UTHIRU ROUNDABOUT
My friends are reminding me that the deadline for getting married is
this august. My mum has since developed a habit of calling me “Baba
Njoki”, a schemy way of reminding me that I am underutilising my
procreation obligations. A junior elder and a friend writer recently
asked me if I have plans to marry soon since at this age I should either
be holding a wedding committee or solving disputes with wazee for
impregnating a lady. “See, the talk in the streets is that having
impregnated a lady before marriage gives one an upper hand during dowry
negotiations. The prospective in-laws go easy on the dowry demands ones
you have already planted a seed in their daughter”. But I don’t take
marriage advice from unmarried friends anyway. Am therefore in the
process of looking for a suitor. Having already drafted my manifesto, am
currently looking for an appropriate party for the launch. Maybe I will
be going as an independent candidate. The most successful hyena is the
one that hunts alone I hear.
It’s on a Sunday afternoon after church. I am the kind who have no excuses for missing church service. On an ordinary Sunday afternoon I will either be following a Churchill show rerun or the Mashemeji derby. But on this one am sited at some corner pale Uthiru roundabout. Date. This roundabout is our Waiyaki way Uhuru Park. I haven’t been to Uhuru Park for about 3 years in a row. I only see it on screens during the ‘Baba tibim’, Okoa Kenya rallies and Kalonzo-Raila marriage. But this Uthiru roundabout is a combination of both Uhuru Park and Muliro gardens. On one corner is a crusade while at the opposite corner is a gathering following abracadabra of a con magician who is eating kilos of steel nails and opening soda bottles with his eyes. At the middle is a group children on bouncing castles, face painting and other children fun events. There are amateur photographers hawking on those who would want to capture their moments and some ice cream vendors. There are several pairs like us. I notice a couple next to us launching an attack on a full loaf and cola juices to calm their intestines. Unlike the dates done in the uptown restaurants, the menus in this park are very pocket friendly. Top on the menu being Mayai boilo, ngumus and other assorted bakeries.
My date isn’t of the kilimani mums standards. She must have selected this venue for safety purposes. The kind of advice of not meeting strangers in private places. She has a thick tone of dark skin, the black that shines. Nta ya kanumba. Am not a fan of light skins anyway. She has a sparkling white sport shoes and red up-to-the-thigh socks, a jeans skirt and ‘Murang”a no wira tu’ t-shirt. To keep on with the styles, she in around seven inches thick weave making her look like a grass thatched house. I would have thought she was shy as she kept her head low only to realize it’s a result of the additional weight on her head. It’s the first time she is smiling since we sat here. I realize some bean grain stuffed conspicuously on her premolars. Am happy I won’t be buying any lunch since she has already eaten. On this special occasion I am on my signature leather jacket (my colleagues call it Paloma) and a pair of trousers made of some stiff material that it can stand on its own. My friend, the junior elder, thinks I bought it from a hardware. My date is surprised at how noble I look.
Its only Jeff Koinange and maybe, just maybe, P.L.O that match my eloquence in the queens language when I decide to make a major address. And at this point am flexing my grammatical biceps. There is no way am leaving this date without assurance of a life partner. I have crammed some phrases from the Songs of Solomon. You should have seen her look when I told her that her udders were as erect as the Cyprus of Lebanon and her hair (the weave) as smooth as that of a lamb. She is blushing uncontrollably plucking all grass around us. At this point I know I have already made it to the finals. We are interrupted by a mahindi chemsha seller. He is selling some fresh boiled maize. My date is interested in taking a bite. After careful selection she picks the biggest and asks for some pilipili. As I reach my pocket for some coins to clear the bill, she reaches for handbag and pulls an overripe avocado. Just before she is halfway, the mayai guy is already on us,she requests for two kienyeji eggs with pilipili and requests him to call the mihogo guy who is serving another couple to bring her two large pieces. Am not surprised, my parents always insist that ‘ a good child is the stomach and a big head'.
I think I like her. Upon clearing the cocktail of eateries she belches so loudly releasing some deadly gas. She asks what we are having for lunch. What lunch?? But because I don’t want to appear mean on a first date I tell her there is a food joint with good food across the road towards cooperation. This must be the best news she has heard this far." Wanakuwanga na omena??” she asks as she rises up. As we head to the joint she picks a piece of melon and three bananas. KAI WAGITHAKA??
It’s on a Sunday afternoon after church. I am the kind who have no excuses for missing church service. On an ordinary Sunday afternoon I will either be following a Churchill show rerun or the Mashemeji derby. But on this one am sited at some corner pale Uthiru roundabout. Date. This roundabout is our Waiyaki way Uhuru Park. I haven’t been to Uhuru Park for about 3 years in a row. I only see it on screens during the ‘Baba tibim’, Okoa Kenya rallies and Kalonzo-Raila marriage. But this Uthiru roundabout is a combination of both Uhuru Park and Muliro gardens. On one corner is a crusade while at the opposite corner is a gathering following abracadabra of a con magician who is eating kilos of steel nails and opening soda bottles with his eyes. At the middle is a group children on bouncing castles, face painting and other children fun events. There are amateur photographers hawking on those who would want to capture their moments and some ice cream vendors. There are several pairs like us. I notice a couple next to us launching an attack on a full loaf and cola juices to calm their intestines. Unlike the dates done in the uptown restaurants, the menus in this park are very pocket friendly. Top on the menu being Mayai boilo, ngumus and other assorted bakeries.
My date isn’t of the kilimani mums standards. She must have selected this venue for safety purposes. The kind of advice of not meeting strangers in private places. She has a thick tone of dark skin, the black that shines. Nta ya kanumba. Am not a fan of light skins anyway. She has a sparkling white sport shoes and red up-to-the-thigh socks, a jeans skirt and ‘Murang”a no wira tu’ t-shirt. To keep on with the styles, she in around seven inches thick weave making her look like a grass thatched house. I would have thought she was shy as she kept her head low only to realize it’s a result of the additional weight on her head. It’s the first time she is smiling since we sat here. I realize some bean grain stuffed conspicuously on her premolars. Am happy I won’t be buying any lunch since she has already eaten. On this special occasion I am on my signature leather jacket (my colleagues call it Paloma) and a pair of trousers made of some stiff material that it can stand on its own. My friend, the junior elder, thinks I bought it from a hardware. My date is surprised at how noble I look.
Its only Jeff Koinange and maybe, just maybe, P.L.O that match my eloquence in the queens language when I decide to make a major address. And at this point am flexing my grammatical biceps. There is no way am leaving this date without assurance of a life partner. I have crammed some phrases from the Songs of Solomon. You should have seen her look when I told her that her udders were as erect as the Cyprus of Lebanon and her hair (the weave) as smooth as that of a lamb. She is blushing uncontrollably plucking all grass around us. At this point I know I have already made it to the finals. We are interrupted by a mahindi chemsha seller. He is selling some fresh boiled maize. My date is interested in taking a bite. After careful selection she picks the biggest and asks for some pilipili. As I reach my pocket for some coins to clear the bill, she reaches for handbag and pulls an overripe avocado. Just before she is halfway, the mayai guy is already on us,she requests for two kienyeji eggs with pilipili and requests him to call the mihogo guy who is serving another couple to bring her two large pieces. Am not surprised, my parents always insist that ‘ a good child is the stomach and a big head'.
I think I like her. Upon clearing the cocktail of eateries she belches so loudly releasing some deadly gas. She asks what we are having for lunch. What lunch?? But because I don’t want to appear mean on a first date I tell her there is a food joint with good food across the road towards cooperation. This must be the best news she has heard this far." Wanakuwanga na omena??” she asks as she rises up. As we head to the joint she picks a piece of melon and three bananas. KAI WAGITHAKA??
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