IT’S WAMBO

You see this piece that you are about to read Mjango? It’s going to be deep. Infact so deep. I don’t know how deep is deep to you. Neither do I know how ‘deep’ you have ever gone. Even six feet under is not deep. Though it’s not as if I will take you so deep mbaka hell. No, I’m not the undertaker. So yea, deep stuff it is. I had a huge debate between two small guys on both sides of my shoulders; about writing this.
Anyway, here I am with the garment of innocence since I’m just a writer. Ouw, I’m waiting for you to buckle up mjango. The deep journey is about to begin. Or should I say safari ya ndani.. ndani ..ndani kabisa. At your own risk that is.
It is not based on a true story. It is a true story. (All of my blogs are and will always be true. That is for the doubting Thomases.) About a campus girl called Wambo (Not her real name.) By the time this ends(maybe not today) Mjango, you will be holding a wet wipe somewhere next to your eyes.
Indish is the narrator of the whole piece. I said I am just a writer.
4.27pm, Thursday 30^th March along St Peter Claver church in downtown, Indish and I stand on one side of the zebra crossing keen to seize some two three seconds to cross the road. Rush hour was clocking in. (Okay Indish is Collo from The L Word. Remember? Ni jina ya mazoeano.) On the other side of the road, just as we rushed to cross, we spot a voluptuous wench, dressed as if the material that was used to make her dress was too expensive to make a bigger piece. Ama ni ile material ilibaki after the main cloth was mended. Whatever. The dress on that body was not shouting, it was hypnotizing. Had we focused on her for a fraction of a second while crossing, sasa tungeenda mbinguni tuseme tulikufa aje na kwa nini?
“Weeh! Hehe…” Indish is in disbelief.
“Uyo nikaambiwa nimpee jina ningemwita wanyama. “
He giggles a bit. “Imenikumbusha riba ingine moto mahn.”
“Heh… Kama ukona storo bonus, storo ibambe bas.”
He began, “Last Friday tulitoka zido ya drama KEMU usiku, like 11pm ivi. Tulikuwa wasee ka saba ivi tukichoma kaguu tao. I was going to spend the night at my cousin’s place in Kasarani. Amongst us was Xavier, the play director. An amazing guy. The night was still young and full of life. Though it gets livelier towards downtown. (Anyway, what could you expect from a Friday night? It is the day when wine, beer, whisky alcohol tastes sweeter. It is the day one bottle is like a glass of water. Two bottles are no threat to the bladder. Three bottles? Now you have started drinking Mjango. Okay enyewe me si mtu wa makali. Woi how did I even get there. )
We passed by a certain street. That street that is prominent, but prominent for one major reason. It is for you to say whether it is for a good or bad reason. That street that when mentioned, eyebrows are raised and lower jaws fall na unaanza kutafuta mahali pa kujiikuna. Oh yes, Koinange street it is. During the day the street is the fairest of them all. When the night falls, beauty becomes the beast. Okay I’m just exaggerating because nothing seemed unusual there. I tell you, nothing. Or maybe I saw it that way because I was naïve.
I spotted some lasses, each standing next to some car, not seeming suspicious. I only recorded that they were good looking, according to the short attention I paid to them. To be sincere, in my naivety, I couldn’t tell who they were.  We passed as if we didn’t know they were there. I can’t tell where the curiosity arose from. Something just didn’t add up about them. They were quite a number along the entire street, strategically positioned and dressed to kill. Or is it dressed to tempt?  I decided to ask my comrades. The only answer I got was an embarrassing laughter.
 Aaki ya nani, “Hao ni mapoko brathe.”
“Wacha?”
“Why lie!”
I felt like a hamster shaved off its fur and displayed before a class of seven year olds. How could I have not known who they were?
Little did I know that my naïve question was the key to unleash the bomb story.
“Yaani unamaanisha ata sasa story yenyewe hujaanza?” I asked as we treaded along Moi Avenue.
“Story ingali mbichi brathe. Skia story ya Xavier”
Xavier, being quite a huge respectable man with a youthful heart and a heavy voice interrupted the fun-embarrassing moment.
“Nyi maboyz kuna kitu nadai kuwashow.” Everyone shushed to listen to the wise one amongst us as we continued walking now past Koinange through to Cardinal Otunga rd.
“Ilikuwa lini? Ni last year, nlikuwa nadirect play ya university kama tu vile nafanya na nyinyi  this year.” The team was very lively. He loved that team. It had unique personalities. Actors and actresses my friend? His favorite actress was Wambo. I tell you Wambo was talented. A third year na kalikuwa karembo, si ati nini.
So one evening they finished off early and he allowed everyone to take time off and rest for the day. He said if remembered well, it was on a Friday like this. He was to go straight home.  But he had to go see his sister in Kileleshwa. He ended up spending more time there than He had planned to. He left at around 9.40pm. He was driving through GPO when he saw some traffic ahead. He had to take the next turn. And there he was, driving through Koinange.
As he was driving through, just as we had seen those ladies on that street, that day pia walikuwa. He was not driving fast. It was slow enough to spot someone, anyone who looked familiar from quite a distance. She was dressed like all the other girls for the night occasion. He had a thought to ignore but the more he gave some attention, the more familiar she looked. But the fight for dominance between the night darkness and street lights made it even harder to decipher who she was. He drove past. His curiosity was haunting him like it haunts a cat to its death. It rose unbearably like sugar levels in a diabetic mjango. He decided to pull over to figure out something. Though the conflict within him to doubt and let go was too strong.
Before he couldn’t think of anything, like you would expect, si kamanzi flani akakam kwa window yake. It was already half way open. You need not ask what she wanted, you should know already.
“Niaje baby. Si niingie twende.”
He was trembling very mildly. “Aah pole, lakini kuna mwenye nataka.”
“Mbona si mimi and the way I look fine. Can’t you see hun? Brown skin is all over me. I have all you want for tonight.”
She said that as she bent further and closer to his window, while gently hovering her hand through her knockers. I won’t mention the seductive face. Alikuwa tu anapumua marashi yake. Aki wanawake! He almost didn’t know what to do.
“Si kwa ubaya my dear, lakini naomba uniitie ule, mwenye ako katikati ya wale watatu. Tafadhali.”
She went utterly silent for a while. Her facial expression changed unpredictably like the weather. He thought wiser of saying, “Kesho itakuwa mimi na wewe.” For two reasons. One: It would have been a big lie. He was never going to go back there and more so, stop there. Two: Maybe she would have taken it seriously. And this being a small world, ajikute…
She retreated, definitely feeling offended. No girl can live with such a turn down, especially when she knows she has all a man would ever want. But not this man in that Mercedes. He just wasn’t there for what she was offering. He watched her cat walk across the street. He honestly thought she wouldn’t honor his request, since he had refused to be her customer. You know what jealousy could do. He also realized that no other street hookers came over while she was by his car.  Not even after. They seemed to have some kind of respect code for their line of work.
So she passed by the three ladies and left them to it. He couldn’t tell what she said. There was some sort of confusion there. Maybe they couldn’t get why their fairest colleague was turned down. (You mdadas can tell who is prettier than who.) It must have been a complex puzzle especially for the one the message was intended for. This was not going as fast as he thought it would. He started feeling uneasy being on that street at such a time, not to pick a chips funga.
He began to reverse. Laying low wasn’t helping at all. It was a do or die. Drive near and past them. If it is not someone he knows, he would drive off aende akiendanga. That was the plan. He was sure he was wasting time since he was also so sure that it wouldn’t be anyone he knew. But it wouldn’t hurt to drive by as the last attempt. He had never felt like a pro when reversing on that day. He must have felt like Jason Statham in death race.
Suddenly, he had to hit the brakes. There was a loud screech and the smell of burning tires. She had started heading towards his car. He had stopped at the middle of the road.
He rolled down his window.
Black mini dress with one strap running across her left shoulder. A purse on one hand. Sexy heels on her feet. The street light shone brightly on her face. She had neat make up on. It also confirmed her identity.
Their eyes locked.
And for sure, it was Wambo.
To be continued mjango…