One look at you and she can tell you ‘have money like a nonsense’, or you got your wife and mpango pregnant at the same time
I was finally at Teke Teke Wines & Spirits, our local in the hood. President Uhuru, the Chief Kanyui himself, had closed all bars. Drinkers, he said, were spreading the pandemic faster than they were peeing at the urinal. There is something about a favourite bar. It is like a second home. When you find it open, it feels like the rental of your mpango wa kando where you drop by for no reason.
You even have a favourite seat from where you wet gills while staring at the ample brown dashboard of Skonye, the counter girl. Skonye is like a psychologist. One look at you and she can tell when you “have money like a nonsense” as she puts it. When you’re about to drink on credit and even when your mood and libido are down.
Then there is Kanana, the waitress with big brown eyes and a throaty, sexy laugh
She can also tell you quarreled with your pregnant wife after finding out you also paged your mpango. Skonye is like a big sister and auntie rolled into one bubbly package of dimples that sink into her cheeks when she smiles.
Then there is Kanana, the waitress with big brown eyes and a throaty, sexy laugh when she’s opening your beer bottle while rubbing her butt on your ribs. But with bars closed, Kanana has been missing in action. There are those black cats at the local. They have this ka-habit of staring at patrons tearing into roast goat ribs with that woiye look common among hungry beggars. Like Kanana, the cats are also missing in action. Most likely in self-isolation ama?
There is a certain sadness when you find the local closed, like the mpango just dumped
There are many things one notices are missing when the local is closed. Like Professor. He has a long white goatee, round-rimmed glasses which give him an air of intelligence. Prof comes to the local to read novels while chain smoking. Prof can drink for two hours Kanana often shakes the bottle to “check kama ni flat!”
Prof likes quoting from the books he’s reading: “To be born again…first you have to die!” That was from Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie. Prof repeats, mulls over it, then puffs at his cigarette thoughtfully, like he has just discovered the meaning of life.
There is a certain sadness when you find the local closed, like the mpango just dumped you-and you have to die… to be born again!