Aunt wa Harrier braked by the road side and rushed, lifting her kitenge up towards the trees
We were gassing towards Naivasha “for just one drink” with Aunt wa Harrier when Uhuru-the Chief Kanyui-shut all pubs for a month. No ‘Kagwe Special’ of one sausage and 10 beers.
So, Aunt wa Harrier was forced to vroom back to Nairobi, but not before stopping in one of those roadside meat joints “isikue tumeenda Naivasha bure.” She packed her Harrier under a tree “isi parare kwa jua.” Then we sat from a vantage position from where she could monitor the nyama choma she had ordered from the butcher man with an angled cap which appeared to have come in contact with water during the last elections.
His fingernails had soot, needed some manicure. But he nodded his mango head when told “nataka mbavu soft bila mafuta….wekea salt kwa jiko…na uchome nyama ndani ya foil,” said Aunt wa Harrier whispering that chumvi kavu aggravated “my High Blood Pressure.”
But before the roast ribs could be ready she asked the butcher man called “Kinos” to serve us pieces of mara, spleen, mutura, ulimi, roho “na kikombe ya supu uchape vizuri.” That was the beginning of all my problems. Very sobering problems, I tell you.
We began our journey towards Nairobi at 7am. Curfew was two hours away
Aunt wa Harrier must have been quite hungry as she also ordered for kichwa with onions na pili pili kwa umbali. There was a row of wines and spirits shops from where she bought a bottle of blended whiskey- 18 years old- “haka ni ka-teenager” she said with that excitement peculiar to habitué of drinking tables.
By the time the roast ribs were ready she was so full she told Kinos “funga take away.” We began our journey towards Nairobi at 7am. Curfew was two hours away but “hii Harrier ni ndege ya chini” bragged Aunt wa Harrier as she pushed the peddle past 100km/h.
I returned to the car only to find cops erecting a road block. It was 9pm: “curfew imeanza” grunted a cop
But she slowed down when it got darker and foggier past some forests after Soko Mjinga roadside market when she mumbled “naskia kuharisha” in the tone of someone who was being strangled with a maize cob.
Aunt wa Harrier braked by the road side and rushed, lifting her kitenge up towards the trees and disappeared. Surprisingly, she carried her phone. “Bring me tissue,” she hissed after calling me.
I asked her to light up her phone and threw the tissue which she grabbed midair from the bush. I returned to the car only to find cops erecting a road block. It was 9pm: “curfew imeanza” grunted a cop. My bowels went loose. I rushed to the bush towards Aunt wa Harrier.
Uko sawa