I was singing along to a song I love called Rosella. It is about this guy who did something to make his lover go away. The song is a conversation between the two, an expression of regret from the mjango first and the justification of the lady follows. The spice in the song gets me in the coils of my intestines because maybe I can relate to what he was feeling by then. The song begins climatically with the glass breaking vocals and cry of this mjango. Now I didn’t care whether I sounded crazy and totally offtune while singing along with my earphones on. You get that vibe fellow music die hards? Oh yes, I have a thing for music and do sing. My madam tells me again and again to do something useful with my voice, but perhaps I need an exorcism first. It just doesn’t pick. She gets me to sing for her sometimes. Sometimes I only have music to be my advocate when I mess up.
Like last week, my last post (Gambled on our vacation date) you should know the depth of crap I was in. I still am by the way. She doesn’t answer my calls anymore. Now I am the mjango singing Rosella now huh. I’m not sure whether singing it to her will change things for the positive or the negative. That doesn’t mean your prayers and moral support is unwelcomed.
So last week on Thursday, being an early bird, I get to town earlier than what you’d expect of someone whose job is just to write. 6.16am, I cross over to Agh Khan walk while resisting the urge to dance and sing my heart out to this virtual Rosella of mine. I was not psychologically present but in a moment, as I passed next to a street kid seated on the pavement, I was fully aware of everything since the song stopped playing. Yea, my earphones jammed abit. I would have walked past the kid quickly instinctively. I realized however that this was not the first time I found this little mjango there. Neither was it the second or the third time. I bet he was familiar with me as well since I pass there around the same time almost every day. He was in a vest, with his hands in between his thighs tightly fitted together. He looked like a ten year old. 
Shall I hide the confession that I was tempted not to look at him on the face because it would trigger his pity-drawing power? I don’t know how, but I did look at him. I stopped half way at taking out my phone to see what had jammed the music, my Rosella when I looked at him. Occasionally he would have a smile and a ten shilling humongous mandazi in his right hand-tightly holding on to it like a grenade as if he doesn’t want it to blow. (That mandazi is popularly known as KDF. Have one of those for breakfast and you can fast for the rest of the day.) Today however, he didn’t have it. His alms angel must have been detained on his way that morning. Or maybe a raven like Elijah’s that delivers bread was stoned by a slingshot for someone else’s breakfast that morning. It’s still a fair world. 
Like I expected his eyes became wider in beg for pity, tilting his neck abit in gesture that he needed something, something only someone in a blue pair of skinny jeans, a pair of checked vans, a fit in T-shirt, a fancy leather jacket and a pair of geeks glasses – can give. Yes, give not lending. You dont lend the helpless mjango. That mjango was me. 
I naturally have a serious face, the no nonsense kind of a look. It scares off the light hearted according to what my madame tells me. Since the kid couldn’t utter out even the sheng that I bet comes first in his street-smitten tongue, “brathe” or something – then it was clear that he was already at the brink of peeing at the sight of my normal wild facial expression. Poor kid. 
Out of nowhere, his entire body twitched probably out of a chill that had made its way through his shorts. I freaked out and gave him the look, “Don’t die on me boy!” 
I sat next to him and put on a sizeable smile, “Niaje?” 
“Poa.” His face bloomed. 
Mimi naitwa mjango. Na wewe? ” 
He giggled first as if I had told a joke. 
Mjango.” He said. 
“Yee. Na wewe ?”
“Rodney ama tu Rody.” I could sense his body relaxing. My presence must have given him some warmth.
“Sasa wewe unaishingi tu huku?” I couldn’t find a better way to break the ice. I’m bad at breaking ice with street kids huh?
“Eeh hii tao ni kama nyumba yetu.” That made a whole lot of sense. 
Sasa kama ni nyumba yenu, sitting room na kitchen iko wapi? ” 
I wish you could see how the kid burst into laughter. So sweet for someone like him who does not have much to be happy about in life. If you ask me, he is rich enough to afford a good laughter. Something we who wear skinny jeans, see through crop tops, fix earphones while driving or crossing the road, take a bath under the rain of a shower, shave once in three weeks, plait and change hairstyles once in two weeks, cry when your weave is rained on or your artificial nails break, look for three hundred bob to buy a few fingers of fries and a summary of a chicken steak at chicken inn so we could take selfies for the gram in there with our girlfriends with layers of make up and boyfriends with studs, dyed hair that know no combs – would pay 2gz to go to churchill for. 
“So unajua kila mahali tao? ” 
Eeh najua. Ziwezi potea. Ata wewe kuna mahali naeza kupeleka sahi na nikuwache, unaeza lia.” 
So he can make a man cry? I thought better than to ask that.
Ni wapi huko? ” 
Siwezi kupeleka ata ukitaka.”
“Ju naeza rudi bila nguo eh ?”
After laughing, “Kumbe umejua. Hao wasee watakuhanda sana.”
Na si unaeza tu waambia mimi ni beshte yako?”
Hawajali. Hao wanaona tu mazuri kwako.” I found that funny. Imagine these mjangos see us on the streets and instead of only seeing that we are also people, they only see opportunities for the next meal or another round of something they get high on. 
Ten bob kwa mtu wa street inaeza mfanyia nini? Ama twenty bob? Kila saa tu ni “brathe nisaidie kumi… Hio mbao joh!”
He giggled. I was in love with that giggle now. I noted how tuned in he was, “Manzeh hio doh kwetu ni mob. Sana sana inakuwanga ya kitu ya kula. Ama ata glue. Watu hudhani tukiwaomba hio coin ati tunataka tu kuwaibia. Tunatafuta tu chakula.” That moment was worth a tear. 
“Kila asubuhi nikipita hapa nakuonanga na mandazi. Unakuwanga umetoa wapi?” 
This time he neither giggled nor smiled. There was an awkward moment there. For a while, I thought I had asked the wrong question. 
Unajua mabeshte zangu huniita Kapunk.”
“Meaning…” I almost switched to English there. “Kumaanisha hawajui unaitwa Rody? ” 
“Ni mmoja tu anajua. Wale wengine wananiitanga Kapunk. Kwa sababu mama yangu ni punk. Si mdosi vile. Ni vile anafanyanga kazi kwa hii gorofa.” Pointing to the building that stood right opposite to where we were seated. 
Sa mabeshte zangu huona ju anafanya kazi hapo, ye ni punk.” 
My mouth was hanging. The shock was choking me. Pity was drawn all over my face. The fact that the boy had a mother who works was enough a testimony to file a case in favour of the young mjango. 
Ye hupita hapa kila asubuhi akienda job. Sa anapitanga kwa ule msee unaona pale anauza mandazi za ten, anampea coin ya mandazi yangu. Nikikam nauliza huyo msee kama kuna kitu yangu alafu ananipea.” 
That explains where the mandazis I see him munching came from. I had lost words for him. It worked well though since he kept on talking and answering what I was eager to ask. His heart had found an outlet and was now on autopilot.
“Me nikikaa hapa, nakaanga hapa ndo nimwone. Leo nikama hakukuja, ju huyo msee ameniambia leo hakuna. Na unajua mama yangu hata hanijui. Anajua tu akona mtoto kwa street. Aliniwacha nikiwa mtoi, auntie yangu akanichukua. Nikiwa na miaka saba, alishindwa kunilea ikabidi nikuje street. Tulikuwa tunaishi Ongwaro. Auntie akakuwa mgonjwa akapass last year.” 
He paused. “Lakini mimi niko tu poa.”
I heard the last part and it is my best. Despite all that, he still has a zeal for life. 
By the way, that morning, he had the best breakfast he has had in his entire life so far. 
Ps: It’s a short one I know. I’m in the process of shifting life’s gears. It will take sometime, so bear with Mjango. Wish me well though. 


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Written by The Mjango

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6 years ago

Heart felt mazee. Turns out the norms of life aren’t actually norms but seemingly disguised…. word imelost. It’ll come around.
Very aesthetic story this is.

6 years ago

Very touching woi?

6 years ago

Gosh, am out of words. Sometimes we think this mjangos have nothing yet they have so much

6 years ago

Gosh, am out of words. Sometimes we think they have nothing yet they have so much. That mjango is gonna go places

6 years ago

Wow. Wow.
The eye of the Lord is upon him and all like him. Mercy.