Those who have killed will tell you it’s not easy. It wrecks
your heart and chips away at your fragile soul. The last moments though, as
life creeps out of your nemesis, are ones to live for. I have always wanted to
sit with men who have taken lives. I peek in their eyes as they tell what
really happened.
Did they feel something as the life rushed out of him? Given
an opportunity, would they kill again? Do they think they will go to heaven or
hell awaits them? Does fire and brimstone scare them or taking a life is worth
all infernos in the underworld? Men who’ve killed, do they even smile? Or their
nature doesn’t allow them to. All they do is seat in silence as ghosts burn up
their conscience? Or they have a clean mind? And should the chance present
itself, they would kill again?
Sometime back, I got an opportunity to hold court with three
men who had broken the commandment on life. Men who’d painted the ground with
blood from creations of God. If you’re wondering how I could have the courage
to be with such people. Well, I am a killer in the first place. Don’t be fooled
with this blog and think that I am doing some service to the society.
You’ve
been reading murderous literature. What do you think of the new-found
realization that you’ve been reading stuff from a killer? Will you stop
reading? Will you still recommend it to your friends or you will block me on
social media? You will never want to see the stuff I post, I will cease growing
as a writer and I will most likely collapse from depression. Will that make you
happy? That guy whose been running a killer blog is dead. Tit for tat isn’t
that bad after all. I mean, the holy book says that an eye for an eye.
But again, go slow with the judgmental thoughts about me,
you reading this, are a killer too.
Aiii, don’t act shocked sweetheart, I am
cock sure that you have taken a life, and if you’ve not, then your father did
and you’ll pay for that. If you’re thinking that all I am saying is bullcrap,
just wait for judgement day. Sins of your ancestors will haunt you and when
you think you’re going to heaven, God will pull the plug.
“Manyara! I said you’re going to hell, why are you trying to
squeeze yourself in the heaven brigade.”
“But God, I was a good person, I always served you. I never
missed service, I paid tithe with notes only.”
Angel Gabriel, who I think is the prefect on duty in heaven
will thunder at you.
“You think you can bribe us with some notes. Damn humans!
That stuff went to your pastors. In any case, this is why you are going to
hell."
Manyara will move closer and God will bombard him with
readings from the book of life.
“In your life, you slaughtered hens more than one hundred
times. That’s equal to a capital offence you know. Your soul will burn up in
hell for good."
Manyara, the argumentative bastard he is, negro will try to
reason with God.
“Seriously holy father, you can’t be doing this to me. In Genesis
you said that I give you birds for food. Why are turning on me God?? (Here
Manyara would have started sobbing) Why Lord? If you’re judging me for the
chicken I slaughtered and I am a kale, what about luhyas? More so Wafula?”
God will thunder on.
“There’s no hope for Wafula, and all Lunje people, those
people massacred my creations without giving a shit. They are going to pay,
trust me, they are going to pay. All of them.”
Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! Accept it gang. it’s a tough pun, but think
of it. All Lunje guys being paraded to hell because of the inhumane way of
slaughtering chicken. And while toasting in the fire of fires, Nafula argues
with Wafula.
“Aiii pwana! Findu
fichenjanga kweli kweli.”
“Hii moto ni hatari
pwana, angalau si mungu apunguzeko kiasi tu. Chehovah, listen to our cry
please.”
But God will have moved to attend to other matters and our
Lunje heroes will burn up as the rest of us sing songs of victory in heaven.
Waah! Look at how I have digressed, back to the story now.
Around mid-year, I was in my aunt’s place at Ngong preparing
to join campus. I like Ngong, its dull weather, there are times it reads 11
Celsius in the morning. It gives me that ka “abroad feeling”, I harbor dreams
of flying to the Americas one time. One, to publish a book, though I can’t
assure you that it will come to pass. Two, to hunt down my number one crush,
Nicki Minaj. Enemies of development will say that I am crazy, that I have lost
focus in life but dreams are dreams. And Nicki Minaj is right on top of that. I
mean which lady trumps her. I know you will say that it’s all fake and rubber
but I don’t give a damn. I have a crush on Minaj, and I have to let it out
really. It has been stewing in me since she released “high school” and Nicki if
you’re reading, then know that I am yours. Stop rolling with those freaking
rappers, all they will do is use you and dump you. We writers are the real
deal, I’ll give you pure bliss for as long as you live my lady.
I am scheming through my phone, basically minding my own
business and guess who is calling? Sareto, my chief wingman in this town. See,
we normally don’t plan this shit but I go to some place and somehow, chief is
always in the vicinity. Apparently on that day, his cousins from abroad were around,
he asks me to join them for a small thingamajig on the streets of Ngong. Our first port of call, Milele mall.
There’s this chicken inn joint and those guys serve epic
chicken. Such chicken must have died while in jovial moods. Or how can you
explain it? They are chicken which must have been pampered all through their
lives. They had been allowed to live free. When adolescence came calling, they
were allowed to have crushes and have their first kisses. Thus, when the hangman
showed up, they were ready to die, they offered themselves freely. Drop in
there sometime, the fries are so good that might you believe in humanity
again.
Anyway, Sareto’s cuzos from abroad were cool people. They
did not act like they were here to save us from some holocaust. Deep down they
knew that they were Kenyans. And not for once did they act up like some negros
from Atlanta.
“Yoh! What up my guy!
What do you mean that we can’t pay in dollars.” (nigga accent)
“This is so fucked up
man! They don’t even accept visa. This Africans are so behind man!”
“Where’s Starbucks??
They don’t even have Starbucks. We really need to go back home.”
Forgetting that their true home is somewhere in Ikolomani.
In Atlanta, they are just visitors and Trump can chase them away at a moment’s
notice.
Luckily, they did not have such drama. You couldn’t even
know that ninjas are from majuu. The guys
are so humble. They speak thick kale from Lessos and what’s more, they laugh at
Kenyan jokes. In between mouthfuls of chicken we regale ourselves with tales.
Them offering us American folklore while we unleashed upon them the Kenyan
story. We talked about this guy, let’s call him Mr. X.
Mr. X, was born in Kapsabet,a nondescript town in the annals
of Nandi county. It’s a chilled place, people mind their business until you
mention Ruto or Jubilee, then hell breaks loose. Like guys, what’s the deal
with Ruto anyway? Its like this guy gave all kales some kamothe, no more Ruto
talk. We don’t do politics here at Kinasisi. Mr. X, went to primary in Kapsabet
and did his high school at Camp Laz, Kapsabet boys. Now the reason we were
trolling him is that luck rarely comes his way. Guy wanted to do his campus
education in the capital but kuccps had other plans. Our hero swore not to
study outside Nairobi.
“Walai Osoch, campo ni jiji solo. Kama si jiji me
siendi campus.”
I think some official at kuccps must have been
eavesdropping. As Mr.X was posted to Moi university. Moi is good place to be no
doubt. Movers and shakers in the Kenyan scene have graduated from Moi uni and
went on to achieve great feats. Personally, I don’t have any beef with Moi
university, most readers of this blog study there. Hello Stanley? How you doing
Kimaru?, the Harmonize concert was a blast I gather.
We trolled Mr.X because he will develop in a
Kalenjin fueled environment. Growing up in Kapsabet, studying in Eldoret, he
will do his internship at Moi referral. Here he will meet some hot Kale chick
from Kapseret who will run away with his heart. In his head he will have
planned to shag her and run for the hills but you all know Kale chicks, you
never run from them easily. They run after you and hold you down.
Life rolls on.
A bucket of chicken doesn’t stand a long lifeline when faced
with five hungry boys. In no time, only bones were smiling at us. I am always
on the lookout when I am in a restaurant, watching people and my eyes settled
on this couple a few tables from us. The chick looked young, most likely in her
1st or 2nd year in campus. Oh, I can smell the type a
mile off. The way they dress is just a harbinger and how they laugh. Okay, I
over did that, but she reeked of campus callowness. Her date had the air of
toughness around him. A seasoned Nairobi man who has been in such position
before and knew his way around. He was older, in his late 30s or early 40s.
Donned this lively smile but you could see it was hiding a broken side of him.
A side he doesn’t want the world to see. A fire he extinguishes by chasing down
young girls almost half his age. Chances are he could be married, or dating but
here he is servicing this campus chick. That’s Nairobi men for you.
Photo credits [ Sareto and his Cousins.] I am not in that
photo, don’t worry about me.
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