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.

pole sana ma dam

Kenyans speak in coded language a lot.

We also hardly ever use the phrase- excuse me-

Unless it is in sarcasm.

We simply nudge, wiggle, squeeze and the other Kenyan gets inspired that,

 You wish to pass through.

That.

Unless you went to Braeburn or Hillcrest schools.

There is an unwritten code

You take a cab, he is nice,,,

 I mean you rent a school bus (how often do we take cabs?)

So you rent the bus to go on a trip and the driver is patient and entertaining.

 He joins your party, eats, plays with you.
He will charge you less, you took note of him.

So anyway, I came home the other night and wore out my eyes writing about my obnoxious neighbours. It was gonna be a powerful well thought out article.

 Power was out so I didn’t post it, then I allowed it time to ferment a little,

The next evening I found my neighbor crouched by his chicken houses. He handed me two kienyeji eggs;said I could eat those.
Two; one would be strange, three would be obscene.

"Thank you," I said.

And I came in and silently laughed very very hard.

Two kienyeji eggs =  full apology.

And the matter is closed.

chai

I miss Ghari

The nice ginger tea place near G.P.O.
But they have moved to  a suburb somewhere. It took a year to discover Ghari and their moving makes my tea experience in Nairobi difficult. I used to have another joint, deep in River road- I think it was called South Tetu Restaurant-
 They made good tea and had a conversational setting to it. I could write there. And between four and 6 p.m there would be light from the sunset.

Until they  converted the front to a pub. So my friend and I went in once or twice to eat a samosa and giggle.

Finding a tea house has been a hobby. I have another joint, in Ngara, next to sarakasi Dome. I honestly donno what it’s called. But it has brown chairs. Used to go there when I was in college to do my assignments.

My tea place has to have comfortable chair, moderate lighting and not a hint of old frying oil or meat or beer. The clientele has to be- business people too busy to notice you assigning roles to each according to their posture or dressing.

-That one has a round wife and three daughters-

-That one drives a probox-

-That one is a mechanic and had to really scrub himself before coming to this meeting-

It is not a place where some fella might ask to sit opposite you, or a family with children sitting next to you trying to decide whether to have the combo chicken with fries and a burger or just burgers. Or somewhere the lady waiters come over to shake your  kettle or take away your cup before you finish.

It is also not a place where I expect to meet anyone I know. They don’t go there.

Artwork googled, thank you very much.

Trips? Anytime

I love trips. I also dislike trips very much

Planning for a trip is exciting, the itinerary, the journey, and all the wonderful times you will have once you get to the other side.

So you pack

 And unpack

 And of course you forget your swimming costume

 Or the sundress you bought especially for this trip.

Trips can gauge the strength of a friendship, not always but in some instances.

I’ve been on trips with my single ladies

Trips with big sistaz

 And trips with the couples.

 The third I’m not about to try again.

With some I’ve been on several trips.

It starts very well. One will watch the luggage as the other sorts out last minute buys. Airtime, antihistamine. 

 And then pressure begin to build up.

Usually, my pressure

Oh no, we didn’t ask what to take to the hotel. Was it a cab or a bus?

And then I realize I brought too many gadgets along.  Two hand phones, my camera, laptop, a torch, headphone, a universal adapter, three chargers and now my shoulder is hurting.

The feeling. I‘ve spent a month and half worth of rent and this tip should end right now, I wanna go home.

 But trips are great as they expose you to the unexpected and test your ability to think and decide on your feet, which I don’t have so I have to keep saying, sorry and ringing people back to say yes of course we can squeeze in a drink with you before we leave.

 Some trips have been were really worth it.

Santosa Island with my girls Tlotlego and Esther. They wanted to see everything in the underwater world aquarium, I was happy to end my trip at the stingray pond feeding them the fresh flesh of fish.

When we packed and headed out to PortDickson for our goodbye trip, I was the one with two bags, for a weekend.
 I swam in the polluted water and got bruises. Tlotlego slept on the beach while Ivy turned to Justin Beiber.

I always look forward to our annual trip with my gal Wangu, to Arusha where the accents make us crack up each time.

 I loved traveling alone, it doesn’t do anymore.

A Tin full of chicken

I was determined to mind my own business. I had had enough of social pretences  and kuzoeana that had led me to give away  and eventually lose my dear dear Mooze( A three year old British blue tomcat). I didn’t even want to know my new neighbour’s names.

The first knock was quite unexpected. A pea sized, grin faced ruffian with a lisp was peeping at the door.

“Thi,thilia, hiyo ni TV unaona? Tunataka kuona Tv.”

Then one evening, a scrawny girl with an overactive mind knocked:

“C, silya? Tunaweza kuja kuona TV?”

Most of the evenings I just wanted to chew my food meditatively, stare blankly at the video playing,

Mac: You get to stay here with your big brother bloo..

Bloo: Don’t say it

Cheese: Braathas,, and together we are?

Bloo: Don’t say it.

Madame Foster: Bloo Cheese?

I had a choice; I could open the door, and expose myself to a session of mental damnation.

“We wacha kufanya hivyo”

“Achana na kisu”

Pretty soon I’d be running to get a rag to clean the stream of pee galloping toward the fruit bowl.

And the recriminations.

“C,silia mwambie aache kunivuta nywele”

“Mimi, sijamvuta!”

“Umenivuta wacha uongo! Mwongo kama Marba!”

Followed by pulling, biting and howling upon which I’d start to drag them to the door, all five of them. 

“Go home, it’s 10 o’clock.”

“Chakula haijapikwa kwetu..”

“Endeni mngojee iive.”

I would turn off the lights, just in case I heard the little fists pounding the door again.

I miss them though, they were really gorgeous kids, just neglected. I liked to watch them rounding up the chickens in the evening. One would hold an old milk tin while the rest picked up the chicks to put them in the tin.

They made me think of Oliver Twist