Peeling Potatoes

Down this lane

= 1146

Old story in a new era

I easily squeeze myself into a seat, at around 3pm on a Saturday in some hotel in the city. I am not loaded so I rarely check into big hotels. I care for my pocket than anything else. In my pocket, a creased one k note. It’s the only thing standing between me and the poverty line. So I am kind of hoping nothing will play with it or pull any stunts that could end my small pocket reign.

This lovely waiter comes by my table wearing all her charm. Trying her best not to suck, she gets my order
‘A tall glass of some juice and a dancing straw.’

My eyes get glued on the phone, an old Samsung S4 Mini clone. It’s an inheritance from my good cousin whom I love very much beccause she doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut. Now, I treat this phone with all the dignity despite all its numerous cracks on the screen. It has no power button, so I keep it on all through.

I flip through the texts as I sip my drink casually, in a calous manner oblivious of what is happening around me. I am facing the door, waiting for some kagirl to show up.

Things in this city are rough. Shit is expensive and you can’t afford taking girls into pretty hotels if you ain’t gonna hitch them. Therefore, it’s really advisable to know cool joints where pretty shit sells cheap. If you are living on chance basis, then you don’t need rocket science to understand that feeding ladies in hotels in town is gonna throw you into a den of bankruptcy. Didn’t your mother teach you that?

Being in the game half of my life, I have known not to promise women things like lunch or dinner. A coffee date is better.

She shows up, two hours later. Two hours I have drunk my juice, had a cocktail, taken tea, emptied my bowels thrice, eaten pilau and my wallet gone by nine inches out of 10…

This kagirl, is bigger than her photos on WhatsApp. She has been sending me photos you know, some of which arrived after all the undressing has occurred on the way. I think I loved them.


Seeing her in real life, she was even more beautiful. Behind her, two more ladies. I could feel my wallet send red flags, complaining bitterly. That shook me affecting even the salaamz and all that. My confidence wavered.

A few chit chats followed, giving me stories of a Nairobi chic. Cheap stories of how she was waiting up on her friends.

Deep inside I retorted- fuck your friends. Is that even a reason. I couldn’t wait for the waiter to show up with smiles all over. My predicament was determined, and I knew it. I interjected quickly that I had an appointment somewhere, one in a life opportunity.

I promised to see them another time. Who has appointments on Weekends anyway?

Signaling the waiter, she came and took heavy orders. Women in this city never confuse the food they wanna order. They already have it planned from home. As I walked out, I told them that I’ll sort the bill on my way out. Reaching the counter, I told the guy at the counter that my three friends were to settle all the bills including mine. I said this while pointing at them. Thank God they noded back, a signal which changed the whole story.

Later I heard walichonga viazi, kusugua sufuria na kuscrub floors.

My friend, ukiitwa date kuja peke yako. I am not going to date you and your friends, or am I? No mob dating

She threatened that she’ll skin my ass alive. I am scared, very scared by the way. My balls are frozen. Every time I visit the city, I go there undercover. The underdog might sniff my presence and execute me.

In this world of disguise and lies, anything is possible.

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About Mzangila

Mentor, media consultant, photographer, editor, poet, writer, and counselor.

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