Mr. Fong,Get out of the kitchen I’m cooking

My Fong was the landlord. We were three tenants.

Tanya, from Uganda, Charlotte from Oman but with Tanzanian Origin. I was the strange Kenyan that didn’t have much to say to either.

I only met him once. He didn’t know which one of us was which. And since he never followed us up for rent, our conversations went like this.

“This is Cecilia, I’ve deposited the rent.”

“Okay, thank you, are  you in the medium or the small room?”

He kept a fine house, with pre-installed gas, every kind of kitchen appliance and red leather sofas.

Tanya rang him whenever the bulb went out, when keys got stuck. He would send someone in 24 hours. He never complained about us and when I chose to move out, he gave me ideas to make my stay longer.
I liked the way the sunset shed light on the furniture when I came home.

Charlotte cooked once a week, she would  fill the kitchen with flavours and scents and you didn’t need to be told to get out and have your nasi goreng in the mamak stall nearby.

Tanya was studying Business, at Limko, I always cheered up whenever we met at the bus stop coz I somehow thought she was in a different college. It was hard to bring business and Limko together. She sort of kept the house, made cleaning schedules, sorted the bills and had Royco in her cabinet.

 They were really cool girls. Tanya had steady friends, they would go to shopping together.

Charlotte was intriguing, a dancer too. She later went into NewYork Film School and is charlieslookingglass.blogspot.com and an actress. We went swimming and once for a meeting, which is a lot for  housemates.