Even Kīmani whom he’d pushed all the way from Tearoom to Ronald Ngala road was now walking towards the bus door and beckoning him to follow him. He opened his mouth wide as if he was about to swallow some flies then realized it and faked a yawn. He felt conflicted, confused and bamboozled all at the same time. These emotions overwhelmed him, he almost cried but then remembered he was a man and society demands of men not to show their true emotions. He remembered way back when he was a young boy and was involved in a brawl with another boy who hit him in the eye. When he came home crying, he was given a thorough beating by his old man for crying. Nobody bothered with his eye, he nursed the black eye for days too afraid to show any pain.
They walked towards the bungalow and Kīmani pressed the buzzer, then they were ushered in by another intimidating bouncer who gave Kīrīmi a once-over from head to toe while sneering at Kīmani. Everyone scrambled to a room on the west wing of the bungalow and when the door opened Kīrīmi could see an ocean of beds spread from window to window. Kīmani pulled him aside and they sat in the expanse living room which doubled as a dining room. He now surveyed the ornate wall to wall carpets, the crystal chandeliers hanging in the hallways and the exquisite wall paintings which gave the mansion a gothic look. From what looked like a huge kitchen, a mixture of organic aromas wafted through the window reminding Kīrīmi that he had not eaten anything since breakfast. His stomach began rumbling and Kīmani realized that he couldn’t form a useful conversation with him in his current predicament. After all, ‘ng’aragu ndīhoyagwo ūhoro.’ He stood up and beckoned him to follow him to the kitchen where the Chefs were going about their business. He left him at the island and came back carrying a thermos full of African tea on one hand and sim sim buns on the other. Kīrīmi devoured them with a passion and emptied the flask at the speed of lightning in a hurry. He belched and stretched himself thanking the heavens for a friend like Kīmani. Had he just called him friend, was he a friend or foe? For now all he cared about was that he’d seen that saying, ‘tūhenie nda nī kīrimū’ come to life….

To be continued.
#StillTheChronicler.

Published by Nyar Kaheti

Born and raised on the picturesque slopes of Mt Kenya, Nyar Kaheti is your girl next door vibe kind of girl. She enjoys reading, writing, hiking, and listening to country music among other things.

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: