Monday, August 03, 2015


This was not just any other afternoon, especially to one of the two boys standing at the gate of the Babel of a building. The black gate grinned at them. The weather was tolerably fine with a few trees claiming that the wind had no much power to woo them into a dance. The road leading to the gate was muddy and one had to be careful not to be painted clean by the cars that splashed muddy water with care of zero percentage. Clouds had imprisoned the sun in that very area. Not that it was going to rain. No-no-no! At least not at the moment.

“Timo, press the gate-bell button,” Ofafa, dressed in a red shirt and his favorite Khaki shorts, provoked the fidgeting companion.

“I am thinking otherwise ,” Timo proclaimed his fear.

“Why, man? Don’t be a sissy now that this is the penultimate stage!”

“I’m not!”

He proved his manhood by pressing the gate-bell button. Though in his heart he felt he should not have done so. He was sweating in cold weather.

“Now, wipe the sweat,” Ofafa, who was much younger, commanded. “You must be confident. I was once like you but once I got accustomed, the fear and doubts did not find way in my heart.”

Timo did as he had been told. He had to.

The gate flung open. There was no one. Timo almost ran back home but Ofafa told him to be strong. The gate was automatic.

The two were swallowed by the paradise; well dressed flowers and magnificent tiles all over. A two storeyed-house with the best architectural design in the whole of Ongata Rongai stood before them. A few steps from the door rested a black Mercedes Benz. The newest brand and next to it was a Rave 4 coated with astonishing calligraphic prints. It looked like a tiger only that there was no life in it beyond the petrol and battery.

At the doorstep, a mat welcomed them with flowery embroidery shouting gleefully ‘WELCOME’. However, there was one task to pull. The door-bell button. Timo did not want to be reminded to do anything.

“Welcome," a young lady, fairly beautiful, said meekly as the two left their muddy shoes beside the mat and stormed in.

“Sit down, please.”

They sat on a brown sofa next to a lounge that spoke nothing but pure gold. The young lady ascended the staircase to call the owner of the building. She returned with the same plain look she had gone with.

“Give her two minutes she’s coming,” the young lady went out and left the visitors, who sat facing the huge cupboard filled with bottles rich in wine, in the living room.

On the left of the brown cupboard, a terribly large flat-screen television kept them busy. It must have been something of thirty-six inches or more. It was airing a local afternoon music video show. It was clear visually but not audibly due to the hills of the speakers on the right of the cupboard. Music oozed from the seemingly made by aliens speakers; enough to cause serious damages to any human eardrum and go far ahead to break all the window-panes in Los Angeles. Or bring another twin-tower disaster in the United States.

“My visitors!” a melodious voice sang cheerfully as two elephants packed together in the body of a woman alighted the staircase.

She was the hugest thing Timo had ever seen since he began to see. The weight around her neck made Timo think that it was making her a bit uncomfortable. That the extra kilos were strangling her in one way or another.

Ofafa stood and Timo followed suit. The lady hugged Ofafa in a more friendly way. Timo also swam in the ocean of a human being. The ocean did not let go without giving Timo a peck on his left cheek. Only a peck. The bulk squeezed itself in a sofa next to that which the pair had been sitting on. Right next to Timo. The sofa was meant for two well-fed humans but the lady’s body spilled over the arms and even touched the fidgeting Timo!

“Samantha, this is Timo—a friend,” Ofafa introduced carelessly.

“P-leisure to me-chew, Tea-more,” she winked with a grin, heaving her chest which Timo thought had enough milk to breastfeed all the toddlers in Murang’a for two centuries?

“Pressure to me too, too, Samanta.”

“Summer-anther,” the white lady corrected the black boy.

“Samanta!” he tried in heavily accented Gusii.

“Well, I have to rush somewhere,” Ofafa offered to leave.

"No, dough-ling, won't you have saw-m-thing first?"

“Samantha, I‘d have wished to but I really have to go.”

A script well dramatized with the best cast; Steven Spielberg and James Cameron would give a ten over ten for that.

“So, Tea-more,” focusing her attention on the sweaty poor thing, "I hope O-far-far told jew that you’re sir-paw-sed to meet me.” She winked.


In his stuffy room. Timo looked at the dirty laundry lying carelessly on the floor like hawkers in Accra Ghana. The spooky walls that spiders had played with artistically gave you a picture of the other day when man lived with those things comfortably in a cave. The insect art nauseated him. But he had lived in this place for a year now. Mother and father went on a journey that nobody remembers to return from. Siblings he had none. Ofafa was the only person he could relate with back in Ongata Rongai. He knew him because, though younger, Ofafa happened to be his uncle. Uncle had introduced him to the Canadian bear that went by the name Samantha. Samanta in his case.

He was growing and years were not making any backward step; only his fiscal situation. His economy that took ten steps ahead and the same ten or more steps back. Would Samantha solve his question and free him from the chains of poverty?

“Who else?” a ghost told him.

The ghost was right. Who else? Julia, his long-term girlfriend, had just left him for a wealthier man. Old like the hills in Nandi; reasons known. The sand in the hour-glass was diminishing. He thought he would find refuge in love but life emphasized without empathy that money made the world go round. Julia. She was not a bad girl and ironically, her steps were right, he thought. May she live to see her great great great great grand children and their children.

He did not like Samantha’s idea. That he should move in with her.

“Timo, if you waste this one …” the ghost whispered.

Posh cars, posh house … A cougar! Ofafa had done it and he was better off. With the designer clothes, life was really good on his side. But the society!

“The society is only in your mind,” the ghost in his mind helped him think.

An older woman coated with wealth was all he wanted. After all, all they asked was a little action between the sheets. Result? A transformed Timo; shining in bling and expensive garments. Perhaps he would own the Mercedes Benz or Rav 4 … or Samantha would buy him a more expensive car …

“Yes, expensive,” the ghost was not leaving yet.

“Yeah, expensive,” he agreed with all his heart. "Indeed. Everything expensive. Even the repercussions—expensive!”

“I’ve never thought you to be foolish to such extremes.”

“Listen, ghost,” he said. "I don’t mean to be rude but she may squeeze … oh, squash me one day as she turns over.”

“Ho-ho-ho!” laughed the ghost. “Is that a reason enough?”

“And this step of moving in with her.”

“Don’t say you want to say 'no’. C’mon! Being a cub is easier than being a normal man. You feed on milk and bread and other goodies."


“Nkt! Disease, you say. Imbecile! A wealthy woman is a healthy woman. Besides, when she dies all the property will be under your name. Learn to be man enough to face life head-on. You're an orphan, remember! Sorry for bringing this up but, really… you need this madam. You‘ve just stepped in a gold-mine and …”



Knock-knock! The taxi man sent by Samantha.

“Are you coming yet?” he asked.

“Do I have a choice?” Timo replied. They both laughed as the brand-new car sped off.


Adapted from
Man of The Cloth and Other Stories
An Anthology of Short Stories
by Brady Kenya
First Edition

No comments:

Powered by Blogger.