Ole weru Chronicles(copied)

chriskiil

Village Elder
#1
Whenever the cold season comes around, I remember another persons who was my neighbor many years ago, when I had the energy to chase skirts from Mandera to Malaba to Namanga. Back then, my motto was that the only thuruari that cannot be removed is the one that has not been worn…as long as someone was wearing it, it was removable. Back then they used to call me the king beyond the wall (the meaning of the wall in this case is obvious). Nowadays due to advanced age, decreased energy levels and effects of Wakihara special vodka, if I try such moves, I risk getting congestive cardiac metabolism disorder.
But back in the day things were different. Now this neighbor of mine was a persons in her mid thates, who seemed like she had seen it all with men of this Nyairofi. She had kinda given up on men, and joined the band wagon of “liking the woman she was becoming.” But because the body has its needs and satan is always out there to remind you so, she was blessed with a good neighbor (yours truly), who was ready to decrease her odds of seeing heaven. So as we got to know each other, one thing led to the other and we started helping each other in times of need. It was the most random canaan I used to get, as there was no much lobbying and borrowing...just a phone call like “uko around?.sawa napitia.” As we got used to each other, we would just bump into each other’s houses randomly without notice. I used to enjoy it because there were no mauthi attached…just two needy and lost individuals having fun.
One day as it was the habit, I bought makobosto and passed by her house, and without even knocking, opened the door and got in. I found a light big guy sleeping on the sofa, with legs on the table, talking with one phone and holding the other one like brokers of sand and kokoto in Mwiki. He paused on his phone and said “Caro..Caro-ee, uko na mugeni hapa”...with very heavy kikuyu accent. I was confused as to whether to go out or come in or just stand there. Then Caro appeared from the bedroom, closed one eye for me and said “aah umekuja?.mtungi ya gas iko hapa kitchen unaeza disconnect.” So I got into character. I was officially the gas delivery guy. I disconnected the gas as she watched, and as I squatted, she whispered “Khai hizo makobosto zikianguka hapa kweda hii”…I smiled and pushed the makobosto further into the pocket and picked the gas cylinder. She then told the guy “babe unatoa za gas?.imagine iliisha jana?” He asked ni how much?.I wasn’t sure, but for the sake of confidence, I said “aah hii kidogo ni 1200.” He removed 1200 and gave me, as I walked out with a half-filled gas cylinder. I said I would be back soon.
I went to my house, exchanged her cylinder with mine which was like 3/4 full, then ate njaro a bit and went back. To avoid the chance of the guy taking the gas and noticing it was not full, I went straight to even connect it. I left her saying how we are good suppliers because we even connect the gas for our customers.
As I walked out, she asked about the bigger cylinder and how much it would cost to exchange with the small one bla bla bla and I bullshitted the whole response, because I knew she was just trying to look genuine. I was lucky the guy was not a gas dealer. She said thanks and I left the guy still talking on phones there like a fool. I drank that 1200 to the last penny that day and kept saying to myself “well played Caro, well played.”
I have since lost contact with her, but wherever you are Caro, may the gods favour you. This cold season reminds me of you.
 

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