All Hail The Insipid (2024)

12/04/2024

The third day in a row that Kathambi called her mother about how she was thinking of hurting herself, was also the day the switch in her brain went off and she hurried out of the house to the local police station. There was a counselling/mental health department at the station and when she walked in with tears rolling down her eyes and fury clouding her judgement, she asked to see the person in charge right away. The man in the little cube of a room they called an office looked at her; sizing her up for a cool 2 minutes(she knew because she counted the very seconds), and told her to go and submit to her husband because he knew that the only way women were hurt by men was because they were too headstrong. The man also joked that if the man Kathambi was married to did not know how to put her in line then he could himself add her to his two wives and show her what authority in the home meant. Kathambi almost laughed out loud before she remembered that the reason she was there had nothing to do with her husband(who was a kind man that smiled when it suited people and laughed when he was expected to) and nothing to do with men as a group or as individuals. It however surprised her that this man who did not know a thing about her, had so quickly concluded that whatever woes had taken her cyring for help had to do with a husband or lover.

The counsellor's office was no different from the little cubicle that served as the front office of the whole police station that was more accurately only an unfinished building occupied by people with unfinished minds and hearts. Almost like God handed out parts one by one starting with limbs and some folks forgot to go back for some parts once they had the "essential" ones. The person who sat at other side of the table and invited her to sit and talk about what was bothering her, was the reason she chose to stand; deciding then that he could not possibly begin to comprehend why a woman like her would want to hurt helself.

27/03/2024

The wee hours, or is it the weeing hours as my friend Pendo likes to put it? Anyhow, that was when my brother's fifth wife woke me with a lot of urgency in her voice. Since the first time I set these big, unfaltering eyes of mine on her,I understood why my brother needed a fifth after he had been unable "to manage"(his words not mine) the first four. Her and I have been thick as thieves and I'm always praying that the demon that possessed my "bible-believing", "God professing", "devil" of a brother to chase away his first four, does not visit him ever again because I cannot function properly in society without her. That woman is the reason I am no longer scared to walk to the door of that new idiot of a pastor's makeshift church, and tell him off with his music that can sooth nobody, let alone save! These days he comes to our house early on sundays with, "greetings sisters, I hope I will not be bothering you too much today with this evangelism campaign we are carrying?", and I am instantly reminded that I have say in the kind of religious noise, noise nonetheless, that I want to consume. I will tell you tomorrow of how we came to this "thief" who calls himself a man of God, asking our permission to run his little business of a church.

My "last sister" as I like to call her, came to say that she has discovered a place in town that shaves the hair on our "girls' mounds" without a chance of it ever growing back haha!This must be serious for me to be woken as if I had a demanding corporate job! Anyhow, to cut the story short, my last sister and I went to try. Try is a word that always carries danger in our world. The last time we tried these "shipoto-clearing" joints, we scratched and scratched until my mother started asking which boyfriend had lied to her intelligent daughter and knowingly given her one of those nairobi diseases she hears about! Well, I digress! My last sister and I are getting ready for a one-over clearing of "these compounds" and we will tell you about it.

18/03/2024

LOVE LIVES NEXT DOOR

The arrangers of marriage are inefficient.The day my new husband pointed out that he did not like how his expenditure had gone through the roof, I asked him which roof? We had always joked about such things. That day, however, he did not laugh. He said that he did not understand how he was now required to spend almost twice what he had spent as a single man. Again, I tried a jape and said, "you spend that much more because I brought appetite to your life and you are now eating like a man who might see food again next year, plus I also cook better than you ever did with your two pots and spiceless cabinet". Again, he did not laugh. I do not know what sucked life and laughter from this man that had always rippled with quaking, thunderous laughter at the slightest hint of humor? We had always found the smallest things funny. I did not know that money had the power to bring uncomfortable quiet into our new home.

"I could return you to your father's house and get my herd of cattle and 25 sheep back", he said after thinking a while. I ofcourse thought he was joking so I said, " as if you haven't seen how fat my old man has grown from eating beef and mutton on the daily, best of luck pulling your herd from his big belly!". He only faintly smiled after hearing this and that was the moment I knew we were truly in trouble.

This man has forgotten to laugh. Stoicism and I cannot live under the same roof. I am packing the two pairs of underwear, two blouses and the sole pair of pants I brought with me into this home, and leaving. I ofcourse have a lot more outfits that he bought for me a few weeks before our wedding. I am not touching any of those because it will not be said that I went to him naked and left clothed in expensive sashes.

He may remember to laugh. He may, if he is fortunate or wise enough, also remember that if it were money I truly wanted, he would never have had the chance to shake hands with my father and give him some scrawny cows

15/03/2024

1(iii)

How does a man move from an influential force to one who slightly leans and begs for coins from even women as broke as I? How does a proud son become a defeated father, letting his children eat the leftovers of his fellow men? How did Henry Kairanya move from the man that had given Karimi the experience of ugali served in alluring circles to a man who sits in his house with his cockroaches and only comes out in the evenings when his stomach starts grumbling too much?

There is only one way to know. We have to listen to the beautiful story of Karimi and her fellow students being invited to Henry's home in the late afternoon. It was an invitation they could not refuse, especially because someone had mentioned that "ugali wa Jogoo" would be served. Karimi is now telling us that when they got to the dining table, she stood there for a minute, unable to sit down. You see, in all her years, Karimi had not known that beef could be cooked without lots of soup to go round the family. And what is that that had made it look brown and smell as if someone wouldn't ever know hunger after tasting it? It seems people like Henry Kairanya were already importing spices from far countries like Nairobi way before people like Karimi knew what a spice was. I'm still not certain that she knows what a spice is to this day, if the thin soup she insists on taking for lunch in that boutique of hers is anything to go by.

You might have assumed to this point of the story that Henry Kairanya was interested in Karimi as a man is interested in a woman. How wrong you are. Henry was simply a man with wealth, who did not mind showing it off. He held elaborate parties, invited street people impromptu to his house for sumptuous meals and rarely passed an opportunity to give lifts to pedestrians, taking detours to get them to wherever their destinations were. People always saw this as generosity and Karimi says that is why we all make do with his impudent begging.

14/03/2024

1(ii)
The other day I met with this young, collected woman with whom we fast became friends. One look at her and I had mistakenly thought that she had grown up as those city people whose parents have a "guy" for everything from doing the dishes, to the garden, to the douching of all mundane tasks, if you get my meaning. How wrong I was! This lady had come through brimstone fire to this altar of female softness, gentleness, sophistication and beauty that I had only heard of from the far country of those very dark, shiny and smooth textured, oval shaped, tall ladies we all distantly admire. Karimi, with all her oratory skills and in all her elegant dresses ( I've always suspected that she picks the very best from her new bundles, for herself, and sells the rest to us), reminds me of this friend of mine.

Karimi grew up in one of those homesteads where ugali making process is long until you come to the last step; serving. Nobody has time to flip the circular maize meal onto a flat surface so the designated server takes scoops right from the pot and ladles them into respective plates. In this set-up, Karimi says one could get shapes ranging from octahedrons to misshapen triangles, to perfect squares if one was lucky. Nobody cared about shapes when getting sated from one's share was unlikely anyway. In Karimi's home, as in many others, jogoo maize meal was unheard of. Jogoo was the meal of the rich, the same fortunate fellas who could also afford to eat rice once in two weeks.

On the fateful day Karimi met Henry Kairanya for the first time, she was coming from the day secondary school she attended with all the village girls and boys who had performed very well but whose parents did not have cows or lands to sell to send them to provincial, boarding schools. Henry Kairanya was a good looking fella in those years, as he still is now if one is willing to look past his slight stoop and his begging bowl. He was also a man with money, and title.

14/03/2024

"You must meet my first to understand why I deemed my second a necessity" This is a gentle push for you to read the previous write-up, from which this faithfully, albeit lazily, follows. Those who pride themselves on the airs they put on, thinking themselves smarter than they are, may trudge on, ignoring the necessity of understanding the former before delving into the now, and I'm with them, impudence and all, but they ain't my core readers, or so I like to think.

1(i)
The haggling was a pointless task. Needless to say my "hair doctor" and I did it for a good five minutes on my time, and ended the conversation with, "sweetie wewe kuja tu kesho na hiyo weave yako with the mouthy name nitajua what to charge nikishaiona. Si unajua hatuezi kosa kuelewana" which is short for, " I have the price reigns you little frugal dweeb". Anyhow, this being the cheaper and friendly salonist who charges only a pigeon and two lambs for a complicated hairdo, in contrast to the other good one who requires my non-existing herd of cattle for simple cornrows, you can figure out on whose door my frugal self is more likely to knock.

It's a few to noon and we are all here. The "hair doc" decided that we are too many to sit within her four walls, so we are under the green canopy of this huge and ancient tree. Karimi has just come from her boutique around the corner and is telling us of one Henry Kairanya. We all know of him; he sweeps the market with a big bowl begging everyone for coins and recently he has started saying that 5 and 10 shilling coins are too small when you put them into his bowl. In fact, a few minutes ago, he passed by here and I put 20 shillings into his bowl, he looked at me for a full minute and asked me whether it had not come to my knowledge that one cannot buy tea and mandazi with that amount. Another client offered to give him another 10 shillings, which he asked be made twenty so that his late breakfast is more substantial. Henry Kairanya may beg but he chooses.

13/03/2024

Karimi is sitting here under this canopy of green goodness, telling us of one Henry Kairanya. You see, I said I've got to get my hair done today because I have to go see that third boyfriend of mine that I told you all about last week. Not the one that wears torn hoodies and sweatpants in the non-humid air of that arid Tharaka sun. No. I mean the other one. The one with the funny moustache and a heart of gold. If you are still confused about which one then you are so unfortunate not to have met him. No one meets my horn-bleeping, charisma-filled, guitar-carrying, rock of male goodness and forgets. Well, back to the heart of the matter because you all know that when I begin talking about that man, there is no stopping.

Do you all know how there are too few people to utterly trust with your hair in this deceptive beauty of long salon lines in all the elegant and expected places? You would have to come on a Sunday to understand. There are only two people who do hair properly here. One of them charges five cows and three sheep for a simple hairdo and you all know I stopped or more accurately was coerced into stopping, keeping animals, when my brother married that girl from the plains and used all my animals as her bride price. I will tell you all about the battle that ensued later. The other(the other salonist, if my frequent digressions have already made you lose your footing) is affordable, and more friendly, and did I tell you she uses the green canopy of those umbrella trees as shelter when doing your hair? Children, teens, university women, young boys experimenting on their wonder of black, beautiful hair, all converge in this glorious salon. They mostly show up unannounced and form unofficial "queues" that announce which client goes to see our "hair doctor" when. I called her yesterday, made an appointment to see her today(I knew the appointment was useless since we all operate on last come, last served basis) and bargained for a discount.

All Hail The Insipid

12/04/2024

27/03/2024

18/03/2024

15/03/2024

14/03/2024

14/03/2024

13/03/2024

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