So I am back to sitting next to the huge square on the wall to my hostel room, that is of course a window. It is no ordinary window for me. It is my mystery window, miracle window and even maybe heaven’s window. Heaven by the way fits because it is at the top most floor. Hey I am not calling myself God. But maybe and I repeat maybe The Most High has a window like this one of mine that He sits next to from morning to evening watching his own images and likeness down below here on earth – doing all sorts of things that He only knows what and documents them all in His scroll using a feather and ink. Oh! Lord sorry I didn’t mean to call you analogue. Maybe since it is the 21st century, He probably has a Macbook and saves all the deeds of our nasty lives on Google Drive.
He watches from His window just like the way I watch mjangos from my window coming from wherever they come from and walk into the girls’ hostel. Unfortunately or fortunately, I don’t sit on the window long enough to see whether such mjangos walk out eventually when 10pm strikes. Unlike me, The Most High does sit watching until such mjangos come out. Well, I didn’t want to mention that He even sees which room such mjangos go to and the history they leave behind when they leave those rooms at 10am the following morning. As if that is not enough, He still watches the same mjango walk into the hostel in the same way he is used to but does something different and yet not so different this time. Wait for it… he doesn’t get into the same room he did the previous night or the previous week for the wajanja ones who don’t like their moves tracked. He enters into a different room and now, history repeats itself. When the Most High sees all that, He even gets tired to document it. He takes off His glasses, those that hung by the nose, rubs His eyes, gets up and calls one of the angels, maybe angel Gabriel, “Gabu!… Gabu!… Gabu huskii nakuita ala?”
Gabu walks in quick, “Yes Lord! Pole, nilikuwa nimepeleka mabawa repair.”
“Mabawa tena ikona shida gani?”
“Sir, si unajua kila century tunapatanga supply mpya za mabawa? Hii century jamaa wa kusupply alituletea vitu imboo bana.”
“Si niliwaambia msibadilishe tender? Oneni sasa?”
“Sir ni Mike (Angel Michael) alileta tender mwingine. Na tulimshow ulikataa hio story.”
Most High merely shakes His head, “Ayya bas. Tutaongea hio maneno baadae. Nimekuita hapa ju nimeboeka na hawa majamaa wetu. Dhambi ndo walipenda. Sasa ule jamaa wetu ameingia hostel ya waschana tena,”
Gabu resists a laughter. Most High continues, “Gabu ni nini? Kwani unataka kulia?”
Gabu tries to cover up, “Ndio bwana. It hurts me everytime kuskia hawabadiliki na mtoto wako alimwaga damu.”
Most High sighs and says, “Mimi nimechoka kumwangalia. Kaa hapo umwangalie kile anatenda kwa hio hostel. Ameingia room 114A. Imagine na last week alikuwa 326B. Andika kila kitu kwa Macbook yangu na usave kwa drive. Tutawasomea mashtaka ile siku nitasema mpige tarumbeta. Ile moto atapata hata hataamini. Naenda kukaa na kijana yangu. Kwanza ako wapi?”
“Ndo ameingia tu sahi. Ako downstairs sir.” Gabu must be a Luhya right? Anyway that’s my thinking.
“Sawa Gabu. Fanya hio kazi.”
Let’s come back to our world. My world on my window. I spot her opening the curtains to her window directly opposite to mine. She swings her window pane out to let in fresh air and let out the stuffiness that had filled the room all night. A bird lands on her window abruptly. She jerks in shock and the bird immediately takes off. She laughs a bit at herself. She feels good to have found something to produce her first laughter of the day. Maybe nobody else today would make her laugh. Maybe all that awaits her are the same kind of mjangos who stampede into her whatsapp inbox with broken English. Broken by their native tongues though unintentionally because as any man would do, they are only trying to prove that they are worth her league. She wonders where such people get her number from. Well, she can’t help it anyway since she is in her class’ whatsapp group and at such a place, her number is available to every Tom, Dick and Harry. If you ask her, she’d say it doesn’t change a thing even if it is Tom or Harry, “They are all dicks!” End of quote. She realizes even some of her friends who are boys take advantage of the friendship to trade her number with other mjangos. Maybe again she has ever asked herself what her phone number is worth to men. Fifty bob? She forgets she is beautiful sometimes and under estimates herself in the process. But if only she knew someone auctioned her number to two thousand bob. Just what is a man incapable of? Or is it worth a one night stand with main chic. Wait! Maybe that is true, that someone can actually sell her number for a one night stand with another dude’s main chic! She clicks and resigns to her chair by the window. Why did she even think of all that. A bad way to start her day.
She was dressed only in a long-buggy tee. No, let me correct myself. I don’t know whether it was ‘only’ a tee, okay? I wouldn’t know even if I wanted to. Or would I? But who am I to know and how would I find out that she was wearing nothing but a t-shirt that morning. I stand to be corrected though I have reasons still to believe that it must have been ‘only’ a tee. My female counterparts tell me these things sometimes when they are in high spirits. Too high to be ashamed of some things that come out of their mouths and forget that I do go to church. Like a friend of mine called Kez. Ever in high spirits and barely knows no shame over anything. She loves Bluemoon Mango by the way. Have I ever known a drink called Bluemoon leave alone a mango flavored one? So they tell me that it is recommended that girls sleep with lose outfits. That means they have to lose some things when they retire to bed. I like that by the way. Being partly a feminist I’d ask, why should they strain what makes us call them women all day and still strain them by the night? Give them a break mjango!
She folds one leg and rests it on the base of the chair she is sitting on – revealing the peak of her knee and a short section of her thigh that is the colour of the pointy version of melanin. Thanks to the window that was only as wide, I couldn’t see any farther than that. She reaches out for something by the table and gets busy doing something underneath. Now hold your horses you salivating hyena. A few minutes later, I learnt that she was filing her toe nails when she began doing her finger nails after taking down both feet.
I see her rocking her head as she keenly files her nails. She must be listening to China love. She loves the song because it fits perfectly for her ex. Maybe her ex did actually go to China and that was when she decided to end things. (If you haven’t seen what I did there you are as China as that song says. And yes I have rolled my eyes too!)
She gets up and heads to her wardrobe. She takes out a number of clothes and looks at them trying to see which one matches with which one. I saw her hold high one that looked like a single-shoulder mini dress. Black. I got overwhelmed and said aloud, “Aki ya nani! Napenda hiyo mummy.” Forgetting she was too far to even know I was watching her. Plus I wouldn’t ever want her to know I was watching her. She shook her head and hanged it back. I slapped the table! I stood up and went to take a piss. My show had been ruined.
I went to the loo thinking about why she shook her head over that nice dress. She could wear it someday and dare to be different unlike other girls around here thinking they rock with skin tights with jackets wrapped around their waists, rugged trousers, belly revealing tops and hair styles that look like cotton candy. I cursed, zipped my trouser and decided to draw the curtains of my window and watch a movie or write the next post for The Mjango Series.
Back to my room, I shut the door and head straight for the curtain. I pull them to the centre but stop in the middle. Holy crap! I know I had said no more peep show, but I had a good reason to proceed with my viewing and maybe take down notes this time, using a camera. You don’t want to hear this but you have to mjango. I saw her pick up a shower cap. Mjango do you know what that means? She was going to take a shower! Hallelujah! My only prayer at the time was only for her not to remember to draw the curtains and proceed with the shower preparations. Talk of a chance of a lifetime.
She wore the shower cap ensuring her hair nicely fit into it. She drew her towel from the wardrobe. White. About-turned and threw it on the upper decker. She reached for the edge of her tee’s collar at the back.
I was sweating by then and not even blinking once. My system must have processed that one single blink would be how fast I’d miss an important scene that was key to my fantasies. Maybe my mouth was wide open too. I can’t remember very well. Besides, there were better things to be memorized other than an open mouth. But I remember I prayed. Though I can’t tell who I was praying to. I obviously shouldn’t say it was to The Most High. I only know too well that He cannot sponsor a peep show. Who would He be if He did so? But anyway, heaven knows I prayed.
She began to pull up her tee as if to take it off.
My room had become so hot all of a sudden. Maybe after the show I would be walking with boiled eggs. Or call them cooked kids instead. I was watching the immediate unravelling answer to my prayer with my own eyes. So the heavens can answer prayers that quick? I must have thought.
Her head got lost inside the cave of her buggy t-shirt as she slowly continued to pull the t-shirt off thus enhancing the prime part of my show.
Suddenly, the door flung open behind me, sending my adrenaline to the wrong places like a splashing geyser. I turned quickly in shock and fear. The last thing that I would have wanted to happen to me is get caught in the act. Maybe it was an askari who had been informed that someone in a room at the top floor was constantly watching other windows and it had now become a suspicious act. It had to end.
The Most High must have resumed His shift on His window of heaven earlier than expected, sending Gabu off to go and get another tender for their mabawas. The end is near and they need quality mabawas to fly to earth with trumpets led by The Most High’s son. The big guy does not want
embarrassments of His angels flying and eventually falling to the earth because of China made mabawas. The earth’s sinners may take that opportunity to hold those angels hostage until they are granted a pass to heaven. I am just saying that The Most High having resumed His shift must have seen what was going on between my window and her innocent beautiful creature’s window and said, “This is a sin of all sins! Gabu! Rudi hapa haraka! Teke teke!”
“Yes sir!” Gabu salutes, stamps one foot and stands at attention.
“Enda hapo kwa room ya mjango sahi. Make sure hajaona kile anataka kuona kwa huyo mtoto wangu mschana! Hio tabia ya peep show sitaki!”
“Ahaaa! Fiktaaa! Habari yako? Si nimefika!” It was my roommate. Finally reporting for school and ruining my show. Yani the best Gabu could do was bring my roommate when the show is at its climax! Just great! And I thought I locked that door by the way!
I didn’t know how to respond to him. Hit him hard on the head and throw him out the window or welcome him with a brotherly handshake. I went for the latter to close room for suspicion.
Immediately after, I turned back to the window hoping I had not missed a lot. And what do you know? There she was, with a towel wrapped round her chest while walking out of her room.
Gabu should have just stabbed me instead!


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Written by The Mjango

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Manasseh Mukoshi
Manasseh Mukoshi
5 years ago

Macho tamaa

5 years ago

He does it again. ??? I was sort of sceptic about how you deemed the heavens to be imperfect but you made it worthwhile in the end and I got to understand your perspective. Very nice read. ?

Patience the Nangila
Patience the Nangila
5 years ago


5 years ago

I’m glad I discovered this blog, you’re awesome mjango

Reply to  TheMjangoSeries
5 years ago

Absolutely ??