The Nightmares of Huduma Namba And Other Short stories
Huduma number struggles finally came to an end. Having walked almost the entire Nairobi I finally decided to try Rongai. Here, things were somehow better. The officials never made the process appear like a walk on a tight rope. Accolades to them. The officials in Buruburu and Umoja disfigured my happiness. I nearly punched one but someone executed my desire earlier enough, so I had to back up. To be fair, all I wanted was that official’s nose to rupture…To be fair, I wanted to hear him weep with convulsive gasps. Too bad, he never cried. Maybe the “medicine” wasn’t strong enough. But my knuckles could have left an impact. Just like one week of snow in the heart of Turkana. Please, Lord of mercy, don’t let that happen…
Allow me to come clean on why I wished havoc on that official. He was the braggy kind, his dress code was more pretentious than comfortable. A white khaki shot with a yellow buttoned down shirt. Who puts on like that? Ummm. Sonko? OK, I get it.
I am proud I shouted over the crowd. My voice was heard and my presence was stumped. You can cage me, you can tie my hands but you can’t bring down my voice. I know those with desires to be future politicians are now nodding in agreement.
“KWENDAA! unatuvalia kinyasa kama mkoloni.How does the taste of blood feel, does it taste like chicken? Mawe? Mbao ama chuma. Kwenda kabisa” I voiced my annoyance.
On the whole, I registered for huduma number. Am sure it was a success. A lady took a picture of me, she kept smiling. I remained truculent. I guess she was a Delilah. She wanted me to smile so that I could be deported from Kenya.
“Ooh sweet Kenya, with all your atrocities- corruption and being forced to take huduma number, I am not leaving you. Ours was a covenant made never to be broken. I won’t betray your trust. I just won’t.”The words dripped slowly into my brain.
Kenya is funny, maybe we’ll wake up the next day to a threat that all those who smiled during huduma number registration photo captions are to be deported. I don’t want the savage wrath of Matiangi to touch me, that’s why I hid my smile. That grown-up can even deport you to Somali, in the camps of Alshabaab. How will you explain your case
“Am Olage, From Tanzania(you won’t say Kenya of course) I want to join your battalion. I’ve always dreamt of camping with you, killing soldiers left to right and center. And even wearing your filthy sheets” Your shaky voice will say.
That would be the end of you. You said filthy! Calling a force of murder filthy. Maybe they’ll make you swallow a grenade. But our mighty God will help you. You’ll find yourself kicking their jaws like Bruce Lee. Isn’t God’s power mighty? Please say yes!
Saturday evening, the homeboy himself entered his room. Was I humming? Yes, I did. This logic song featuring Wiz Khalifa remains to be my “My favorite” They’ll say logic is better than Eminem. Stupid hip hop-heads. I decided not to sit pretty as this rumor continue to paint social media.
They asked for it and I decided to deliver it; Precisely, with an equal measure of venom.
I reached for my phone and logged in to Twitter. As usual, I started by checking the day’s trend. Boom! Satan is trending. What the hell!
Whoever started this trend veered in the wrong way. Most likely an open attack to me and all those righteous fellows out there. Heck, and guys like Andiwo_Ke just watched in silence as this rot manifested. I had to pray for Kenya. It’s clear we veering off our values. Engineers will agree that a bolt needs a nut, with its threads on the inside in sync with the outer threads of the nut. This will guarantee strength. A bolt and bolt will never work. The same for a nut and a nut. God gave us the spectrum but let’s not assign wrong meaning to it.call me uncultured, oppressive or even graceless. But we all know that a lion will always go for a lioness.
Read Also: The Miserable Life of Campus Ballers.
That day I never ate. I just prayed for Kenya. Thank heavens it wasn’t maini. I like maini-hot with a big ugali. Luckily enough my prayers were like a bullet shot into the devil’s chest. Lodging 2 inches deep. Leaving it lying flat on its own pool of blood.
Likened to Victoria falls, my faith is a perpetual flow of torrential energy.
The next day I woke up to a text from a lady called Jacinta, inviting me for a cup of coffee at a posh restaurant in Kilimani, Under the radar, that’s the name. At first glance, Under the radar is indubitably Nairobi’s living end of high-end restaurants. Their service and delivery modeled a feeling of happiness in me. I drank from a cup of hot coffee, while on the other side of the table Jacinta downed a cup of iced coffee. Lovely experience. Every facet of this restaurant revealed something about its beauty and warmth fueling my comfort and happiness.
We talked about a lot. Writing, music, Kenya recent fake gold fuss, and just so many other things.
“I think the baking industry is earning lump sums from just baking dick cakes, It’s terrible, how can you munch on such a figure of immorality, a shadow of darkness,” She says.
“I wonder if they even bottle their urge to have a big bite. Pathetic generation. They’ll tell you on only live ones”I keep the conversation running with my comments.
Sadly in Kenya love for nudity, vulgarity, profanity is the switches that turn on the joy for many young adults. It’s a miserable decay. A rot that we soon catching up with. Boys and girls don’t want to climb the learning curve instead their wish is to smoke down a roll of weed or drink down mugs of dirty alcohol.
Ps- fellow mates, If you thinking of a place to go relax your craniums, settle for under the Radar. Walking with a storage capacity of approximately 2.5 petabytes isn’t a walk in the park. You need to relax your minds. That said, go order pizza or even Calzone. You’ll thank me later. Isn’t life sweet?
If you slide through your IG make sure you follow Nelly_ Mwachai
She’s a beautiful soul. I remember telling her to consider advertising for Fenty.
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Anyway, until next time, thank you.