After having decided to join other ambitious young men in Nairobi from my village, I was received by my uncle Moriasi at the busy community bus station. My mother had forced me to carry a full 5-litre jerrycan of “maziwa mala”, a huge and almost-ripe banana, 43 avocados, and 7 tins of maize in a brown dirty sack. The hen whose wings I had strongly tied kept clucking and fighting to escape the grasp of my legs as I kept it near me on the floor of the fully packed ‘Otange Express’ whose speed was nearly 150km/h.

I was happy that I already had an uncle in Nairobi who would help me secure a job…but, most importantly, to host me for a couple of days. I was really happy to see him. I quickly narrated the latest from our village which is in the remotest part of Nyabigenge location in Kisii. He simply grinned weirdly. I should have noticed that I wasn’t “needed”! We soon took a matatu and in about 6 hours [more hours than I had taken from Kisii to Nairobi] we arrived at his house at Kawangware or Ongwaro as the millenials prefer.

A soft-spoken lady with hips that threatened to burst out of the tight jeans she wore, shot from the house and jumped high as uncle Moriasi also catapulted…the two met momentarily in the air and as their lips brushed, I heard mild laughters…  “karibu beb” “nimekumiss”. I rushed to protect my uncle and pushed the lady aside!

She snarled at me as if I was some kind of raw sewage from Kayole …”aaarh, nini we-i-we! Niach-ie….puh-lease!” I saw my uncle raise his hand as if to “high-five” me for helping him separate with the lady…his hand intentionally missed mine and landed on my face sending shock waves throughout my entire body as a siren-like pitch burst through my ear…”unataka kupiga aunt yako!” He thundered with lips half covered in red lipstick from the thick lips of the lady, who by now wore a devilish smile.

I immediately noticed that she must have been black, before she uniquely turned brown..too brown..I could tell that she was from “Western”, possibly Vihiga County for her heavy built muscled legs almost scared me. She turned and entered the house woobling her booty left-right…with each step she made, those bulging loose fats just shook uncontrollably…uncle and nephew stood watching. I was confused. He was almost smiling, almost eager…I read his mind. It was sexually evil.
As we entered the tiny servant-quarter or studio if you wish…my eyes met 17 colourful underwears all arranged on an improvised curtain robe that was nailed from one part of the room to another to separate the “bedroom from the kitchen”…we all sat on the bed but my uncle insisted on being in the middle.

My uncle had intimidated the whole village on the few occasions he had come home by insisting that he had constantly featured in at least the top 100 most richest people in Nairobi. He had assured us that since he lived in a rich-end suburb he called “Kalen” he had been tired of the early morning greetings from the Deputy President William Ruto who was his neighbour. He informed us that he had even told off a man called “Kris Kilubi” for asking for salt and unga-pima daily. We feared him…but, he tactically disappeared after a day from the village…thus, no one ever had a chance to request for some money.

Well, I was shocked to realize that he squeezed himself in the tiniest room in Kawangware with young college boys as his neighbours….
She cooked some ugali…we ended up using the “maziwa mala” I had carried from home as “mboga” [“veges”]. Even though it was so bitter, she gobbled down two cups before adding some water to the now empty cup, shaking vigorously and draining the remaining contents…that skill can only be found in the village.
After the meal, there was an awful silence of about 10 minutes…finally, she bent down and started washing utensils just to keep herself busy.

Since the room was so small her buttocks were raised to our faces sequentially. Once or twice an evil stench wafted my nostrils, straight from the direction of the buttocks…from the angle of my eye, I could also see my uncle frowning when such tornadoes hit us. I was punished for about 16 minutes by these rare grundle rumble booty coughs or farts …Oblivious of the intolerable enigma of the house, she squeakily burst into a song…”…kioo hakidanganyi ma…na na na…Salome wangu….”

After the torture…it was time to sleep….

The utensils and the 6kg gas cylinder were miraculously hidden to find space for my thin mattress. I sat down to read my Bible as was my tradition before sleeping…unfortunately, without any shame; she quickly undressed and walked past me in just a bra and an underwear, to close the door. She later made a spiderman dive into the bed to join my anxious uncle who had been impatiently calling her ….soon I had them giggling. Then came the fights… Things got worse….
I woke up. My uncle had been be-witched by the theatrics of this slay queen; such a man wouldn’t remember his village wife. I carried my banana, my half-drank jerrycan of milk and all the other luggage I came with and stepped into the cold Nairobian night. I hadn’t gone far when I heard them lock the door behind me…I bitterly regretted coming to Nairobi. I cried for my innocent aunt. I cried. I cried.



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