Pumpkin Bargains in plot 65

Our aunt (Tata) and general mother always had pumpkins in the farm. So we viewed them with derision and none of us would be caught with yellow in their teeth. Until she got clever for us, agituhigira, and started making pumpkin chapati and a new world order came up in plot 65.

She had one regular pumpkin client.
This client , a man, would buy a pumpkin each week. He came in around 6.30 after sunset eand it would go this way:

-Aaa, but you have sold expensive mother of Munyeki-
-Eeee, and the way I have sold well for you, I have made the price well well-
-But this one is small, just sell 40 shillings-
There is no problem, but it is to give I've given you

Mama would say after,
-Just give him, how often does a man go grocery shopping?-
And tata would say
-Eeh, that is to spoil him, you will see him here everyday-

We thought it was funny because the pumpkin Would cost 120,150 shillings if the market people were asking. But it is like when you lend a friend some money, not much, like 100 shillings, you let them pay you back to keep doors open if they would like to come back again. So with the pumpkin dealing, both knew they were preserving each other's honor. The man would have his stew, and he would feel empowered to woth his purchasing power. Tata would not feel like she had turned into redcross.

I like pumkin soup, but each time I buy a slice from the shop I feel quite ripped off.

Makes me meditate with much feeling the song,
By the rivers of babylon

Saddles

“We can go to Texas right now”
 “Where is your horse,” I ask him and he takes a long puff at his cigarette.
 “You just have to agree to come with me, I can take a loan and get us a horse.”
"You look nice.” I say to him.

He is dressed in cowboy fittings head to toe; I’m expecting to see a horse nearby. But this is Eastlando and I am not sure where a horse would graze among these tires and hardware shops. He reminds me instantly of  something my uncle and I would watch on TV- Walker Texas Ranger, but the cowboy standing in front of me looked more like the new Sherriff in another movie that makes me laugh.

‘If you agree to what I’m saying, cow girl, we shall go right now.” He again says and I remember, oh, I am wearing that hat which has lead to many conversations lately.

At times I laugh when I think of how a dress, shoe, nice bag can be the determinant of who is gonna walk home with you.
 I must say, I prefer friendships based on substance, not that, since That girl has a nice dress, she is more noticeable, thus more acceptable and can be included.

As I settle in into middle age, friendship is taking on a new deeper meaning. I find that I treasure old friendships that have taken many hits over time yet survived intact, and can only tolerate new acquaintances if they can ease in into my friendship rules.
Though I'm actually not very sure what the rules are but looking around, the friends I have seem to have some characteristics that run across the whole bunch of us.

the dog races

“Is that all you’re wearing?”

 “Yes.”

“Well, you could at least iron it.” Raphael says to me, not looking. He is flipping through the old Msafiri Magazine lying beside my desk. He is fully dressed. A checked brown and beige long sleeved cotton shirt, and brown khaki’s. He was going to put on a bow tie, but I’ve discouraged him.

“You already look like a geek, don’t make it worse.”

I take off the blue caftan and iron the shoulders to get the peg marks out.

“Should we bring some lunch?”

Maybe a beer, there is some Anglia in the fridge, pack two for me. Bring whatever you like for yourself.

Do you think Lyn and Naini would mind?

“Mind what?”

“If we brought extra drinks for them?”

I laugh. Lyn does not drink any alcohol, even overripe pineapples upset her.

“I’m sure we’ll find something there.”

“I don’t want to spend anything in that place. A flimsy sandwich is priced like a whole grilled Shark!”

“That’s because you go into the bar, the tents have good Chinese fried rice”

He makes a face and heads to the fridge. I later find out he packed my housemate’s spaghetti and brawn.

 “That looks better,” he smiles and we get into a discussion of flower clips all the way to the bus stop.

The complexities of human communication, but at least we don't meaow

My neighbor says to  me the  other day- I love to cook, but nice food, not  this. She  was frying  some potatoes and cabbage  for  rice. I think I must have been making ugali with something. Do you mean meat? Yeah, a nice  beef  stew with carrots  and garlic.

 I told her I would like to bake a fish, with garlic and white onions. So we laughed, and talked about something else. She is a nice lady, works like the next babyboomer and has no time to rest or relax. So when she came in on Sunday and announced she had watched a movie. This  I wanted to hear. But it  turned out  to  be a Nigerian  movie, and she went on to narrate  to me the  entire story, and I wished I had not looked too interested. I have nothing against Nigerian movies. Just can’t bring myself to watch one that goes to their crying counterparts. The Philippines have taken over. I wish when KTN would screen scrubs, Judging Amy. Until the target market changed I guess.  But I watched a Nigerian movie on YouTube once, Half a Yellow Sun, though I prefer the book.

But it  doesn’t  hurt  to hear  out someone  that  has not  watched  a movie  since  her youth. I guess I always  got  caught  up in stories. Maybe I have a sympathetic face, total strangers  will tell me their  entire life course, but I don’t mind, it  gives  me  material  to  smile  about  when I’m walking  alone.

One time I was in the onion business, don’t tell my mother. I could not muster up the voice to call out- itĩngũrũ fresh! I just showed up, around 11 a.m when people were starting to think about lunch. One woman who obviously had been digging all day under the hot sun told me two stories. One  about a party  she  had been invited to, they served onions and raw carrots.

-It’s no  wonder you young  people  always  have kĩmũrera(pungent  smell from your mouth), and  of course I put  a hand over  my  mouth- My house smelt like onions, my clothes, and  my skin. Just the other time I was cooking and selling maandazi. I would appear and people would start to say they suddenly felt like eating maandazi.

Then she  told me an ogre story, and as  she told it, her eyes darted here and there, as  though  she  expected an ogre jump up out of the pumpkin bush or fall out from the avocado tree.

I once heard someone say he enjoyed watching his aunt and young sister have a chat; No content at all, but they all seem to be having a ball. Well, I’m not sure if  content comprises  of goal oriented conversations or current  events. I’m still learning about human communication.

Last Saturday night

…..I will go  down  with  ship, I won't put  my up my arms and surrender,

There will be no white flag above my door…

That seemed  such a romantic  anthem, a  long  time  ago,  but  you  grow  up and things  happen  and  the  only  true  thing is the current  breath which you  hold  on to. Well,  that  even seems  even  more  romantic, a tragedy, the  despair  that  comes  from  having  nothing  else  to  believe  in but  yourself  and God.

 But then the hard cold reality hits and you are thinking, no. I’m thinking. Oh no, I knew my life   was a tragedy but this? It’s not even book material; this could   make a classic novel. If I were Margret Mitchell or  some other woman  that  wore  long  skirts  and  socks  with  her  shoes.

I  want to  make resolutions, oaths  and  vows but  searching deeper the  best  I  can  do  is  to be determined to have  a very  strong   will. If  I  lived  in that  era, I would  be one  of  those  stoic  widows,  spinsters,, haha and  now  I’m  laughing, meaning this  blog  post has served  its purpose. To lift  my  spirits, and basically  that is all I plan to  do; things that I love  to  do, accomplish little goals, enhance  my  friendships  and relationships, and take  time out to meditate. 

Not hummm…clear  you  mind and think  of  a peaceful beach…the one that I just  sit  and chomp down a long piece  of  sugar cane  and  count the  number of  insects and  bugs that try  to  navigate  my  toes.

But  it serves to  mention  that  I am  scared  out  of  my  wits.

Kitchen lab

This is how it begins. A test to know if I can update my blog using my phone.

Why people block emails, why others change phone numbers

It could be  the unwritten blogs

The unfinished poetry,

The pieces of cloth cut but never made

The table mat, skirt or wall hanging.

Or it could be the worry about my aging relative

Who will no longer give me advice like-

How I should respect my aunties for my own good-

Or it could be the realization that haiya,

I’ve accomplished quite a number of things like

defining clear priorities and sticking to them

Like looking at possibilities and having intuition “tell me”

This is not a worthwhile pursuit

And it turns out not to be.

The knowledge that apologies don’t take

An inch off you

And cutting links with certain company is actually good for the

Mind.

That emotional abuse is real

And one does not have to put up with it.

That veggies are very Important,

Clean fresh water to drink

And that sometimes

the top is an inverted pyramid.