This is a disgusting tale. Reader discretion is advised. Grammar hapanatambua.
I will never eat mutura in Nairobi. Never, ever.
I had to spent Sunday night in Kikuyu town due to work related reasons.
One thing I noticed is there are millions upon millions of vibandas that sell mutura, ulimi (tongue), liver, chicken feet, and goat and cow hearts - anything in a living animal is sold and eaten.
Being a mutura enthusiast, I visited a joint and bought one whole mutura that I ate on the spot, as supper. I bought another roll âya kubebaâ (take away). I finished eating my supper, picked up the take away and left to look for lodging for the night. After getting a room, to avoid going bad, I unwrapped the mutura and put it in the wardrobe to await breakfast.
In the morning, I woke up early, took a shower, and warmed the mutura which I ate as breakfast.
Kikuyu is one of the indigenous towns in Kiambu County that grew from the settlement of the colonialist missionaries and the presence of a rail Station. I therefore decided I would use the train to commute to town to beat the hellish traffic on Waiyaki Way. A quick online search showed that as per the KRC schedule the train should leave the station at 5.40. I was at the station at 5.30 a.m.
The train, colloquially known as the Lunatic Express or the Lunatic Line, innocently sat on its tracks with its enormous engine running. I thought the fog made it look beautiful, inviting, calm, and quiet.
KRC were in for a rude shock.
At exactly 5.40, the train coughed several times, and then jerked forward. The journey had started. Is glided on its track slowly and left the station.
I slowly drifted into a nap.
Suddenly I was awoken by a rumbling tummy. My tummy. I immediately thought, f**k! Mutura!
My tummy was rumbling repeatedly. The train was past Riruta as it slowed down to a stop in Ngâando to pick more passangers. Ngando is a village along Ngong road (behind racecourse), a slum by Nairobi standards. At this point, most of the seats were taken so other passengers had to ride while standing. The train passed under ngong road, across into a clearing (I think behind the Army cemetery) where it stopped for more passengers.
My tummy was getting worse.
Then I felt like farting.
(I know that farting is disgusting but I have no alternative. For that, I apologise.)
I slightly raised on of my butt cheeks and released one long fart, slowly to avoid an avalanche of farts.
âSsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.â Went my a$$hole.
Next to me, on my left, sat a pregnant woman. She was very pregnant. Very very f@cking pregnant. If we had a pageant for pregnancy, she would be Miss Universe â Pregnant.
Luckily (for her), the fart was odourless
The train went on.
At this point, more farts lined up like billiard balls. I released one after the other. Preggo asked,
âare you comfortable? Nimekufinya? You are moving a lot.â
âNiko sawa madam, thanksâ I said.
Then she slept.
The ticketing lady passed by us as she collected our fares and gave us tickets.
I painfully held in the next fifteen farts. Yes, I was counting. Fifteen.
Number 16 could not be contained, however much I tried. I tried to hold it in but it felt like I was giving birth to it. It came out forcefully so I bent at an angle and released a long shushing one,
Ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
Preggo was awakened by the smell.
ââHiyo ni sewage? Nachukia harufu ya sewage sanaââ she told me.
âPia mimiâ I answered.
âFungua dirisha tafadhaliââ
She looked around, most probably looking for somewhere to spit. I almost laughed when she bitterly and disgustingly swallowed the whole litre of spit. The standing passengers were looking upwards, trying to escape the fumes lakini wapi? Hewa ni ile ile. To make matters worse, half the windows could not open.
They too concluded there was a burst sewage nearby.
We approached Kibera as the fart fumes cleared and the train stopped.
At the Kibera stop, more passengers got in. Hundreds of men and women crammed into the train. For over five minutes the train stopped as more people got in.
As the train started moving, I unleashed no.17.
Number 17 smelt horrible. I gagged. Preggo opened her eyes, wide, tears filled her eyes,
ââKwani hii sewage inatufuata?â She shouted.
âAyayayayayaaaaa Fungua milango na dirishaâ I shouted louder.
ââUuuwiââ One lady screamed,
âThat is not a sewage idiot, Huyo ni mtu amenyamba!â A huge (Luhya) man told his neighbour.
âHuyo ameozaâ a scrawny boy with a funny haircut said.
The train stops twice in Kibera, I think we were now approaching Ngummo when fart number 18 knocked.
Same ritual - bend at an angle raise my butt and release.
At this point, the train was so full hadi the ticketing woman could not manoeuvre through easily. She had to push through like a rugby player. Anyone who was short had nowhere to face except look up.
Number 18âs smell caught me off-guard. It smelt even more horrible. A mixture of battery acid, rotten mutura, raw sewage, and a dead cat all mixed up and blended then poured into a basin full of fresh human waste.
I had to complain
âTena amenyambaâ I was angry!
Preggo almost lost it, she tried to stand up as she visibly retched, she tried pushing people so that she could puke, but the train was too stuffed. There was no space.
She had to swallow the vomit.
Eeew! Disgusting bitch! How dare she? Who raised her? Dumb BITCH.
The train was so packed that most of the standing passengers could not move their hands and just took in the smell like real men. Like real men going for circumcision with their noses, to me, looking like scrotums. They twisted their noses east west south and north. I think they helped clear the air faster.
Farts are contagious. I am no scientist but I now believe farts are contagious
Three minutes had not passed when passengers started complaining and screaming, again. Someone (else) had farted!
Ladies and gentlemen, we have competition!
It smelt of rotten eggs.
I admitted defeat.
The fart brought tears to my eyes.
I held my nose, almost suffocated. I realised closing my nose meant I open my mouth. Worse.
Preggo was crying, she could not breathe. I pitied her but I could not hold my laughter when she shouted, in a Luo accent,
âNitazaa jameniâ as she tried to stand up,
âkuna daktari hapa? Hii imenuka mbaya zaidi!!â
âI can even taste it!â
Excuse my grammar. Kizungu ni ngumu.
Part 2 jioni.
