[Disclaimer: Characters portrayed in this article are fictional and their actions do not by any represent me or my friends. Any resemblance is totally a case of the shoe fitting (My advice, don’t wear it take it off and throw it at a president preferably)]
It was one of those Friday’s when I was broker than a church mouse. I’ve never had to compare myself to an animal but see, the church mouse can at least sneak into the priests chambers and sip on some of that wine that little boys are given before they have their hind quarters probed (Is that why some people call it an alien religion?). I didn’t have diddly-squat (is that how you say it?) and after failed attempts to get free booze I realized I was the alcoholic version of a leper. It was ten P.M and at this time any public means is officially the drunken bus. So there I was sitting sober and hating my life listening to some dancehall artiste with ladies in bikini dancing on bucking bulls showing off their bio-oil treated thighs with no cellulite and pouring rum on their bodies which flowed down to the white beach sand – talk of adding salt to injury (To be honest the only salt I wanted was the one you get after taking a tequila shot).
Waiting for the bus to fill up, people staggered in one by one and some were paired up like animals leaving Noah’s ark that couldn’t wait to re-populate the earth. They were all smiling – the guy probably thinking he’s about to spread his seed and the girl at the fact she was going to spread a disease. Then this lady walks in, not the usual suspects we have that adorn make-up like war paint. She was elegant and poised even though she had on a hoodie and a blue dress with a pair of white sneakers. She had that kind of air around her that spoke bounds about her background, she looked out of place in the matatu (mini-bus if I want to be accurate), she stuck out like a thumb (thumbs stick out whether sore or not so stfu). In the meanwhile, I had my phone out staring at the blank screen waiting for that “uko wapi, kuja I buy a round or three”. I didn’t even care who it would come from I’d be there in a jiffy, heck even my ex’s boyfriend would text and I’d be there drinking his money telling him that she doesn’t text me so he’s doing it right – you know stroke the buyers ego? So she looks around and comes to the conclusion that I am the least drunk person around so she sits next to me. I learnt my lesson talking to girls on these mini-buses before paying fare so I laws to lenga her until the conductor came for his dues (yes I’m a cheapskate deal with it.)
But this mama was having none of that, maybe it is in the rich kids guide to dealing with the downtown folk that they read in their free time, but she sparked up a convo. Who listens to this crap? She asked pointing at the group of girls shaking their bam-bam’s on the screen. Uhm, you and the other 22 people in this car I replied with a hint of sarcasm. She laughed, and introduced herself as Nimo. I wanted to make reference to the movie but I wasn’t drunk at all and it sounded like a stupid idea. So she went on about how her dad was unfair and that she’d run away from home and was going to her boyfies place in Nyayo. She spoke in some articulated shenglish I’ve never heard before. This wasn’t even a conversation all I did was nod, aaah and aha the whole time till she asked me to take her to the boyfies place. I was taken aback; I didn’t even know her there was no way I was going all that way with a stranger. I could end up in the boot of some Japanese car on my way to a ritual sacrifice that would change their winds of fortune and have me burning in hell for all my misdeeds. But this mama had the traits my boy would definitely like – daring and hot.
So my ninja is the type of guy we call a Messi in the girls department and I’m kind of his Ozil. Give this guy any kind of through ball and he scores (sic). So I tell the mama that I know a cab guy and she likes the idea. After a quick text to my ninja I give the mama his number and she calls. At this time we’ve alighted (at my stage because she didn’t want to wait in the dark) and she’s calling my ninja. This guy, gods-honest truth works miracles. He picks up the phone and says he is in green span dropping off a passenger and he’d be there in ten minutes. This guy was in bed and all he did was buy time to freshen up. I’m inwardly smiling as I picture how he is going to push the mum’s car out of the drive way and go start it six houses away. Ten minutes later the guy arrives in a sleek sedan and says hi to me. The mama says she doesn’t have cash but the boyfie will pay – this whole time I have not heard her talk to the boyfie or even hint that she was texting him. I could be getting my ninja in trouble here so I also decided for the heck of it I’d go to my other ninjas crib and take his car and follow from a distance – after al what are friends for?