Pale mashinani, our neighborhood is comprised of people who all have an origin in Limuru/Tigoni. By this I mean all our grandfathers grew up in Limuru. Brief history - my grandfather being a businessman traveled down Rift valley and liked the place. He informed all his allies of the new place and they all liked it and the rest is history. They acquired large tracts of land, and kept inviting others. One thing they all had in common was they were Corinthians. Even though our grandfathers were Corinthians, their sons and daughters were not. Majority removed the turban once they got into their adulthood and indulged in other denominations or imbibing.
Back to the main story. Having started driving tractors and lorries at a very tender age, one day I was requested to transport firewood from home to Garu (Corinthians synonym for synagogue I guess) – the old men had two weeks of prayer. Like any other chap, I liked such experiences because at least I’d get a chance to show my prowess with machinery down the road. Being very young and good with driving different machines, many ladies recognized me. Among them was one Corinthian, Deborah (read as defora in greek). Debora was a daughter to Jethro a renowned person in the area for both good and bad reasons which I must explain or else the rest of the story would make no sense.
Jethro was a dad to eight yellow yellow ladies something that overtime made him cross paths with most guys. As his daughters grew older, the need to protect them grew immensely and he thought the only way to do so was to drop from the Corinthian church which he felt tied his hands from dealing with the lunatics who were all over his fence ten times a day. He finally dropped from the church something that increased his popularity as he found himself imbibing and smoking himself senselessly. People named him Mukurino wa thigara. Besides liquor and smoke, he was a lover of the machete. He always head one in his arms as he hanged around his small shop – the only one at the time huko mashinani.
Deborah often came to our place to do casual work such as picking fruits from our orchard that was quite large by then standards – over 10 acres. We got along quite nicely. She liked my company and being the nyapara in the farm, I had the say in most things despite being very young. So in this day, I chose Debora to be among those who will help me load firewood into the tractor after working hours. This meant an additional bonus to their usual daily pay. The time came to ship the firewood and we made it to the church. At the back of my mind, I badly wanted to have a slice of deborah’s cape of good hope. Fortunately, for me there was a sudden down pour and we had to seek shelter. Being in the church compound, the options were quite limited as there were places you were not allowed to go beyond. The only option we had was the kitchen and the verandas along the washrooms which were right next to where we storing the logs.
Some quick thinking - I had some heavy jacket that I offered to Deborah. She declined saying it was unfair, so I proposed we share it like we’d do with an umbrella. She agreed. We opted to shelter by the verandas. As I was preparing rhymes in my mind, she proceeded and asked one of the silliest questions ever, but thanks to God it presented me with an opportunity.
“Nikii gitumaga itinga ritoge muno? Kai kwi na mwaki wakanaga na kou thinie?”
Translation: “what makes tractors produce lots of smoke? Is there a fire that lights inside it?”
I never responded to the question, but exploited a term that she had used “thinie” (inside). The next thing you know we were having a sex chat. Among the Corinthians, there’s an old adage, “when two clean things come together, the end result is clean”. This is a naughty phrase that basically means when two Corinthian engage in coitus, since they are holy then the act is holy. I brought this up and she giggled, wore a wide grin and her face dropped. I knew I had won the price.
Under the shared coat, my hands made some calculated movements with an end goal of just grabbing her boobs from the top. The Corinthians wear long dresses with very narrow pleats so chances of holding the real things are very limited. Expecting a reaction from her or a complain or something , unexpectedly she was very cooperative. On my end, nyundo wa komeo was getting furious with every squeeze of her breasts. A little bubu talk here and there and she agreed to sit on one of the logs just next to the wall. I kept squeezing her breasts which were quite a handful and she couldn’t take it anymore. Neither could I. I hoisted her dress kiasi as I pushed her to incline backwards on the wall as she exposed her pepper pot. A few strokes of my fingers between her majora and minora and she pulled me closer. No further invite was needed. I squeezed myself between her thighs and the next thing you know, I was thrusting my way to glory as she puffed and punted. Her moans and groans were getting louder so I covered her with her dress and kinda hold it at the top the way you’d do to a sack before tying.
Back then I counted the number of thrusts/ strokes I gave to a lady as a means to delay PE. So, as I was about to hit my 240th stroke, I heard - “derefa athire ku?” (where is the driver?). I immediately figured out that was Johanna’s voice, one of the church elders. I hesitated to pull out thinking I had a few seconds before he could get to us, I heard him exclaim, “kai ciana ici mukuagana atia! Ona kanithaini! ”
Feeling embarrassed, I responded –“muthee nitukuaria”. That’s how I found myself supplying the old church elder with 2 liters of milk for nearly a month so that he could kanyangia story. Three weeks after the escapade, I felt things had calmed down and I felt the old man had no case whatsoever if he brought up the issue. Wrong move. He became very bitter and promised to report me to Jethro. Jethro alikuwa moto wa kuotea mbali. A couple of days later, I had to get something from the shops. The only option was Jethro’s place. I had no option but to gather courage and head there, liwalo na liwe. On reaching the gate, I heard “I kau karia kamundu”. In a split second, Jethro was running towards me with his machete swearing some unfathomable things. On my bike nkichanganya misamba as he chased me getting closer and closer, but I kept running. He couldn’t keep up and decided to give up the chase. I kept looking over my shoulders so when he stopped I slowed down as well.
I heard him swear, “riria ngakunyita, ngagutema nginya deme tiri”
translation: “the day I will get hold of you, I will cut through you (using a panga) until I reach the soil”.
That was the last day I ever ate a Corinthian. Every time I think of dating one, my heart skips a beat and Jethro’s voice echoes in my mind.
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