Daughter of the ridges
I saw her
I saw her arch smile
Like the stone bridge over nile
Her pink succulent lips
I clenched my fingers and bit the tips
Her big bold eyes
Id never make blubber unless joyous
Her sandy brown cheeks 
like the beautiful chyulu hill peaks
I saw her dangerous curves
Just like the prominent rivers
I saw it all

The warmth that radiated from her face
I felt it
by just talking to her
My mind was left to stir
I would marvel at her beauty
Designed fashion all fruity
I could tell her shade of shy
That weakened my knees sigh!
Her big heart that left me at awe
And the only thing she lack is flaw
Her big heart to share knowlegde
Left me feeling hanging on the edge
But her God fearing character
Saved me off the gutter
I felt it all.

For the first time I felt wary and timid
Daughter of the ridges you are truly blessed
I look forward to see you once more.
I see it all.

From my new brother,Waiyaki.

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Rosie, Rosie,
rhymes with posy,
hair in a bun,
looking for fun.
Let it down,
let it go,
you’ll never know
unless you do
what letting go
can do for you.

Life is chance,
life’s a dance,
don’t miss your cue,
I’ll lead you through.
Lips to lips,
hips to hips,
in and out,
round about.

Nothing to lose,
pointy shoes,
take them off,
let them snooze.
Love me Rosie,
love me do,
in and out,
round about,
our love is true.

You’re out of tune,
you’ll catch it soon.

Sugar and spice,
naughty but nice.
Take off your sweater,
here’s something better.
Quirky, perky,
naughty but nice.

Flirty, feisty,
will you be my wifey?

This is a repost for SONIA.

Posted in In My Head, POETRY., RANDOM. | Tagged | 2 Comments

                    Dear sir
       writing this what I prefer
with utmost gratitude and rapture
at this particular time and juncture
             i received your gift
               about a week ago
  attached note of imposed embargo
           i honor your precision
       and I will honor your decision
           Everything was intact
         Despite the tampered seal
   What the postman said wasn’t real
     the attachment made him afraid
         and that’s why I knew he lied
  there’s  not a good postal company
      since they have become many
     and their post men are corrupt
         they all terribly fail in apt
         you have to see about that
  i’ll be talking to you before I  sleep
  like we used to with mom and Phillip
  i won’t check my mailbox with the companies
which are in full glory greed of monies
    you will communicate to me directly
     I hope to hear from you soon
          dear God.


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Your smile ;
I had wished if it lasted longer a while,
Your touch;
I wished it didn’t kill me much,
Your blush;
And my heart felt the rush,
Your voice;
Always proved that I made the right choice,
You hugged;
My head was left drugged,
Then you shrugged,
And everything went south;
Your mouth;
I didn’t know it hid so much loathe,
Your hand;
I never knew it could stab and,
Your eye;
I Couldn’t even look at you *sigh!,
Your lips;
alas! The words cut me into chips,
I see you,

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Before and Beyond the Bed.

When did a bed become your prison
I see your strength absorbed
Absorbed by the mattress
I turn you
Trying to prevent sores
Who would have thought soft sheets
White sheets
Could cut like glass
I hold on to you
The younger you
Remembering your smile
your vitality
I had thought you to be
The most beautiful woman in the world
It is said that boys fall in love with their mothers
What I miss most
Yes most of all is laughter
Playful exchanges
Those times no one else existed
The moments when we were the best of us
Before life became real
Chasing of dreams
Growing up
I thank you for my humor
My irreverence
My questioning
My creativity
These were not accidents
They sprouted from the ground you nurtured
The listening
The time you spent
The cheering I heard as I lived my journey
I knew I could always come home
Now you are home
My home
Let me read to you my stories
We still have smiles to share
You who I love
Who cared for me
I will not abandon you to a strangers care
Endings matter
I will usher you to your beginning
This bed can’t hold one as strong as you
One day soon
You will skip into paradise
You will pick daisies
You will place them in your long flowing hair
When the time is right I will join you
When I have accomplished all that I need to do
I will miss you
I will cry for myself
Not for you
Because I know
You live beyond this room
I will once again
You are the most beautiful
Woman in the world!


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I came back to my senses when I noticed a shadow of a potrait airing towards where I stood.

The chandelier above the pool table graced the whole area around it with blue incandescence of light beside me.The rest of the room was lowly lit by the widely spaced red tint bulbs on the walls of the vast guest room.To the far end stood a small cabinet with all sorts of liquor with an extension of a counter to it and a few occupied tall stools in front.It was a home bar.A number of guys were enjoying a game of darts and a tall glass ingress to the balcony was agape while a  thick whiff of mary jane and cigarette smog found its way into the room.At the center of the room were a bunch of damsels cutting a rug to the reggae tunes playing smooth on radio.And to the opposite corner from where I stood was a gang of boys and girls ranting and shouting from the thrills of a video game,they were seated on a big lounge couch.I stood alone to the corner.The situation was frenzy.

The ice cubes and golden liquid in the half-empty tumbler chilled my palms and fingers.I clenched tightly onto it as an imbibe of the  brandy raised a tempest of effects in my gray matter.

“Thanks,I don’t need company” , I mumbled as I caught a glimpse of the then clearer silhouette.

“I need a lighter,mind to share?..”  , her singsong voice was disembodied.That one which turns me on.She was a little taller than 5′ that’s slightly below my chin,lightskinned,white high stilettos,a short black suit dress slightly above the knee,black and white polka chiffon blouse long sleeved,no make up just matte lipstick,bespectacled and long dark hair pulled to a neat ponytail.She was 22 or less and her curvaceous was visible even in the mid-darkness.Almost characteristic of a non-smoker or a writer or a fashion blogger or a law student or a news anchor or … then I had to say something.

“I don’t smoke” ..

“Me too..” 

Good conversation starter.
I smiled and looked deep into her glasses
“Ooh I could bet on that one”

She smiled and moved a step closer
” So I fathomed i ought to light you up ..”

At this point I felt the brandy topple my bonce but I had to maintain control.

“FCUK Friction it turns me on”,I muttered(Google FCUK Friction boys)

“Apparently that was non of my plan but it got the job done”                      She moved another step closer that then I could tell she had just taken a mild smelling beverage like tonic water.

“Too bad,that just got you fired”
She chuckled.
“I am Melbourne on weekdays .. and  Ciku weekends .. like today”

“Hail Ciku,well met .. I am Watson ..all day seven days round”

She chuckled again.

“We can get you a drink and find us a seat” I cut in almost immediately.

“Uhhhm no thanks actually I don’t do alcohol.Mind you I just had a big bottle of Tonic so I’m fine, let’s do that seat part .. ”

“I could bet on the alcohol part too.” I chipped in edgewise.

She chuckled again.

“Your betting game so strong huh? *smiles* Lets see how tough your game could be ..” as she went for a cue stick.

I had decided to stop sipping the slow poison I held in my hands lest the unexpecteds knock me down in the breaks of dawn.You all know how alcohol does to men the next morning when you realize you had been dating your worst Uncle’s look-alike.I mean,the drunkard uncle with smelly feet, yes?..no?! ..OK.

But God created Ciku on a special day plus I was 95% sober.

“I don’t know how this one is played” ,.
I had to lie in case she good at it and do me an 8 ball down.Look, I don’t trust these people since that Garden of Eden event.Chris brown also told ya..!

“Dunno how it’s played too,that makes us both and a perfect match no pun intended” ,
As she astutedly organized the balls in the triangular rack.I was watching her.

I loosened my tie.
She came forward holding the white ball and extended her hand.
I was nervous.
I snatched it and went for the cue stick.As you can guess, my senses were impaired from the brandy effect but funny enough I trust myself when that way than when i sober.

“So Miss Polka plays the spots? .. interesting”  ,
As i leant to aim.

“I thought we both didn’t know how to play” She babbled  and sniggered once more.

I deflected the cue ball to the rail and pocket 3 balls.This has been my long time trick since I learnt the billiard.

“Awesome shot!” ,She spouted.
Then I looked at her and winked,I felt like I had saved the whole world from an alien invasion that instance.
Second chance I pocketed 2 balls and unluckily one of them was a foul.

As she leant forward to take aim,I saw the future beckon to me.(blame the alcohol)

She hit the first ball head-on.
Four balls pocketed no foul.
Second chance.She sliced the finishing ball,that was a foul already, I almost jumped to the roof but not before two spot balls got pocketed.
I froze.

I had two chances with 3 balls.She only had ball number two remaining.I told you how my mind works when I’m in trouble.Greased lightning is very slow.
I used the deflect trick again and luckily(read that in capitals) pocketed two balls.
Second chance.I was too excited.I missed terribly.
It was two chances for her.She aimed good and unfortunately or fortunately ended up pocketing one of mine and the white ball, foul!.

Only two balls 11 and 8 lay between me and the imaginary trophy.I had to kill three birds with one stone .. and the third bird was smiling slyly at me.I thought she must have been doing what my friend Alex calls ‘kukaza haga‘,I beg you excuse my french.

My phone rang,I ignored.I had no time for it sincerely.

I sliced the Eleven ball the Pankaj Advani style (google this one) and the white rolled to Eight.I almost shit my pants from excitement as the Eight ball fell into the left centre pocket.

She chuckled and barreled me into a hug but almost there and my phone rang again.It was Kelly.

“Hey haha congratulations, that’s my twin sister, good luck”

It was Kelly’s graduation after-party.

“I could bet on that one Mr Lawyer” and I hang-up.

My heart almost walked out of me when  her cheeks rested on my left breast.

The game had just started!

This one is for M.

Posted in In My Head, Memoir | Tagged | 1 Comment

Love And Other Drugs.

So Labour day happened last week and i wasn’t much up to nothing than the president’s speech.As cut and dried he guaranteed of my security furthermore promised me a job.I fluently recited the first clause of the National Anthem infront of the TV and I thought I deserve a loyalty trophy and a parliamentary job.Later on caught up with family and friends in the evening.It went down real well.

Schools will be reopening this week and so it’s gonna be an uphill battle for the parents out there and for the bourgeois who recide in the ‘diaspora’ like me nevertheless.Bus fare hikes wont be a shocker considering my matatu route number is a three figure..i hope you get it.

While on the subject,i came to conceive another knee-slapper aspect of Nairobi and it’s urbanite.That the more the figures on the route number the larger the radius from the city.For instance;
1 to 10 category (town service like Eastleigh and others)
11 to 99 (within the outskirts like githurai langata kenyatta and mombasa Rd Pangani Westlands)
100 to 200 (Beyond the outskirts like Kitengela Ruai Kikuyu Ngong Kiambu Rongai Ruiru)
200 to 250 (upcountry like Kakamega Thika Machakos Nyeri Siaya Mombasa)
The only people who use figures close to 1000 are my Lakeside brethren like 787 KQ Boeing and Fly 540 to Kisumu.
Hence,next time you fall head over heels just ask her of her route number and calculate your fate.. uhhhm where was I?

Touts  from my place don’t wear fanciful blings and metal on their teeth.They do Rasta Fari necklaces instead and most of them teeth are naturally gold-plated,raw gold.Bus fare hikes remind me of yesterday’s where I had to trek from the CBD to the periphery of town to get nearer to home pocketwise .. not physically.

I had gone to meet my flame yesterday and I had gone out of my mind to spend a fraction of my fare.They are tin Napoleons I tell you, only God can deliver us.We visited a lot of places  and had big-ticket lunch,to me,anything past a thousand shilling note is so Floyd-mayweatherish.Back to the story before I forget,it started raining and we checked into The Clarion at the Muranga Rd junction to Moi Avenue.She led the way to the coffee bar.

We took a seat and while she went through the menu I was busy through a financial audit.I was trying to find the remainder to figure ‘x’ after a million and one subtractions.My mind works like greased lightning when I’m in trouble and therein lay the answer..

X was something more or less than 500kshs.
I froze.
Her eyes were busy fixed on the menu pamphlet so she wouldn’t notice my eyes blubber with tears.

She went for a Cappuccino Chiaro.This type is made from common coffee but it contains more milk portion than usual.Keep calm,i am yet to be a connoisseur,I texted Mo’ under the table she works at Chowpati.At this point i decided to go for a cheaper option citing my allergic to milk blah blah, i ordered a Long Black.My genius brain had advised me that the lesser the milk the favourable the taste to my wallet, dont get it twisted.This one had not a molecule of milk,replace Long Black with *turungi or *strungi whatever!  hehhee.

As the bill came by i was on pins and needles because I knew had won this one.
*Chiaro white 150kshs
*Long Black 300kshs
Not the other way round! How it was supposed to be? I don’t know ..I turnt the paper up- side down,flipped it sideways .. nothing.I felt a mass of weight fall in my gut.It was a hard task to get on my feet fam.

As we walked out,I felt the gentleman in me recoil and retreat.
The rain was still on.

I walked her to the bus stop and paid for her bus fare.She barrelled me into a hug and whatevs then handed me the umbrella.
I walked towards that Khoja place, rather jolly.The fifty-shilling coins in my pockets jingled a melody to sooth a kissed gentleman’s heart.I did a couple of somersaults and press-ups in my head.I had pulled my damnedest so what?!

As I approached my bus stage, i noticed a crowd and normally this was bad news but I was so frilly  to care so I walked towards.
“One fifty gari, One fifty gari”
I stopped on my tracks and for a split minute shook my head and sprinted to the moon and back.I looked at my watch,6:20pm.
I was already sweating.

I looked at the crowd,where more people were streaming in,only a few were hopping on to the bus one by one and the rest of us were not going home tonight.The walking idea was nowhere near in my bucket list, but only after making several unsuccessful emergency calls to get a loan.It was getting late and I had an umbrella.

I started walking past headed towards Ngara.I walked past a few street-urchins zones then a few bends and I was way up towards the National Museum.I crossed the highways and took off through Chiromo lane.

The rain slowed down the nearer I got towards Westlands.My Clarks boat shoes had given in to the day’s strife and my toe was on some curious peeping.
The Apple of my eye calls to notify she was safely home.Its 7:30 pm.I hang up and longed to throw a brick at myself.
That’s life fam.It gave me lemonade and I passed it on to another person then I took lemons for myself.

I was lucky to get a matatu a few minutes before 9:00 pm.My fifty shillings wasn’t enough to get me a seat and therefore I had to squeeze my wet little ass in an empty space between two seats for a whole fifteen kilometers.

*cough cough!

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Whenever the then mundane engine rev started he would verily curse his soul.That intermittent sound he already hated like a loud phone ring in the night.The start of the engine called in for a journey,to or from town but literally every kilometer away from his dream.

This is what he had become, this he felt he had to adapt as he drag his feet.He swam in a sea of loathe of his own soul.

Every break of dawn meant more torment.He found himself waking up earlier before his alarm went off.Not that he loved to see himself dress into full maroon coloured monolith,nah!..prayers to a deaf god. Sometimes tears could roll down his cheeks in those chilled hours of wee.All in all,he had to turn up for daily hustle,he would wipe those tears,throw the blankets aside and get himself ready for what he wasn’t ready to face.

“Nairobi hamsini tao!”

That phrase he chanted in somniloquence.His mind had already encrypted it like a phone to a direct dial code.It slipped out of his mouth whenever he saw a group of people by the roadside.It was becoming a part of his life but still he felt it unacceptable.

He looked at himself in the day,then at the few notes of money clenched between his fist.He felt his soul roast in hate.He wished to walk away from his life,like how you open sesame and walk outside.No looking back.

He didn’t want to look aside when he walked about his station of work somewhere in the middle of the city.Because the glass windows could reflect his image and remind him what he looked like.He looked ahead only.He looked into the future because deep down his heart he knew he had a life to live.This was not where he belonged.

He scribbled small excerpts on walls, doors,paper,dashboards,banisters,seats and palms.People liked them and he loved to see them read.He had made many friends and loyal customers.He had a sparkle that attracted people and he knew it.He felt like he had a bucket of King crabs biting on the inside of his body but he wore a smile to disguise his woes.Kept a stiff upper lip.

That was the only instance he felt proud of his soul, but it wouldn’t last long before the engine revved again and the journey started.

Only that this time he didn’t come back.

He walked away from himself.

Today,he walks towards his dreams,recollecting the lost moments and salvaging the lost distance.
The ghost of the revving engine is gone because his God is all ears!

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Theres always a period of curious fear between the first sweet-smelling breeze and the time when
the rain comes cracking down.”
– Don DeLillo

Only that it isn’t balmy in this part of the world where roads are pregnant with vehicles,roadworthy and otherwise.Their waste gases whizz and vanish in thin air,for instance,a Citi Hoppa bus on the other side of the road is so conspicuous.It hopelessly needs a chimney because the exhaust pipe is really overwhelmed.You might think it is on fire from afar.I won’t talk about the garbage collecters’ lorry right in front.Double trouble.The various fragrances from different people too nonplus my sense of smell.Nairobians smell nice! ..no wait,there’s a certain breed of them called warrias.Its like these populace bathe with incense and soak their garments in essence *cue Jay Z voice.It reminds me of a clique we called NBA in high school.As the appointed chairman to the non-bathing associates,I campaigned on the use of perfume in place of water because…uuuhhm.. we cared about health, like catching colds and stuff, ok lets go back to warrias before I forget the main story.I heard that this breed of Nairobians spray fragrance to everything on them; shoes,toes, fingernails, eyes,phones, apps, photos and text messages.Trust me.Nairobi is a hotchpotch of odor.I wont go into details fam.This post wasn’t about smell, or was it?..we are expecting Obama and this smell talk just isn’t safe,he is a big fan of this page by the way guys.


Unlike most of you,i don’t own a private jet to charge my phone in when i am traveling.So yesterday and i decided into buying an auxiliary power supply for my Samsung.I called Jude, my electronics guy, and he had suggested we meet at Hilton Square at 1600 hours hehhee.I like Jude because he can get you any, and I mean any,part of all electric appliance new and old,bona fide and at a cheapest price.Cheap matters to me than anything ok, i know what you’re thinking.
I arrived in town at exactly ten minutes shy of 1600 hours.I took twenty minutes to get to Hilton Square from the Fire station because I bumped into two ladies near the Tuskys corridors at locked horns and I had to spectate for five minutes.I dont normally,but this one was interesting.They were fighting over a man,I learnt from a fellow ‘witness’ lol.Police took them away to a better wrestling rink.
I have been seated on this bench for 20 minutes,my watch says 1630hours.
And rain has started falling and i feel like someone is breathing down my neck already.
There’s a couple seated on the bench to my left,tall and slim lightskin ninja and a dark short lady.They are going at it on hammers and tongs.”I saw that damn text!” goes the guy and the lady buries her head in her palms.She is the one who cheated, prolly.They dont feel the stingy raindrops descend on them.Tears.
I turn my head to the right.
As usual when the rain comes down traffic snarls up.A blue Toyota Saloon of a young Indian couple.The guy behind the wheel is bespectacled and in a suit, C.E.O things,I tell myself.He has been too busy even for his family,possibly.His wife sitted on the back left holding a baby.Her forehead layed on the rear door window as the slow raindrops shatter on it.My eyes meet hers.Perhaps she wishes the chilly raindrops could fall on her.Lonely.
I squinch my eyes to the front.
Pizza Inn across the street.A younglin couple are standing near the entrance.I can read the temperature between them from how the girl is throwing tantrums with her hands in the air.She won’t stop barking at the calm guy whose wet sagged pants is the only I can see .Maybe she wants a pizza, maybe not.Anger.
As the traffic lights turn to amber, an middle age woman jolts a wheelchair to cross the street onto which a man haunches, both legs plastered.His shirt and pair of shorts wet.Perhaps he was the one who brings the bacon home.The woman’s eyes tell of a dreadful worldliness.Her face dripping wet.Sad.
I fish out my phone to look at the time.
One message unread.
‘I’m sorry I won’t make it because of the rain.Lets do it tomorrow at 11am.”
Time received: 1631 hours.
Current time : 1705 hours.Dissapointed.
I stare at the bench I’m seated on.I wish I we exchanged roles and I would be sitted in that place just to get rained on without looking weird.That I would stand there and watch people’s eyes tell tales to me.That i would seat there happily forever and to offer a seat for the heartbroken.
As I start walking away,I feel a sudden craving for a strawberry ice cream with chocolate swirl.
Creamy Inn.

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The Barber, the beau and the brachycranic.

A tall figure of about 5’7″, that is 173cm to be almost exact.He says he is 32 already but hasn’t  worn a beard yet,akin to his exemplar,Vladimir Putin.No spring chicken.Dusky skin,rough, hairy and dry.His face is wrinkled so betraying his age,a shiny forehead with skin cataracts which barrels into deep sockets offering hermitage to a pair of white eyes.His eyes resemble two cue balls with black blotches,remember Homer J. Simpson? Hahaha..He has an imposing, Romanesque nose overprojected with a sharp edge bridge with flaring nostrils.His big and bistered lips exhibit a smoking history and when he smiles (doesn’t happen often), deep and curved furrows form at the mouth ends.The high and pointed cheekbones protrude beneath the eyes and the flare on the bumps of skin makes him look like somewhat a thin Mugabe, no offense whatsoever.His dentation is shipshapedly level and snow-white.He dons a Notre Dame baseball cap but a black Kangol flat cap sits on his head on a red-letter day,I was shocked when we met on the 1st of April and he was wearing the latter.He has a thing for checked shirts, precisely white and blue stripped,off and on.I almost forgot a rusty silver-coated sling that hangs loosely on his lollipop stick neck.He enrobes a pair of blue jeans, any day, blue Levi’s stonewash jeans which look like they are straining to cling onto the projected hip bones.Sometimes he will put on mid-brown boat shoes or either brown timberland boots to spice up that ‘cowboy’ look.The last time I visited his kinyozi we had talked about his prototype fashion and he had engaged in a very long monologue which only the first two word i recall; “Nikinunua Godfather…!
I love hair and everything about it, not like I am Samson or Stephan Bibrowski (googling rights granted) nah! That kind of love motivated by my high school hero.Lest you wonder,I went to a bourgeoise jail*, needless to say how we sold our ears to Jamaican jams than the teachers’ endless harangues.Turbulence, just like his name,he caused tempests in the entertainment halls.I would hum to his tunes and worship him like a god.He has this beautiful locks I admire to date,ok I will stop…almost immediately after high school I had myself plunge into twisting hair and in a year,I had turnt it to tousled coils of finger-length rasta.Then i don’t know how that ‘post-highschool syndrome’ had  disappeared and I had walked in to Manchester Hair Clinique (that’s exactly how it’s written) only to come out in a well trimmed pompadour.
It was the day before yesterday,the umpteenth day of April 2015,I decided to visit Henry’s Manchester kinyozi.It had been a lazy day and  in that respect I had pulled the best of a couch potato.Hobbits is a good series just that I was re-watching.Only a few hours shy of sunset and I decided to have a feather cut.I always visit Henry in two weeks intervals because I used to do a one week until by the end of last year, noticed how I had badly gored my wallet.A hundred bob a week makes 5200kshs on a common year and i am not ready to part with all that money like i am an MCA, nay, a drug lord? .. whatever.I like sticking to my lanes.
Aaaaaaah!  Niaje mzito” ,spouts Henry as I billowed the stringy scrim that graces the doorway, that day it was not dusty.
His voice is semi masculine, not as heavy as the years he bags.
Niko sawa Henry” I gab.
*fist pump
He was being merry because he grinned.I stood on the threshold for a split minute.
The room is big.On the left,there’s a long pew padded with a leather cushion, then a wall mirror stands about 20 inches above.Directly in front is a light blue wall with picture stickers, i like P Diddys small curls, Ludacris is good but the side bands look so adolescent and R Kelly’s cornrows are super awesome.Something tells me that Henry can only do a few of the coiffures on that grid.To the right the barber’s chair stands on the front of a half cabinet which extends to both corners,countless drawers on both ends.A big wall mirror stands on the entire wall above the cabinet.To the farthest corner sits kit and caboodle; shampoos, gels,comb racks, aftershave tins,folded towelletes and a towel rail with black calicos all with a Manchester club logo.Theres also a coil water heater,plastic basin and a lidded brazier on that corner below the cabinet.To the right corner stands a Hi-Fi radio system whose speakers I never seen.You might think the manufacturer only put specifically a Classic105 band.Theres a flower vase and and tendrils of plastic money-plant crawl on the wall next to the entrance.Artificial money-plant.
I turn the swivel chair, and fold myself between it’s arms.I am tall and us tall guys don’t use the foot rest (15th rule of Guy Code) hehee.
Kavu soo iPhone 6 plus, aki ya mungu
That’s how our convos start by the way.Henry is a gadgets enthusiast,you might think he lives in Silicon Valley when he starts with the facts.To us,me and Henry,100k is overboard.
Before I open my mouth to comment,a wave of thin air sweeps over my chest. Fast enough,I swiftly tuck a finger to the hem of the cloth before he ties the strap ends behind my neck.I hate being strangled and death forthwith since a certain high school incident.Stranglephorbia haha.
Heri nianze bizz ya kinyozi” ,I gasp.
Henry says that Kinyozi is good business and he had managed to start up his business during his sophomore years while at the beauty college.Funds he had solicited from his clodhopper(Google rights granted) parents.This entity he had suggested I venture into many at times.
Lakini shida ya hii bizz me hukwambia ni moja tu!”  he yelps as he holds a coil of wire cord on his left hand and an electric shaver on his right.Some other paraphernalia he shoves into his pinafore pocket.
“Shida gani?!” now I’m looking at his image on the mirror.
Shape ya vichwa! Yani kama hii kichwa yako..
He is interrupted by a swing of the scrim.I was looking at the mirror.
She was tall,about 4.7 feet and in her mid-twenties.Short curly hair trimmed slightly on the nape of her head into a Bob cut.She was a lightskin lassie with white eyes.She had nice features to the front and a rounded bottom behind.She had an oversize gray hood which partly covered her derrière,and only a pair of black leggings which looked like an inflated balloon close to burst.Leather sandals are a like trademark for these lasses from our hood.
Us guise know how to analyze people,me and Henry.I knew he thought i couldn’t see, i wasn’t surprised when he bashed my head with the shaver.I had told him how these type of people had long Instagram bios, their love for emojis and how they use hashtags even when talking.They are also ready to fall in love at the vaguest ‘gentlemanly’ gesture like offering to pay matatu fare, an instagram like,a selfie or even a dim sight of an iPhone.They are all divas also.
I noticed we both had been staring at the mirror when the damsel slid onto the pew.Then immediately I turned my eyes to Henry, he winked, as he lay the shaver on my hair.The temperature was polar in the room that moment.
Sasa guys
I froze.
Henry was moving the silent shaver on my head.He had not turned the electric switch on.
Fitty fitty!” Henry spouted.I didn’t because I thought we would look stupid.
Henry turns the switch on.Now he is cutting hair.
Hizi shape mbaya mbaya za vichwa..
Ok, at this point I knew things were headed to the wrong way.Henry sincerely that was a joke too lame, nay, crippled.We were all created in the image of God,Henry.Then don’t use other people’s complexion for any advantage.
Kichwa kubwa sana
He continues with a wicked smile.
Ata ukaanza bizz na hii size utanyoa nani aki
Then that hysterical laugh that I already gotten used to.
I squint my eyes and guess what? ..The damsel was wiping tears off her cheeks.
Ok,like Henry is trying to win this chic or something? ..
I felt like a sick douchebag.
Siwezi  anza hii bizz basi ” I had caught a hefty amount feelings.
He was silent for a minute.I knew he was thinking his next tactic attack.I wouldn’t let him continue with this.
Henry ata unajua siku S6 inalaunch?
Now that was the biggest blunder of the century.Ever heard of an own goal?..like scoring your own team?..
Ile siku ulikuja lastly ukaanza kusema ati S5 hijalaunch alafu ule client wangu Baba Kev ule wa Mercedes ya tint nikamcheki nayo
I had a light bulb moment for a split second.Henry wants this chic.I decided to keep silent.Another squint of my left eye,that one you pull when you with your mum and pass beside the baddest dog in the whole estate on your side.We are gentlemen people, we are.
She is still laughing.
Usijifanyange mjuaji,ata nataka kushika ile One X”
He had graduated to extreme.Just the other day, two weeks ago, his landlord had sent him a warning text.He was serving a client that day while I was reading the outdated GQ magazine for the 1000th time.He read the text aloud.Probably one of his sick tactics to get a loan.We had talked and laughed it off, but he had grown rich in a fortnight.
I keep quiet.
The shaver is buzzing on the front edge of my head.
He moves from one side to another, he has a tendency of closing one eye when doing the front cut.This day he didn’t pull that one.
“Good job” I say.
“Thanks thanks mzito” only God knows where all that gratitude came from that day.
As he untied the cloth, i was thinking how he did my hair so fast that day, to manifest his prowess?..prolly.
He rolls it carefully over my ‘thorax’ lol, and he folds it to his hands.As usual he throws it into the brazier.He sprays some liquid over my head and some good smelling after shave afterwards.
I roll my eyes,the lady is following Henry’s moves,my eyes meet Henry’s and he winks.
“Hii kichwa yako mzito,enyewe ni jokes tu!” He smiles slyly.
I didn’t see that coming,I lash out my wallet in fury then Henry is pushing me towards the door.I fish out a hundred shillings note and now he pushes me almost out of the door.I had decided into paying Henry with the exact money after I noticed how he always didn’t have loose money for change.
*’Ama utapitia apa kesho sababu sina change’.
He always suggested you leave your money and pass by nexterday to get your change.He was a practicing charlatan gone pro.
I trip on the doorstep,he holds my shoulders, now we are standing outside…
“Kuwa mjanja,leo nakufanyia free mzito, tembea..”
Whaaaaaaaaaat?! Words fail me alot fam! Really.I was struck dumb.I started walking away,He hastedly disappears inside.
I walk slowly incase he comes asking for his money.He is crazy, amirite?, he doesn’t.
Now I am appealing to any beautiful lady who needs a haircut,we make a pact and get it for free.First come first served.Leggings are added advantage.
I know you will be the first one to read this and you might plan to strangle me, no please dont because I promise to clear your 100bob debt this coming Sunday.
Big thanks to the anonymous beau.(I will find you and I gonna be your bestman)
PS: Barbers can be barbaric.
Until the next catastrophe.

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