Locals have the funniest names so don’t judge when I tell you I was at ‘kwa mathe’. Oh yes that’s the name of a tocal (town+local = local in town = tocal. I just coined that word so shut up).I hadn’t been in a while since I started getting paychecks. My economics professor called it the ratchet effect. I’d dive into details but rest assured it had nothing to do with weaves, bright red lipstick and USA branded yoga pants. Speaking of which POTUS is now on Twitter so you better take those pants off lest he claims your ass and jay jay – but I bet you’d love that so never mind.
So I’m back because it’s that time of the month where my spending and bank account are kapedoing and Kofi is nowhere in site to reconcile the two. Your guess is as good as mine I’m back into that rat hole. I walk in and smiles greet me from every corner. Some drunk guy acting like Jackie Chan, only he looks like he has arthritis and is more of break dancing than kung-fu, salutes me. He goes ahead to tell me in kinglish (again this is a mash up of kikuyu and English) how his wife, Hitler (congratulations mwalimu Andrew) will beat the hell out of him tonight if he doesn’t practise. So I let him be as he yings and yangs finding his inner dragon as a Dj Andie house mix blares from the wooden Ampex speaker at the corner of the ka small room. Did you notice I said house? Yes, my tocal is cool like that no wana be haffi dreads listening to Peter Tosh and Marley when the closest to ital they’ve gotten is chewing goks.
A lady walks in – you all knew this was coming right? Have I become so predictable? Sigh. Okay so a gentleman walks in – fuck that. A lady walks in she’s in a pink trench coat. It’s open and we can see her pink mini dress. Her weave is bright red, brighter than her lipstick, and she’s carrying a pink clutch. I don’t know when pink came back I must have been asleep but it’s time to go back now. She looked like a mboch from one of those Kawangware apartments who’ve watched enough GoTV to try and look trendy. Jesus take back thus digital migration bs back to where it came from. She finds a seat and as soon as she takes it she pulls a red sea – yaani niggas scattered and left her alone. I was curious but not drunk enough to find out why so I ordered some ****** (that part is censored due to the ratchet nature of the drink. The writer has an image to preserve so kindly bear with us.)
The guy next to me is in a white muscle shirt and looks like a gay ken wa Maria. I decide to ask him. He takes a long look at her, takes a quick sip as if to wash down a nasty thought and then looks at me. I expect him to punch me in the face now because the look on his face is a hybrid of “hey, that’s my girlfriend right there” and “You should know bruh why are you asking stupid questions” so when his fists clench I prepare to hug like Mayweather. Did I mention he looked gay? Yeah so I’d definitely win with the hugging maybe pinch his butt and never talk about it again. With resolve in his eyes he slams the table and gets up putting one hand on my shoulder and the other one stretched out pointing at pink lady.
“Unataka ukimwi?” He shouted
“Nakuuliza… UNATAKA UKIMWI!?” He shouts again
“Go, enda, sit there.”
He then switches to a coastal swahili so fluent for a moment I thought the mathe at kwa mathe was mama bakari.
“Yule mwanangu afa.”
Calling her out she looks up none the bit perturbed
“Huyu apa wataka kukufungulia biashara leo mpe na ya jioni. Yale ambayo bado hayaja chafuka”
Everyone burst out in laughter. Including me as I nodded no and watched as pink lady gave me the nasty eyes. Why me though? I didn’t embarrass her. Maybe she too was scared of gay ken wa Maria? I don’t know but I also put my mean mugging face as the guy sat down patting me on the back. Needless to say I had to call one of my goons to come over so we could leave together. Pink lady wasn’t leaving and I was afraid if I left alone she’d follow me down the alley and forcefully give me “yale hayajachafuka”.