boyfulani

I’m insomnia-eyed.

I’ve been searching for words, under my desk, bed, ash tray, even lifted the maid’s dress.

I’ve turned all pockets, inside in, and only strange foreign coins jingle.

Days have been coming, going, flipping me over, but I’m glad the cat instincts have me landing perfectly on my two feet- albeit in an awkward angle.

It’s one thing to scream and it’s another if the screams come from a grown up man.

It’s doesn’t get any bitter when the wails and cries take on a deathly hue, like someone with a 9″ inch knife stuck in his heart.

But when they take place in a place, infested by a nose numbing human odor,  dimmed roster cigarettes, oil (mechanics) acrid smell of shit and urine – you get the picture.

More so, when you have to wake up the others to ‘turn’ as you sleep on the hard floor – well, catch sleep?

Not here.

Tales catch on to half past 3 a.m.

They hardly pose to listen to the guy whose knees have been turned jelly by the Corporal’s cane, but his spirit remains staunch, his voice betraying pain and agony:

“Aki ya mungu, nitakaa ivo, sikuli, huyu Kopeo kumaaaamake! Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii Uuuuuuuuuuuui!”

Collo (my confidant) whispers to me that he’s a (serial) fake money peddler.

“Aiii…mimi si ngwea!  Offisa, wanataka kuniua..uuuuuiii!”

“Anadai eti yeye ni ordinari hapa? Anafaa apigwe mbati za mawe!”

Man, you can’t even dare look in that dark corner, filled with miscreants from one walk of life: the dark, dunk and dirty alleys of the city.

On Monday, I’m glued to the screen, headphones in place blotting any attempt to bring back the sights of the weekend, when I’m nudged and find our whole department looking in my direction.

A thin layer of sweat main lines itself close to my spine, and I  collect what is left of  myconfidence to face the boss, who has called impromptu meeting.

His clean shaven head, laugh, and pot belly flash back and forth my mind, meshes with the memory as the gray-haired officer who was on my case with boots, blows a snake-like whip (with a deadly pain).

Licking my ashy lips and making way to the meeting, just desks away, their stares heighten the ‘they know what you did this wick-end’.

Maybe I should be delighted in the fact that the possibility of getting a job here is simply waiting for approval, but men- little surprises me of late.

Truimph, loss -alike, embrace them.

Just like I let Collo take off with my phone,  my leather belt…man- by the end of the state visit, the only thing I wasn’t ready to willingly give up was my dear life.

The moment I was thrown in, there was a hand in my every pockets, and wasn’t not for Collo, all I had would have disappeared into the thick air.

Some background.

Many months ago, I entered into some deal, where money was flowing and I was supposed to deliver services on my end. They were after some skills I possess and they were willing to do anything to get me in the boat, even offering to pay my rent, blah.

As human as one can be (the good side)Ii attempted to resign  and refund all I had taken for the obvious reason that I wouldn’t hack the hustle with my internship in tow.

They flatly refused and went ahead to pumped dough,  which my needs (mashida, lol) weakened the body and my spirit followed through.

It turned out that, true to my prediction, the project went mala.

Apparently, I was labelled the annoying bacteria that spoiled the good milk .

On Saturday afternoon, I receive a call and the guy on the other end says he’s near our offices and would like to see me.

We didn’t speak more than two words before I saw to cops, armed with Ak 47s circling closer.

I could only look at his face and resign to fate, probably just muffle like Caesar: Even you, Brutus

Around this time, sporadic rain pounded on our roof tops. I disliked the weather partly because going to my campus fox hole, was a too muddy affair. During these awards, it paid off as the said run-away date could not get to her hostel due to, in her words,  ’the fear darkness and loath she holds inside for mud’.

I had absolutely no objection to her resolution, and in fact, was more than glad to go through my compilation of CDs with her.

The kind that play music.

V- for Voila!  bumps into me along the campus streets. V is getting  rained on and i wonder aloud.

The  umbrella she has back in her room,  has  ’cobwebs’.

Nibbling at her meal now, she throws almost everything aside and complains about how horrible the campus menu is -before she tasted it.

I simply watch blankly, my acrobatic minyos causing a circus as they share my meal. I don’t blame them, they last drown in alcohol.

The hapless chicken thighs have never had it rougher, in between…teeth as only the (dry) powder from the sifted chicken bones appears on my lips.

Tonight, I have to face Mbogo, like a man. Mbogo, let not the buffalo name mislead you, is the little midget who masquarades as the hostel caretaker and watchman.  I owe him two months rent and he has stated addressing me by my surname.

On this other line, I voilate Viola’s sassyness with corny lies and she is wild-eyed with what I think is honest amusement.

She once tried smoking, in Britain, Rotten Britain, had an 8-minute stand in a lift…

And well, doesn’t mind walking in the pouring rain with this fearless jerk.

I prefer profundity to profanity. There is no fucking joy in shallowness. But the depth of her ignorance was like a stick of dynamite in a bon-bon; it shocked me so much it nearly killed me. I still can’t figure out why they want to lock me away when it was obvious any children she might bear would set our evolution back thousands of years.

We met at a time when I was completely vulnerable and completely broke. She thought buying me something to eat was a precursor to me being oblivious to her many and varied prejudices. Her grievances were both astounding and inane and her vocabulary had absolutely no variation. For God’s sake, she finished virtually every sentence with the non-sequitur ‘doncha know it’.

I tried really hard to resist the urge to ram my egg-covered tines through her dull, watered-down eyes. Aside from the fact that the place was full of witnesses, I was also very much enjoying my breakfast. She drank tea, sweetened by the contents of 8 sachets of sugar. She smoked incessantly, blowing bilious blue smoke first over one shoulder then the other. If I hadn’t been so stupefyingly hungry, I would never have allowed her to waste any more of this worlds precious oxygen.

Her putrescence, her sheer stinking stupidity, was most certainly generational if not multi-generational. The only good thing about her life was the orgasm her father had in order to create her. I can’t imagine any situation or path of destiny that would lead her to actually doing any good on this earth, nothing at all.

I told her all this later. I gave her a chance to understand, to accept what I was doing. Of course, she screamed at first. She struggled against the ropes. But when I finally told her I loved her and all would be well, she showed the first signs of intelligence I’d seen her exhibit. She closed her eyes and wept. It was then I felt sorry for the pale, shallow bitch and finished her quick.

I mean, we all have bad habits and mine is that I’m a soft touch.

Story re-blogged from here