Ndugu

Because it's Friday let's get a dose of Ndugu🥳

By Ndugu Abisai

In 2015, I lived on the fourth floor of a certain building in Kariobangi South. We had one bathroom on the floor, which means, at some point in the morning, we would all congregate there with buckets to wait for our turn to shower. There was a couple that used to get in together, then as they showered we would hear, “aki baaabe.” From the woman. Immediately the man would clear his throat then giggle a bit. The standard was two giggles. A very consistent man. That didn't bother us. 

The guy that lived closest to the bathroom, never queued with us. He used to wake up, brush his shoes while listening to Don Carlos' Just A Passing Glance. That guy taught me that manifesting works or worked. He just would pass the bathroom glancing at us. Never said a word. A man, his shiny shoes and long face and just a passing glance. He manifested passing the bathroom. A hero in the manifesting realm.

My main interest was showering. But also, I loved listening to small talk from women wrapped in white and/or blue towels, it is my personal HR policy to not be interested in gossip, but gossip from a woman wrapped in a white towel is not something you ignore. They bare it all. Is that a pun? Every day they had breaking news. I left the flat never having known their names, but I can write about the characters in the stories they told. Great women in white and/or blue towels.

There was a guy that used to call us(everyone on the floor) Ras. He wasn't Rasta, at least physically, we also, were not Rasta. But he would get there, fist bump all of us and conclude with Wagwaaan Rastas. In my head I would say, this is why Morgan Heritage did their 'you don haffi dread to be Rasta....' That guy too, never saw the inside of that bathroom.

If you have started asking where this story is going. I want to submit to you that it is pointless.  I am just doing this to achieve my daily word count target.

The guy we all didn't like, was the (a) pastor. He used to call of us, wapendwa. From Ras to wapendwa. 0-100 real fast. He somehow would sneak a scary sermon as we queued. “Rakini wapendwa hua najiuriza, nikiingia kwa hii bafu nitereze, nianguke, nivunjike, nikufe(what a chronology?) na sijampea Yesu wa Nazareti(never missed the Nazareti part) maisha yangu, nitakufa nikiwa msafi rakini roho ni chafu. Afadhari nisafishe roho niwache mwiri.”

Which made sense. Because, if you died during a shower, you would by any stretch of imagination, die clean. The gossipers called him Naz. Short for Nazareti. We didn't bother to know his name.

When I got a job I thought to myself. I hold it in me highly, seeing women wrapped in white towels. But do I want to be called Ras then later Wapendwa in very quick succession? I gathered my belongings and looked for a bedsitter elsewhere. I also bought a white towel just in case someone visits and they want to volunteer to wrap it around their body.  I have the towel- if anybody is asking. But not looking for anyone to wrap it around herself.

I thank you!

Happy Friday(evening) and God bless you.

#nduguabisai