Weekend at Shags (The sequel)

I have met a lot of guys and I accept that every individual is unique. George Orwell said, all animals are equal but others are more equal. Still on my trip to the village(shags) I met one of those more equal guys. In case you haven’t read the previous post I won’t help you here.

This guy is an accountant by profession but has stints of teaching in different girls school, He says he only accepts offers from such school that he’s a weakling and can’t survive the wrath of boys. He complains that remembering the student he was he can’t condemn himself to students like him or worse. While in school he was a friend of the law-his words- that because of several clashes he familiarized himself with the law and thus knew its weak points and as such he believes they are friends. So while on his escapades with the law he fondly talks about his teaching years and less about the reasons why he was laid off, he says he resigned and I don’t believe him so I order two bottles of tusker. So the conversation goes on and on and I come to learn that he taught in Mombasa where the weather is hot and the ladies are hotter, the ladies are light and the sun is bright, the nights are warm and the girls need warmth. In his days as a teacher he was a straight forward teacher who never broke the law and slept with his students. He however notes that in situations when a dark guy like him saw the seems of a brown legged woman then whatever followed cannot be classified as misdemeanor, child abuse rather that students used their superior knowledge and skills to put a righteous man to temptation. He concludes that all that is required of the teacher, the school board and parents alike is to be aware of the plight of the schoolteacher in the sea of temptation.

He talks of the major projects he wants to undertake in his gichagi, how adorable ladies find him and his stints with women from all over the world. He likes Italian women and mentions names like cruchpa, Krishapa and shiku as his favorite blend of Italians. He isn’t a smart guy, that he admits, but believes that sayings like gentlemen don’t kiss and tell is a phrase used by men who fear the knowledge of knowing the escapades of their friends, relatives, colleagues or generally the alcoholic who’s sharing your bar table. He says a lot of women have proposed to him and he has had to turn them down because he’s an explorer and needs more places to hoist his flag. Generally he badmouths himself, his community, his work, his life and generally his bored dumass life. After an eternity of talks he finally says something that really makes sense.

Sundu: Mr. you don’t talk too much do you?

Me: Actually I do (I almost add ….but I keep it all within my head)

Sundu: and why is that? Are u scared or something?

Me: no. Actually experience has taught me enough.

Sundu: enough of what?

Me: The more a man talks the more he puts up a show.

I then carefully walk out and take a matatu to my grandmas place. She’s one fond woman but as well the most dangerous of them all. If Gadhafi was a dictator it’s cos he might have read a how to book by my nanny. She doesn’t take shit, I mean she has never taken shit from nobody not even by granddad, I suppose. She literally rules with an iron hand, fist and from her generosity with foul mouth and cane she might not have a heart down below the ribs. Surprisingly, she’s one hospitable host who will shower you with food, lots of it and sweet compliments besides witty stories but that is as long as she still sees you as a guest.

In her home nobody is special. She cares not when you sleep but everybody must be up by 6. This rule has got no exemptions and it becomes more strict suppose you pretend you are sick where you are woken up every hour to check on you, I guess to find if you haven’t died yet and to bring a glass of mwarubaine, and believe you me foul taste is not enough description to this drug. Men in her home eat like men( read a plate of Ugali for every two) and most importantly work like men. She goes to the farm from six to six, no meals or rests in between and tomorrow repeats the process all over again. Her word is final and in case you have a conversation like this:

Me: Mathe, christine’s mum got cancer?

Nanny: haha is that what you call it these days?

Me: call what?

Nanny: Aids.

Me: cancer and Aids are different.

Nanny: Mzungu has lied to you my grandchild.

Me: No they are different.

Nanny: haha you think am stupid?

And you an guess where that conversation leads and she might end up asking your mum to cane you often that you have been brainwashed by the internet( Yeah she knows the internet only that she doesn’t know how it is used, what it actually is and where it exists). Other times you might accidentally trip and a drop of hot water from the sufuria drop on her feet and she will ask you to bring her a cup, then she would fill the cup with hot water and pour it all on you. And if you cry she’l say,” When you did that to me did I cry?” and we would all join in to defend our brother, sister or cousin and she’ll say laugh it off saying, “ What is done is done and by the way you all are at my place so shut up!” The dog will bark on her harsh tone and scary away to safety so will our complaints.

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