I once told this hekaya in Klist, but I think it’s time I told it again. It that time of the political menstrual cycle.
Way back in September 2006, I was heading home, at about 2.00am, from a drinking spree at Upper Hill Springs/Cameo/Zanza Bar and half a dozen other bars. The stupid Kamba singo matha I wanted to ferk that night had taken off like a bat from hell when I told her I only had 50 bob left in my pocket.
At the Mbagathi Way drift near the City Mortuary, the electircal system of my ancient E30 three-door Bima died. I was stuck there - drunk, horny, afraid and helpless.
From the Mbagathi Way-Ngong Road junction emerged a crowd of young men, singing those Luo-Gor Mahia songs they do once in a while, jogging. I was then, as now, a dyed-in-the-wool Kikuyu chauvinist. The political temperatures were as hot, or hotter, than they are now. Then, I could take a bullet for Kibaki, or kill for him.
And behind me now, was a fearsome horde of Luos, singing war songs no less, or so I imagined. Surely they would recognise me for what I was - a brown, yellow-toothed, shiny-eyed Mungich with a panga beneath the seat. May be one had even read my writings against their tingod somewhere?
I was toast. Kaput. As dead as a dodo. May be, as a consolatio to my matha, Kibaki would send somebody to read my obituary?
The horde reached where I was. Remember it was in the drift, hapo chini. And an E30 is pretty heavy - they used to make them with solid metal before they discovered crumble zones saved lives.
Throatal Luo voice of the leader of the horde: “Kuna siida mzee? Mbona onasimama hapa dangerous hivi?”
Plaintiff Mungich voice: “Ndiyo mkumbwa. Gari imekataa…”
Luo Voice: “Sasa sisi iko saidia wewe aje?”
Eeeeh? Ati? Eti? Ati atia? Jesus, they WERE NOT GOING TO KILL ME? They were going to let me go? THEY WERE GOING TO HELP ME?
Mungich voice, imenyenyekea: “Er, er mkumbwa kama mnaweza sukuma mimi mpaka mpale Mosque, gari inaweza roll mpaka Total pale Uhuru Camp. Niiwache hapo mpaka kesho…”
My voice trailed off. I had gone to the river one morning and been cut with a jagged saw, but I had never faced a gang of 20-or so full-blooded uncut Luo warriors. My bravado was gone. Ferk Kibaki, I wasn’t gonna die for him! Ferk PNU! Ferk circumcision!
Kumbe my fears were all misplaced!
In a jiffy, the muscular young men got behind the E30, and within 20 seconds we were doing 20kph up the drift, round the bend, and up the straight to the foot bridge 700 metres away.
Then the Luo voice came to the window, perhaps (Mungich suspicions zitatuua!) to ask for something ‘big’ for bailing me out instead of squeezing the life out of me?
“Misee, ikisiika mwendo wee-we teremuuka mpaka Totel. Sisi taonana tena Jater…”
And with that they were gone into the night, singing I don’t know what.
Using the same force that is seeing the vital assets of @Guru, @aviator, @spax and @Mrs4thletter ziwe na same value kama burnt ivory - gravity - I rolled to Total and called a cab.
To this day I wonder, what if the ‘horde’ was comprised of my tribesmates, who at that time were chopping off heads helter-skelter under the leadership of one Maina Njenga, would I be here?
Only the gods know. But I suspect I know the answer too. And it is not savoury to some here.
But somewhere in Kibra, there are guys who made me re-examine myself, even though as my ‘bae’ (Jeso Kristo!) Akinyi reminds me often, “Okuyu ni okuyu tu, hata ikiwa yaangu!”
At least now I try, and its all I can ask of all of us. On both sides.
To try.
The MIT.