:D:D:D:D:D damn. Ogopa vaite.
Ata Nappy seal wetu hawes Jaribu hii stunt
Hekaya muoto sana. Eagerly waiting for the next episode
@Vin Diesel98 . Did this really happen?
I am in awe…
hii hekaya ni action packed, nice narration skills.
truck drivers always fascinate you, vaite ndiye dere hii ni turn boy tu
Huyo tulisema hata hurrubaro hawes!
Wonderful hekaya…but plz try to translate anything vernecular to something we ALL can understand…
Kusema kweli hekaya saf sana. Good narration and dialogue in different languages. Part 3 ikuje
MM ako hapo vigilant sana. He knows you like big lorries.
I know. But he is the narrator…he can tell me more about vaite murume. :oops:
:D:D:D:D:D:D
HOYA contender.
Hizo options jo!
Between a rock and a hard place.
Alafu Tyres mbili zina @panktcha na lazima gari imwage load na irudi yard before morning, tena diesel mtungi Sita Imeenda hivo tu, this will be interesting
He knows I love his the most.
I agree on the HOYA.
This journey will need Jesus and a dozen miracles. 
Hekaya inanikumbusha ile movie ya Apocalypto…leta part3
Kanguuuraa… .hio ni muembu ama kirinyaga… Very mangaa
part 3 inafika saa ngapi??
Ndio unaskianga saitani akiamua kuja kwako anakuya na hata mayirani wake… No wayukuu wote… .mundu avaraga one time…
Reminds me of a mama pale mwiki road lorry zake Za kubeba kamchongo ziligongana… From opposite sides… She just sat down and kujikojolea… Zile Tata… Hehe had to take her to guru nanak
Kumbe cops are this spiteful. After looking for the number plates and valid insurance, everywhere in the tipper’s cabin and not finding them, the livid mkeka crew elected to puncture holes on the FAW’s tires.
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Infliction of retribution on the truck for almost killing them, since we were nowhere to pay tribute their wrath.
We inspected the damage to the tires, the front right tire was almost flat. The outer most tires on the driver’s side on both rear axles were leaking air from small punctures made on them, hence the hissing sound.
We got back into the truck’s cabin.
Since Vaite had left the truck in gear 10, and it was approaching a bump, it spluttered to a halt almost immediately he stepped out. The mkeka guys had ransacked the cabin through and through, everything was where it wasn’t. It was now almost daybreak.
Among the Kauma locals was one who knew to work tires. Mruno was his name. Wheelspanner, bomba, the works.
@Female Perspective , ile bomba ya kufungua tyre, si ile ingine.
I decided not to bring up the issue of us knowing that those locals had stolen our diesel, since it would create more problems than it would solve. Besides hawaezi regesha mafuta ambayo washaiba.
Mruno, the Kauma tire man, rushed to his place nearby and came with two hydraulic jacks. One jack was propped under the FR tire, and the other in the rear diff. FR tire was swapped with one from the rear axles.
The punctured tires were also rearranged such the rear most diff had all three punctured tyres on it.
The middle axle was had no punctured tyre, and the sand in the karai was heaped around the front of the karai , ie around the middle of the truck to reduce the weight on the rear most axle.
We also shed off some weight by reducing the sand, dumping almost 2 tonnes to reduce the risk of bursts on the road to Mazeras.
Sorry, Ismael Abdalla (sand client)
Itabidi tu umeelewa.
So the 6x4 muguu kumi FAW J5 380 now became a 6x2 with a kururia axle.
The tyre arranging and load arranging business was finished in about two hours. Mruno & Co charged us 900 bob. It was a brari rip off, but hey, we paid… it could have been a shite sight worse.
Diesel left in the tank was well enough to get us and the sand to Ismael in Mombasa. After Mruno & Co were done with the tires and the shepe business, we moved at snail speed upto Mazeras, where we fixed those tires that had punctures.
Off to Mombasa. We found a monster traffic jam at Bonje, and oncoming motorists were telling us that the tailback had stretched all the way to Jomvu.
This was inconveniencing, as the dim eyed guard back at the Taru site had noticed that Vaite’s truck didn’t come back to the yard the previous night, and had called me, asking stupid questions.
(In a very heavy Luo accent)
“Hallo, boss, habari leo. Ile gari wewe liwachilia jana, ile FAW ya ile mumeru, bado hawajarudi mumeru, hawajarudi gari. Amesungumsa na wewe?” Prodded the dim eyed omera guard.
“Najua hajarudi. Alinipigia jana usiku akaniambia ile excavator ya Mariakani imeharibika, sasa anapakiliwa hizo wastepipe na mkono na vibarua. Inachukua muda. Atarudi tuu, akirudi wee nipigie uniambie” I dismissed the guard.
“Silly omera. Mind the gate. Thats your business. Of what is it your concern where the Chinaman’s tippers are? Thats my job.” I silently thought.
The jam was a gridlock, not having moved an inch for the 5 minutes since we joined it. Thus, Vaite suggested to use a back route in Mazeras through to Miritini- Jitoni- Jomvu to save time, since Ismael had said that the sand was to be taken to Jomvu-Aldina estate.
Now this back route, is a really moody road.
Like @GeorginaMakena on PMS.
Or @kush yule mnono akinyimwa slices na import.
A slight drizzle renders it impassable because it has this soft clay that turns slippery pap. We made a U turn at Bonje to go back to Mazeras to use the back route. The first two kilometres of the back route were un eventful, just calm driving and mellow roots reggae from the tipper’s radio.
Just as we were to take on the last ascent to get to Miritini, we noticed a burst water pipe ahead, one of those that run parallel to the road, and it had flooded that section of the road. The accumulated water from the burst pipe had made that section of the road swampy and slippery hence making it absolutely impassable.
Hii FAW na hii nundu ya mchanga, tungejaribu kupitia hapo, ingeshikwa kifua mara iyo iyo.
We reasoned to turn back and use the main road, in-spite of the traffic jam. That back route’s road was too small in width, some sections even too narrow to fit this FAW tipper. In making the U-turn on the back road, twice, the truck got the rear diff wheels stuck in the ditch that is usually dug by storm water adjacent to the road.
We had to use spades to dig the soft mud out and replace the mud with rocks to generate traction, ata diff lock ikawa haisaidii. This and that there was a heavy cumulo-nimbus cloud that had gathered as we were there, were starting to get me jittery.
Kwani hii gari ya mchina iko na urogi kilo ngapi? I asked myself.
We managed to get the truck out of the ditch, but by then it had started to drizzle, which was seeming to graduate to a full rainstorm rather quickly. We couldn’t use the road to get to Mazeras, as the steep climb had already gotten slippery from the drizzle. It was now 3pm.
Ismael had started getting impatient, as was the broker who had given me the job. Maybe they even thought that we had made away with their monies. Their constant calls on my cellphone took a heavy toll on its charge, as they drained it to 0% with their constant calling. Nikawa mteja.
I told Vaite to try and make the hillclimb, the slippery road surface notwithstanding. He charged the FAW, mad revvs, mpaka ikajaa upepo saasawa. Akadunga utatu mtakatifu, na akainua clutch.
The truck lurched forward and came at the climb,slipped a bit at the foot of the hill. It gained traction from God knows where and started the ascend. Ogopa FAW mchina na ma tyre za Agate brand new. Treads nono kaa majipu.
Vaite maintained the High revs and the truck maintained the climb slowly. I guessed the heavy load pressed the tyres into a more traction able layer on the road, because the tyre treadmarks were about 3 inches deep on the road.
We cleared that hill, and maneuvered the back route slooowly and by the time we got off the dirt road back into Mazeras, it was full scale rainstorm, with deafening thunder and lightning. We joined the highway, and found the traffic jam having reduced. It was moving, albeit slow. Slowly, with the jam, upto Jomvu.
Vaite directed the tipper into Jomvu Mikanjuni road, and at Mikanjuni junction, branched off into Aldina Estate. As we approached Aldina pub, I called Ismael with Vaite’s phone. I had foreseen my phone running out of charge, and had written Ismael’s number on a piece of paper.
It was around 11pm~12pm, I didn’t know, Vaite’s china phone wasn’t reading the correct time and my phone had a few hours out of charge. Ismael’s phone rang, but the fucker didn’t pick. Again, I dialled. Hashiki. Shit.
Labda ni one of those entitles mofos that don’t pick strange numbers, I thought.
We were now parked by the roadside, shit out of options. I even toyed with the idea of dumping this sand load right there, and when I get home and plug my phone to charge, and this Ismael MoFo calls me to ask for his sand, i would tell him to go collect it outside Aldina pub or go drying. I decided against it, you know what they say about burning bridges.
I tried to remember Bakari- the materials broker’s phone off head, but i kept missing a digit.
I didn’t bother jotting it down, i didn’t think I would need it. Every number i was dialing was being answered by a groggy sleepy Kenyan voice. Immediately akishika, i call, Bakari? I was met with a myriad of responses from the various numbers I was dialling, most being impolite barks of “wrong number”.
One mukamba wrong-number-dial even abused me. “Bakari ni nyanyako, shenzi. Ukikosa kazi usitusumbue usiku,” he answered, huffing, in a heavy Kamba accent. Maybe he was trying to achieve threshold, and i had ruined his moment with my shot in the dark phone calls. Lol. @Chloe , kuwangeni wapole.
By a stroke of luck, i guessed Bakari’s number right. I heard his voice, thanked my lucky stars and immediately started ranting.
“Oya mwana mbona hivi? Sela wako Ismaili nampigia hashiki simu, nshafika mimi, niko hapa Aldina Pabu nampigia hashiki. Nneliwa na mbu mpaka nnakaa kaambaye nna ukoma! Kun’ nini bana?” I ranted.
“Dah, Vin? Hii number ni yako? Mi hata nlikuwa nakushangaa. Sisi tunkungoja tangia asubuhi, alafu vile ukawa hushiki simu, kisha ukawa mteja, nkadhaniya ulisepa na hela za Ismail. Amenilaumu kweli leo mchana aisee” retorted the broker.
“Mpigie saii, mwambie niko Aldina Pub, aje akatuonyeshe pa kubwaga huu mchanga basi” I told him.
“Haya ngoja nimpigie” snorted the Bakari guy.
2 minutes later, and this Ismael fellow calls me on Vaite’s phone. Vaite is now snoring really loudly, seated on the driver’s seat in the truck’s cabin. He seriously needs his kangeta right about now.
He directed us to a mosque a few hundred metres from where we were. I woke Vaite up, and he drove us there. Once we got there, we were directed by a short fellow donning a Man U jersey and kikoi, with a cheekful of khat.
“Mumekaa kweli. Kwani ilikuwaje? Ulisema utakuwa hapa kufkia asubuhi” said the Man U- tshirted fellow.
I had already started hating this midget mofo.
“Barabara haitabiriki. Tukifika tunashukuru.” I answered him.
"Huu mchanga ni tani ngapi? " said the phucker. “Na ni wa Malindi kweli, huu mchanga? Hebu nipande juu niuangalie. Na mbona hii gari yakaa ndogo? Hii gari haiezi beba zaidi ya tani kumi na mbili, mimi najuwa, nishawai fanya na hizi tipper” he continued.
At this point, my rage was boiling. I felt the sudden urge to smack this short fellow silly till he spits that mogoka he was chewing. I watched him nonchalantly as he clawed his way up the tipper’s karai, and he shone his phone’s torch on the sand. All this while I was silent, i chose not to answer him.
“Eeh, huu si mchanga wa Mjanaheri!!” He excalimed. “Hauna macho macho, na zile nyeusi nyeusi. Mchanga wa Malindi nkiuangalia naujua kwa mara moja mimi” he continued.
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Mjanaheri sand.
[ATTACH=full]134413[/ATTACH]
Kibokoni sand.
I was seething with anger. I felt a nut twitch in my head, as my tempers violently, silently rose.
I moved a bit away and called Ismael using Vaite’s phone. This time, Ismael picked.
“Mumeshaumwaga huo mchanga?” He asked immediately he picked.
" skiza bana, hapo ulipotutuma pana kinyago hapa ambaye hata haelewi mchanga wa Mjanaheri na wa Kibokoni. Ansema eti mchanga wa mjanaheri una macho macho, tangu lini Mjanaheri ukawa na macho macho? Huu ambao tunao hapa ni ule sukari, ule wa Mjanaheri.
Kama mlikuwa mwataka macho macho mngesema tungepakia wa Moi ama wa Kibokoni ya chini" I callously quarreled Ismael.
Ismael was cool, calm and composed, soft spoken as ever.
“Hebu mpe huyo simu niongee naye” he answered.
I passed Vaite’s phone to the pygmy on top of the tipper’s karai.
They spoke in Pokomo language, i could see the Man U midget on top of the tipper nodding in approval to what he was being told. They conversed for about 30 seconds, whereupon the midget passed the phone back to me.
“Si uko sure kabisa ni Mjanaheri?” Ismael asked me.
These proclamations of surety were starting to get the better of me, as was the duress from the past grueling 18 hours.
However, I answered him politely in the affirmative.
He told me that he had instructed the midget to show us where to dump the load, and hand us the balance, 23k in cash. He would inspect the sand in the morning, and if it wasn’t Mjanaheri, he was to be very cross with me. I said ok.
The midget had already climbed down from the tipper and showed a desolate spot on the mosque plot to place the sand. Vaite fired up the FAW and reversed into the spot, engaged PTO and tipped the karai. The midget handed me the money, and we buggered out of there, at least happy to have completed the job.
Hii pesa ya wanaume hutoka mbali kweli.