Nothing in this city is as irritating as parting with a huge chunck of your money every month to pay some burger in the name of rent. Nothing. So this burger sits there doing nothing, then after 30 days, guy comes to dance in your inbox or starts dropping funny notes in your house reminding you ati rent is due in four days time (Man, you think I don’t have a calendar?). Guy does all this yet doesn’t even care when your wife faces the wall and becomes untouchable the whole night the day you come home smelling a ladies’ cologne ( come on ladies, now you don’t even want us to greet (
hug) our colleagues at the office, eh?).
You will fight with your wife, end up in an emergency ward in Nairobi hospital with severe wounds all over your face yet the guy (caretaker) will not even drop by your hospital bed to say ‘Pole’. Very same guy will call you at 6 in the morning asking if the Subaru parked in front of his door belongs to you! Really jamaa, do I even look like I can afford a Demio? Or even a windscreen? Oh! Hold on, do I look like a fuckboy? Do I, caretaker? Worse still, can’t you wait and call me from 9 onwards? Must it be at six o’clock? Kwani that Subaru is running away? We shall come to that, talking of Subaru’s.
I think anybody driving a Subaru should be expelled from the society and declared an enemy of the people. No offence folks, look, who among us is comfortable with the kind of noise these Subaru guys subject us to all over this city? Come on, kwani what are they advertising, their ego? Would you die if you just got yourself a descent car, drove it around quietly, got a wife, kids, and later on died peacefully without disrupting others with your noise?
You’d be in a restaurant in town catching up with a longtime friend then abruptly hear a loud explosive sound from outside and would almost run away thinking Al Shabaab are at it again. Only to realise its a scooter guy doing some combustion on their machine. Come on, how does that make you happy?
I’d really like to have a chat with a Subaru owner or one of those chaps riding scooters in town and that keep releasing explosive sounds and bombarding our ears. Like, what’s the kind of diet these two people have, do they even drink water after their meals, do they also like chapos? Heck, do Subaru and scooter folks even have girlfriends? How do their girlfriends look at them when they are doing all these crazy things, do these folks really discuss anything else not related to their beautiful scooters and Subaru Imprezzas? If you borrowed their scooter for two hours, wouldn’t they call you every two minutes to ask how their baby is doing?
So anyway, back to why we are here today.
So as you may all know, I moved from Rongai about two months ago. So far so good save for the few days we’ve slept hungry because nobody was willing to do the dishes. More so if it’s my day to clean them, ‘we will sleep there staring at each other.’
Given my strong dislike for paying rent, I am living with another kick ass fellow. So instead of parting with 10K every month, we pull together half-half and settle it. Si that’s better now? Let me explain.
I loathe losing huge chunks of money to rent because in the first place I am not a house person. I only bring my stomach here to sleep. On average, I spend only about 6 hours a day in the house. Most times I lazily leave the house at 9 AM and see that house again at 2 AM. So I hardly get time to mingle with the new chicks in the hood and stuff. Now with that, do you think I’ll be willing to part with ati 10 thousand bob to pay rent? For what?
So juzi, barely four hours into my sleep, when I’ve started dreaming and enjoying sleep like everybody else, the phone rings. Knowing very well that it’ll be an elephant catching sleep once I open my eyes, I let it ring on. But because the caller believes what they want to convey could save my fucking life, they call again. For a second time, I ignore it. Guy calls again! Amid cursing and grumbling, I clear my eyes and give the phone attention, guess who it is? Ken Caretaker! Calling me at 6 AM. Surely Ken! Is the apartment collapsing? Or are we under attack by Al Shabaab (heck, who on earth would even waste their time targeting us, what would they want, dirty sufurias and stinky socks? Empty plastic soda bottles, or experience?) I stretch my right arm, grab the phone and swipe the screen right.
“Hallo, abari ya asubui?” Guy comes on.
Hallo. Nyumba inaanguka ama?
“Hahaha, apana.” This guy has the audacity to laugh when I’m seriously concerned about what’s happening. “Hii Subaru imepark hapa chini ni yako?”
Ha-ha-ha, I wanted to laugh out loud at this one then remembered he’d spoilt my precious sleep, I just smiled kimoyo-moyo. (Really Ken! So that’s why you are unapologetically blowing up my phone at 6:03 AM? Because there’s a Subaru parked hapo chini and your brilliant mind tells you the Subaru could be mine? Kwani imeandikwa jina langu? I wanted to ask). Because I knew I had already lost my sleep and there was no way back, instead of telling him to try elsewhere or come for the keys, I started enquiring about it.
“Ni Subaru type gani?”
“Ni ya yero (yellow), ni yako?”
Oh dear Ken, folks, do I look like I can buy a car and paint it yellow? Y-E-L-L-O-W, of all the colors? What do you people take me for? That I can buy a Subaru Imprezza, paint it yellow, drive that car around like nothing is wrong, make all the noise Subaru people make in this town, then come park the yellow car in front of your door? Oh good people!
“Eeh, ni yangu. So unatakaje?” I decided to dance to his tune.
The mention of yellow made me think Ken was just on a mission to spoil my morning and had to find any way possible, I didn’t believe this guy, so as I continued asking the details of the car, I crawled out of bed and headed outside to the balcony to confirm the car existed and was actually there. Wouldn’t everyone want to see how a yellow car would look anyway?
Getting to the balcony, I spot some lightskin chick standing beside him downstairs (do you guys allow me not to describe her, please?). Ken Caretaker then sees me and points at me and the girl looks up. Looking properly, I realize she’s the hunny I once vibed a year ago but looked me in the face and said she can’t date a broke campus guy.
Still puzzled why and how the hunny had to be here at 6AM, girl runs up the stairs and jumps into my tiny chest. 30 minutes later, we are seated in the living room staring at each other, a few slices of buttered bread and tea mugs on the table taking turns to look at us and wondering what’s going on. Whereas I’m still confused, hunny is actually sobbing and apologizing saying she was still young and confused then, and didn’t know what she was doing.