I hope you have never been to the place(s) I go to. I
also hope that you don’t do the things I do in my seasons of convenience. I
just hope that you won’t laugh at me either just because I do things
differently – differently because you may never do them the way I do…
I have a small joint I love visiting in my seasons of
convenience. I don’t know what you understand by the phrase ‘seasons of
convenience’ but I hope you know (or dare to remember) those kind of moments
when you don’t want to walk too far for a midday meal and you have this option
of aka-pliace that is nearby but
rather disturbing (read inconveniencing) to the mind? Yeah those ones. And I
have such moments quite often. I have such aka-place.
It is a cool place by the way, but it has no name - at least for the time
being.
But let me give you yesterweek’s account of events
while I was at that place.
So I match in. Into that aka-pliace. There are kids playing outside (kids always play in
such places by the way). Naughty kids with big eyes who keep staring at you as
if houseflies and bees have made homage (read a collabo) on your head. Scary tiny things, these kids. I chose to
ignore them. I didn’t greet them either. I pretended not to look at them:
“Should I greet kids? Small naughty kids?”, I asked myself, “Nope!”. *And that
‘nope’ word is said with swag.* Bad
manners Morris. Those were bad manners. Whatever mun. I was hungry and I needed
a meal. I needed a straight meal. A quick straight meal. So I entered dem pliace. Um in and I betcha tell me something else!
Hii ni place
mi huenda na msee fulani mwenye style
yake ya life ni interesting. First, yeye
hu-boil mawaaru kabla kuzikaanga... hehe… Second, ye huanika towel nje kila
day in the name of sisi kuamini ati ameoga
lakini reality ni hapendi maji; na finally,
ye ni msee wa swgga sana – huwezi taka ku-imagine ye hu-come hapa
kukula, so kile kitu ye hufanya ni
ku-pretend ati ananipeleka – ati yee hu-chill na ku-relax full time huku mi niki-dish… #PorojoNayo! Na ninajua
huyu msee akisoma hii atanikamia kuninyonga… OMG! Hehehe…
There are normally two women here, sometimes more. But
there are always at least two women I’m familiar with. One is the owner (at
least from my silent mind scans) while the other is the one who serves. They always
talk in their vernacular. Always. Mara
moja moja wakinihurumia ndo wao hutumia Swa kidogo. I always feel bad. I don’t
love people talking in vernacular all the time. I don’t like it, unasikia? Sipendi. I love people using
their most local language sometimes, because I also DO use mine, but not
always. Especially people talking in their vernacular and you are busy eating,
munching and swallowing their food! It is like you are eating it with their
language too. And that is bad. It is really bad, ama?
But when I entered that place last week, I met the
commoner with another woman I don’t know. A woman I later gathered that
although she fluently spoke ‘the other language’, she was from another part of
this good planet of ours. That happens. So I silently sat down. She has seen me
often (the owner) and so it went like;
“Kijana yangu,
utakula nini leo?”
And I was like, “Maadhee,
kuna chapoz?”. “Eee!” came the
answer.
“Okay, niletee
moja na githeri…”
“Githeri ya
ngapi?” The other one asked while extending her head
from the kitchen. “Ya kumi…”. And I
chuckled. How dare she ask me that? Si
alete tu!
So I sat down there waiting for my githeri ya shilingi kumi na chapo ya twenty
bob. I sat there reading non-existent
words on a dirty wall. I sat down there reading my mind more than that calendar
over there that had been darkened with smoke. A calendar that was just flipped open
the other day to reveal a new month, yet you would think it has already been
there for a half a year… I sat there looking at myself and imagining what some
crook would say or think about me if they found me here – relaxed and waiting.
Just chilling out for a meal. OMG! Woreva
mun…
But I really love this place. 30 bob is enough to get
me a meal. A straight meal. A decent meal. The surroundings are pathetic, but
the meals are decent. Didn’t even my Lord say that we should not look so much
at what goes inside but what comes out (don’t fight me on that one either)? I
always do that. I am told that you should also try to maintain that truism. It
helps when dealing with and trying to solve the problem of food and hunger.
This place is cool. Really cool. (And cool as in, kul…) All food/meal/menu impossibilities
are made possible here. By the way, did you know that you can get a meal that
costs you 300 bob in town for only 50 bob here… Wacha nisiende huko… hehe…
So my food came. I asked for water – no I asked for a
cup (not a glass, dude!) There was all this time I had been glaring at the
emptiness, a 3 liters capacity jug before me. Blue in color. And over time
etiquette has taught me that when you meet such jugs (or see them on a table) you
don’t ask for ‘glasses’ but ‘cups’, umesikia?
Hakunaga glasses kwa places kama hizi… Eish!
It is here I pretend to be less talkative. So I kept
mum as my hosts kept chatting themselves away. It is here I use my mind more
than my mouth to talk – always obeying a certain code I use;
a)
Take spoonfuls of food. Don’t take
out spoonfuls of words...
b)
Use more water when you want to
look at who is talking (because water makes you to look up from your food) –
and keep drinking until you can remember them
faces off-head
c)
Look at the gestures and eye-talk
to understand what is being said – gestures and eyes never ever lie – 99.9%
proven (just like my Dettol… hehe…)
d)
Don’t ask questions because they
will realize you are listening… and therefore deny you the right of poking into
their conversation – remain incognito as
far as talk is concerned…
Maybe niendelee
na hii storo baadaye. So as they were chatting, in came a “doctor”. Si uongo. Daktari wa huyo mama (owner of
dem pliace) ali-come. He too was a man of porojo
nyingi… maswali mengi yenye hayana maana… But I realized – even though he
was using their vernacular to address them – that alikuwa anabahatisha huo udaktari wake na kufanya huyo maadhee kama experiment.
Dude! How can a doctor ask you, “Wee
mama, kati ya ile dawa ya kwanza na hiyo ya pili, gani ilifanya kazi?” Na “Hebu
nione vile ulipika ile dawa nilikupatia…” Eish! Huo si udaktari! Fake doctor
indeed. Na amekulia hiyo kazi kwa muda
mrefu, coz badala ya yee kuitisha kama mimi (with specificity) alisema tu, “Niletee…!” Na ika-come. Haiya! But
my meal was done so singeendelea kukaa
hapo to listen to more of the “doctor’s” prescriptions. Aki wamama huumia… iPaid my 30 bob. Then
iLeft…
I don’t want this post to be too long. That is enough.
Maybe I’ll need to make it longer by writing another. Cheers!
Have a great weekend people.
Morris.
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