Sunset Saga #01

The lady at the barber shop kept insisting that she wants to scrab my face. In every barber shop with those services, they always want to scrab your face. Even if your face is as smooth as mine huh! You tell her you have a bus to catch at 10pm but she behaves like she's the driver of that bus but she's still scrubbing faces.. 

She asks me, 'why are you traveling at night?'

'Because I'm going to Migori,' I tell her 

At this time she had already finished washing my head. It had already clocked 9pm. She placed a white towel over my head and started drying my hair. 

'How does someone go to Migori?,' she asked 

'Some parts of it are in Tanzania,' I told her then stared at my self in the mirror. 

In a very long time I found a guy who shaved me well. He was keen and handled my big head with care. I guess it's because I was a new client and he wanted me to come back next time. He was extra careful, I felt like he was going to do it for a whole hour and almost asked him 'can we continue next week when I come back from Migori?' 

I didn't realize that the answer I had given the lady was somehow irrelevant according  to what she asked. But honestly, how could I start explaining how you go to migori when I had roughly an hour to go cook, eat, take a bath and catch a 10pm bus?

Their services are commendable though. I could have referred you there but I don't remember the name of the barber shop. When you're going home to become a father you don't pay attention to things like the name of a barber shop. Maybe next time. Or if it's urgent when you're at  87junction, Kinoo, walk down the tarmac between 50- 100 metres you'll see a carwash (whose name also I don't know) on your left. There is always a white pickup being washed there. Always ! After the carwash is the barber shop. Be sure to tell them it's me who referred you...

The next day evening - at the kitchen with my mama, catching up on a few things, she suddenly tells me. 'Yawa ! Have you heard that Musa died?' 'Yeah someone told me,' I answer. She explains to me how Musa died. Sources have it that he got very drunk the previous night. He came home late and fell on the bed like the '3am man' does. The next morning Musa had errands to run meaning that he had to deal with his hangover quick fast. He goes to wherever and comes back with 'ndovu' stuffed in his pie hole. I hear 'ndovu' kills hangover as fast as doom kubwa kills cockroaches. Is it a fact ? Anyone ? 

A time comes when the stomach is the enemy. It's just there demanding. Waiting for you to do your thing and feed it. But it's a good enemy, because what are we without stomachs ?. Musa decided to calm down his enzymes with some munchies which ended up tagging along the 'ndovu' to the stomach. He started groaning and kicking with his mouth full of foam. He was rushed to hospital but Musa was not meant to see another sunset.

How true is it that 'ndovu' kills when swallowed?  Why would someone even put poison in their mouth ? So Musa rested. 

I wonder the kind of husband or father I will be. I like listening to mushenee. Mushenee makes you a story teller. Good mushenee that is. Not like that of women sitting by the borehole holding their dresses between their thighs. 

If I don't listen to them, what will I tell my guys who pile here waiting for them? What will Robert read ? My old man isn't quick in telling me what happened back home while I was away. He always assumes I already know. Or he feels that it makes no difference knowing or not knowing. It's doesn't add a coin to your bank account. But it really adds something. 

I'm afraid I may be a father who tells his son everything. Like ' hello boy, today at exactly 6.09pm we had a showdown in the house between your mum and a rat that saw the TV come crumbling down on the floor,  the rat was the obvious winner because she has not come back to the sitting room for about 3hrs now. Excitingly the winner had to die for trespassing' 

On the contrary it won't be surprising if some day I become a silent dad. Like the one Biko talks about in 'Silence is no longer the mirror' One who doesn't talk much about things. One who overlooks things he presume to be petty but keen on things that matter. A bigger part of me want to be that. But the story teller part of me wants to be the one who tells his son everything.

I promised my grandma that I would remove an aunt hill creeping at a corner in her house. She is outside here yelling my name. See you guys. Lemme go pick this blessing.

But also, 

If you know of any lady battling BREAST CANCER of whatever stage please advise her to contact *Dorothy@africacancerfoundation.org* before 7th March,all medical expenses are free.

 Tell someone, save a life!