Mr. Athola Too Proud for Compliment

A Random Monday - Tanners, Zimmerman Area, Nairobi North 

I had just come from a casual meeting with a former high school buddy and was more than happy to dress-down into a t-shirt, jeans and sneakers to counter the sweltering Nairobi heat.  Climate change had warped the weather patterns and now the month of May - which was usually a cooler one in the 90s and before -  was now ridden with spasms of rainfall and afternoon heatwaves.

"Huyo manzi alini-show eti hawezi fanyia mwanaume kitu unless he meets her standards ndio ataanza kupika na kuangazia hali ya nyumba (Swahili / That woman told me that she can not submit to a man unless he meets her standards, that's when she would consider cooking and taking care of the homestead)," Kiki Turee, my former classmate in primary school, ranted over our coffee meet up.

"Ehe, so you were dating this woman?" I asked keenly nursing my potent espresso.

"Yup!"

"Kwani wewe huwa unachagua madame aje (Swahili / How do you choose women)?  That sounds like 'conditional femininity' to me which is really not femininity."

"Eh?"

"Weh, I have to dash to my next meeting across the city," I took a gulp of my remaining espresso, "Sitaki kupata traffic Uhuru Highway, baadaye, nitakupigia simu (Swahili / I do not want to get traffic on Uhuru Highway, ciao, I'll call you)."

*    *    *

2 Hours Later - Mombasa Road Area, Nairobi South

The traffic on Uhuru Highway was perplexing.  I was never the one to be late but this time I was teetering on tainting my reputation as one who honors time religiously.  So this was the cause of the abnormal traffic - a thing I discovered by turning on the radio - a series of political demonstrations orchestrated by the opposition party to apparently fight for the citizen's right to an inflation-free economy.  Now, some nincompoop had been reported to have vandalised a road sign along the same highway enroute to my meeting and the police were after him.  The fray caused a traffic snarl up because other demonstrators had now congregated on the road itself.  I quickly took an alternate route and sped off to Mombasa Road, the location of my next meeting.  I had to call my client on the way preempting a possible delay past our agreed time.

*    *    *

Incidentally, my client was caught up in a similar snarl up and was in fact running much later than I was.  I arrived.  I ordered another espresso and I whipped out my laptop and began skimming through unread emails.  Almost simultaneously, a couple of men came into the establishment and sat adjacent to me.  I paid them no mind but wondered why they chose to sit next to me given all the other empty slots - the introvert in me was amok again!  

One of the men was quite short, a guesstimate would place him at about 5 foot six or seven; clean-shaven head, dark charcoal-like complexion, no beard or signs of stubble.  I'd say he was late twenties to early thirties.  He walked to his seat with a slight stoop as if avoiding an invisible beam above his head.  He wore a smart navy blue well-fitting suit and was in a brilliant white shirt beneath an embossed red neck-tie.  In contrast, the other man with him walked with a noticeable gait - a confident strut - and spoke loudly on his mobile phone before disconnecting it as they sat next to me.  The second man was around 5 foot five, overweight, borderline obese I would say.  He too was in a suit, not well-fitting though, I guess one's physical fitness to a large extent determined how well a suit would flatter frame.  That said, the suit looked expensive in quality.  He wore a smart turquoise next-tie with a metallic clip holding it on to his fat belly.  He looked like the walrus from the animated Disney film, Alice in Wonderland, but bigger.  He had a shiny silver watch and multiple jewellery adorning his thick wrists.  This man was probably in his late fifties.

"Weh! Weh!" the fat guy yelled motioning the waitress over their table with his chipolata-like fingers.  The young waitress quickly came over and placed a couple of menus at their table.  The fat guy scolded her harshly asking her why she did not come over the minute they arrived, which was like a minute prior.  The waitress apologised and took their orders.

"Huku hawakuwangi na chakula ya kienyeji na vile nilikuwa natamani athola (Swahili / This restaurant doesn't sell traditional meals and I really wanted athola)," the fat man said.  Well why didn't you go to a kibanda muthafucker - I thought to myself.  I ignored the duo and continued working.  A couple of minutes later the waitress came back with the meals; timid short smart young guy had ordered a coffee, a ndazi and samosa.  The fat guy, who I realised was the younger man's boss based on their conversations, had ordered a five egg omelette, 6 slices of bread, 2 mandazi, 3 samosas and milky tea.  Anything missing though, seemed 'less in excess' no?

"Weh! Wapi sausages?! (Swahili / You! Where are the sausages?)" fatso yelled at the waitress.

"Er ... pole, tunakupikia fresh jikoni (Swahili / Sorry, we are cooking more in the kitchen)," she responded uneasily.

"Ahhhhh! Hapana! This is bad service! I eat fast! By the time those sausages come I'll be done and I wanted to make an 'operation'!"

"Excuse me?" the waitress looked confused.

"You don't know what operation is?" the chunky fellow sniggered with his junior, "I want to put those sausages in the mandazi! Harakisha! (Swahili / Hurry)"

As the waitress left he quickly called her back and asked her to spread the tomato ketchup for him, which I found so weird - even kids put their own ketchup!  He then motioned her to do the same with the salt and pepper before digging in.  He ate voraciously talking with food in his mouth as he poorly multitasked by fiddling his phone with his oily hands.  I was now curious.  Who are these two guys?

"Excuse me, hi! You have a very nice suit." I said after tapping him on the shoulder.

"Asante! When you have a lot of money like me tell me and I will take you to get one like it!  You have a nice body you will look good!" He laughed as he stuffed the last ndazi into his mouth.  The waitress finally brought the 4 sausages.  He started flirting with her asking if she is married and what not.  Embarrassed she kept giggling as he told my slim-fit suit to tip her.  He then asked her how much she wants to be tipped of which she responded that anything would be appreciated.  Fat man then told her to wait and plucked what looked like 2 two thousand shilling notes and gave her.  Shocked, she froze for a second then rushed back to work.

"Are you a student?" Fat guy then turned back to me.

"Yeah ... " I responded even though I knew I was not.  My curiosity was ravenous.  Just as I was eager to know who this clumsy duo were, I now played to his assumptions. "I'm studying film production.  Can you get me jobs?"

"Patia huyu contact zako (Swahili / Give him your contacts)?" He said pointing to timid guy whom I gave my card.  Timid guy read "CEO" on my card then froze for a second before stuffing the card into his coat. He probably figured the 'student lie' but said nothing and continued sipping his coffee.

"I'm a Member of Parliament," Fatso said as he bit the last sausage.

"Oh, nice, congratulations. New government or opposition?" I asked pretending I had not heard him praising the president earlier which obviously meant he was not in the opposition.

"Serikali ya vijana! (Swahili / Youth government!)" He chuckled.  This punk actually thought he was a kijana (youth)?  He then went on and on about how much money the new government will make the economy and then suddenly, mid-babble, he choked.  Fat guy began coughing incessantly clutching his neck.  I ignored and continued reading my emails, smaller guy also ignored and continued taking his coffee but then the choking got worse as fat man gagged struggling to breathe - I was now worried.  The entire restaurant was now looking our way.  Should I pat his back? Maybe that will ease the choking and pop out whatever is stuck ... no, what if I hit his back and he chips?  It becomes manslaughter?  Mid-thought, the younger man stood.

"Haiya! Kwani imeingia wind-pipe (Swahili / Has it entered the wind-pipe)?" the younger man said as he rubbed the fatso's back.  Seconds later he recovered sat back up, said nothing, beckoned the younger man for them to leave.  The duo then left as swiftly as they came.  As they walked out, my client walked in, sneering at the messy duo making a dishonourable exit.

"Who are they?" My client asked as he sat.

"I don't know, I think some politicians who like sausages." I replied as I shut my laptop and began the meeting. 

The End.

Written by Robert Mũnũku

© Mau Mau Arts 2023

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