice was still a bachelor and reckless. Any attempt to refer to this against Anko Ice in the future shall be construed as a declaration of hostilities and shall be met with the vilest kao remote-controlled magic if you know what I mean. Man must eat, and therefore, man must work. Anko finds himself in Tongaren, Bungoma, with two of his other buddies. We did our work, and after finishing what had brought us to Tongaren, Bungoma, and receiving our dues, we decided it was time to venture out and explore and experience “vitu za huku” .  We ended up in a pub that looked like it had seen better days. It had a sound system or as the locals called it “retio” with the worst sound quality you have ever heard, blaring out Lingala like whoever was singing was being strangled mercilessly, or as the layman would put it,  (alikuwa anaimba ni kama anapigwa ngeta) After a hearty meal of brown ugali and chicken with some mrenda, we started downing the...