To start with, I am a hardworking taxpayer of Kiwanja Ndege village, Proud owner of a Bajaj motorcycle that wins bread for my family which comprises of me (The Administrator device), Wisky (a device I connected onto my system a few years ago) and Tango(A device we manufactured after exchanging data with Wisky ).A stranger may be mistaken in thinking that In my village there is an airport because of its name, but may be shocked beyond belief to learn that the last and only time any flying vessel landed in my village was during the last general elections campaigns. I am also a staunch Christian having been baptized and declared a full Christian in one of the local churches. I therefore like any other lukewarm Christian follow the teachings of JC and his disciples especially the teachings of Paul the Apostle to Timothy, a young man he had initiated into apostle hood, that he should not only use water but with a little wine for the sake of his stomach. And since Timothy is my role model, I made a vow to follow in his footsteps. That is what brought about this incident that left me shaken for many days.
It was one cool Saturday evening and I was enjoying the sweat of my hands at Sweet waters, a local joint in Kiwanja Ndege. I was sitting in a quiet corner, a packet of Del-monte mixed fruit cocktail resting on the table before me. A glass half full half empty was resting beside it. People passing by knew that I was taking fruit juice but to me and the waitress, it was not just ordinary fruit juice. It was some special kind of juice specially prepared to suit the teachings of Paul the apostle. Fruit juice laced with a bottle of Richot Brandy which gave the drink a bitter sweet taste that left my mouth with a smack of the lips and made its way home to my stomach with a warm sensation all the way down. I was almost halfway and a sweet “Superman” feeling was slowly coming over me. I was feeling rather chatty now and amongst the handful of revelers at the joint, I was feeling like the great Greek sculptor Phidias, after completing the Statue of Zeus at Olympia. I was now longing for feminine company and so with enough courage like a real man who had everything that defines a man, I beckoned “Kavindu” the waitress. She was the blackest woman I had ever set my eyes upon hence the acquisition of her name which in the local dialect translated to “Darkness” .A narrow waist endowed with curvy hips and long shapely legs completed the picture of a woman whom no drunken man alive could resist. She obediently came to my table and after a few lines inspired by the cocktail I managed to put her in the box. Since there were not so many revelers at the joint to warrant busy service, I told her to serve herself some REDDS which she took as we Chatted waiting for the time when I would log into her system and upload data. It was turning out to be one of my best evenings and Kavindu’s skin color was gradually turning lighter and beautiful with every sip of my drink.
We were engrossed in whispers and caresses that come with being tipsy, when in walked a tall man, dark in complexion with an ‘I have been through hell’ kind of face. He was Rono, a cop from the local police post. To those of us who knew him, he was a no nonsense man and was feared like leprosy. From his walking and loud vulgar talk, one could easily tell he was drunk. He headed straight for the counter and asked in a menacing voice;”Hii Malaya iko wapi?”(Where is this whore).In my drunken stupor I did not take any special interest. All my attention was drawn to my ‘project angusha Kavindu’.Little did I know that Kavindu was his side dish, and she was the one he was referring to as whore. His eyes wondered aimlessly around the bar before they settled where we were seated. He cast me one look that made me freeze in my seat before shouting angrily;”hii mutu inafanya nini na bibi yangu?”(what is this man doing with my wife).Without waiting for an answer he continued;” Malaya hii unafanya nini na hii mutu”(you whore what are you doing with this man).”Mimi siyo bibi yako.Bibi yako ako Bomet”(I am not your wife. Your wife is in Bomet) kavindu shot back determined to protect the right to enjoy her freedom.”Mnajifanya man’gaa.Ngoja nirudi!” . (You claim to be tough. Wait for me until I come back) and with that he left in a huff. We did not give it any thought until after around a quarter hour later when we heard an angry voice shouting outside. I immediately recognized the voice. It was Rono’s.”Siwezi weka tractor mafuta ikalime kwa raia Lazima wakufe” (I cannot fuel a tractor to plough a civilian’s land. They must die) .The hair behind my neck “stood up”. An uncertain sense of fear rushed through my veins at Rono’s mention of death. I thought about the good things in this life and vowed to myself that if by any way I was going to die, then death would have to come and get me. I would not sit and wait for it. Rono’s voice was closer to the door now and having watched so many action packed movies, I knew too well that the sound I heard was that of a gun being cocked. I jumped over the table and made for the backdoor, silently cursing and praying at the same time. Cursing my Cocktail and Kavindu for all these misfortunes and praying that God gives me another chance to enjoy the teachings of Paul about water and wine cocktail. As I dashed for the door, Kavindu was right beside me, competing for the first position in the competition to save our lives. The first gunshot rang just as Kavindu’s slender figure made it through the back door. An echo of more gunshots filled the air but at no time or in any way, did I have the slightest interest to know what was happening. It was I and my feet, with Kavindu hot on my heels, and like a couple of frightened chicks running away from the claws of a hawk, we made for the nearby maize plantation swearing to myself never to drink in any bar that has a female attendant. Just like Jonah, the man in the bible who tried to forge his VISA from “Missionary” to “Tourist” and was swallowed by a big tilapia, I thanked God for delivering me from the belly of death. That was the price I was paying for involving myself in a love triangle with a cop. I promised myself that I wasn’t going to try the same again unless I have a desire to sit on Father Abraham’s Bosom.
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Thank you bruh kigame. Sasa tuekee summary.
nice hekaya lakini tumia hiyo edit button iko hapo chini ufute copy moja…
Uko sawa kasee. Repetition ndio imekatsia.
after mliingia kwa shamba ya mahindi na kavindu, hauku upload data?
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i gues USB ilipotea katika harakati za kuokoa maisha lakini mwenyewe atasema…:D:D:D:D
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:eek::D:p:p:p:p:p
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Paragraphs ni muhimu kijana
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:D:D:D
Kavindu the dark yellow yellow!!!
we made for the nearby maize plantation swearing to myself never to drink in any bar that has a female attendant. Just like Jonah, the man in the bible who tried to forge his VISA from “Missionary” to “Tourist”…:D:D:D:D:D:D:D
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That is not how you leave your readers in suspense…
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nice hekaya but the ending ws disappointing…did you thank uaself now that u both hid in maize plantation?
Na huyo Rono namjua ni jamaa Wa Longisa Bomet, kuna siku alipiga bibi akisema yeye ni polisi, tulipiga kama kuua, hapana haribu jina mzuri ya polisi.
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@Tarantinoh wewe si afande…
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Mimi ni forester Mkubwa, nilikuwa backup, hiyo post iko na 4 personnel na wawili walikuwa leave.
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:D:D:D:D
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Hekaya iko poa,:D:D:D
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Hekaya imechezea around hapo kwa the @mabenda4 requirements, leaving elders wakijikuna kichwa. Wewe upewe kiti ukae na villagers kwanza. NV sio yako.
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Maliza hekaya upate likes.