The President’s Ear

Arsenal won the F.A cup! And a cool 3.6 million Euros that wont even fetch us a decent striker. That’s what Manchester United fans had to say about it. Such negativity!

There was one problem, though. Curfew. If I had missed the match, there was a pretty good chance I would have made it home unmolested. But I wasn’t about to miss it. No way under the sun! A lot was at stake; my pride, for example.

Haiya! Hata wewe umeonekana huko leo? Tuff and I were on the last rung of the staircase when a man, clearly in his forties, yelled out. We both turned around. He was on a bicycle, one of those Black Mambas, and he wasn’t too happy to see us walking into the Once Upon A Bottle Liquor Store. Tuff froze, we both froze. I am sure he had something to say but only a mass of jumbled up sounds, like a baby’s first words, came out. Tuff was embarrassed. Turns out, Tuff wasn’t so tough, after all.

I thought this man was Tuff’s uncle or something. Why else would he shout at us from across the streets like some kind of Arabian religious police? He just had to be his uncle. And Tuff must have been scared like hell this man was going to tell on him.
Ule kijana wako sikuizi namuona sana kwa bar kazi ni kukunywa tu! His uncle would then roll his eyes.
Na huyo kijana anatembea naye sikuizieh uyo ako na dreadlocks (Me)huyo si ndio anamfunza kuvuruta bangi!
I could see it all in my mind. I’m sure Tuff saw it too.

I can be your wingman, you know, if you are having trouble getting laid and all, but I have never felt more thirdwheelish than I felt that day. I mean, Tuff and his uncle were eyeballing each other pretty hard and there I was, shamelessly sticking my nose into some family affair I didn’t even know about. He finally sped off. And Tuff and I made our way into the liquor store.

Funny, we hadn’t noticed, but the music was out. And it had been out for a while, it seemed. A huge drunken brawl was about to go down. Probably a bunch of drunks fighting over a woman. At least, that’s what it looked like. Curious, we got closer. A man with a scar across his left cheek smashed an empty KC (Kenya Cane) bottle on the floor. I wasn’t surprised. When you’ve got a bottle of Konyagi on the top shelf, things are bound to get out of hand at some point. Well, a million pieces scattered all over the place and Scarface was left holding half a bottle of rough uneven glass.

He made his way to the crowd. A tall guy sat motionless in the midst of the crowd begging for his life. His nose was bloodied. He couldn’t move. He’d literally been handed his ass. Well, that’s the Once Upon a Bottle liquor store for you, folks.

Huyu msichana si ni kama tu mtoto wangu” Scarface said, sending one of his boots straight to the guys bloody chin. It was then that I noticed her. Her huge yellow thighs, I mean. She was 20 years old, 21 at most. And she was sobbing softly to herself. God! Didn’t she look pretty when she was scared! Anyway, she’d just been robbed. Well, almost. And were it not for Scarface, she would have been drugged and God only knows what freaky stuff the guy was into. Maybe he swings both ways, if you know what I mean. Or he like ’em whips. Would have been such a waste either way.

Somebody whispered that a few years back, Scarface had painstakingly saved up just to buy one of those Great wall black and white TVs; you know, the one with a huge knob on it’s side that made an ugly crackling sound when you had to look for the signal. Yes, that’s the one. He’d just stepped outside to buy salt when some hotshot thug struck, barely a few days after he’d bought the damn TV. He swore he wouldn’t leave any thief he came by alive. Not in his lifetime. Damn, the man was bitter. And so, that’s how he’d become the man to call for mob justices, folks. He’d once dropped a six-foot-machine-cut stone on a guy’s jaw. The guy’s jaw broke off from the rest of his skull. It was bad.

Uyu jamaa si ni mmoja wa wale vijana walishikwa Quickmart juzi? Somebody asked. I had no idea.
Eeh! Waliingia dem flani apo cholobo na wakamtoka simu na kibeti! That meant the poor girl had been stabbed to death and robbed.
But walishika mmoja wakamchoma na iyo nduthi yake, somebody chipped in. How the rest of the gang including the tall guy made it out alive on foot while the man with the motorcycle didn’t, still remains a mystery but the only mystery lingering on the tall guy’s mind right now, was how fast Scarface was going to put him out of misery.
Ooh! Nyinyi ndio mmekua mkituhangaisha huku. His left fist landed on his jaw. Well, this new bit of info didn’t go down well with Scarface. None of it did.

You and I (I hope) have respect for human life. A psychopath doesn’t. All he sees are life forms and shadows. It’s sort of like walking alone at night all the time. Or using Facebook on free mode. You can’t see a thing. Well, a psychopath doesn’t see human beings and he gets to not feel a thing either. Its all Me! Me! Me! in his sick little world. I’m not saying the tall guy is a psychopath but.

The cops showed up. It was way past 9, way past my bedtime. But it was kind of funny; getting caught having sex with your girlfriend by your wife kind of funny. We were all tossed inside the van. Wait! What? I thought I had an ironclad excuse. I was a concerned citizen who’d just taken a thief off the streets! But the cops didn’t give a shit.

Lakini sisi vijana hubanja. Yaani uyu jamaa hawezi nunua shock absorber kwa watu wa scrap auzie watu wa spares lazima tu apige watu ngeta? Scarface lamented.
Wacha nikushow mi nafanya apo Menengai. Pale lazima mpange line asubuhi kama mambuzi mkiwa mmeinua ID. Yaani kampuni inatengeneneza 13 billion in profits lakini watu wawili hawawezi fikisha ata thao kwa siku na ujue unaeza dedi uko ndani bado…Hiyo si ni hujuma? said somebody.
Eee. hata iyo Youth Fund wanashindaga wakituimbia huku inataka connections.
The police van was ready to leave now. But they had to call in a cab for the tall guy. The cops were certain we would kill him before we even got to the Station.

Tuff had been awfully quiet all this time.
If only I had the Presidents ear ningeunda platform ya wasanii wote. Iwe ni artist musician, Dj, whatever ebu ona sahii wasanii wote wanapotelea: Kanairo, Avril, Silverstone, Magix Enga, Beat ya Mavo kwanza alikua wa apa Shabe, Dj Shiti, Professor Hamo… He said, counting with his fingers.

This was odd. Tuff had always said that if he ever met the President he wouldn’t tell him a thing. Unless amtoe shimo na loan kama ya mita hivi. He always believed the President was doing his best. His corrupt cronies were the problem. And besides the President has never granted him audience, so what the fuck was he supposed to tell him.

Sisemi ati kuhepea jiji ni vibaya but kungekua na Talent Search Agency yenye inafund na kumarket content ya upcoming artists huku mtaani… Awkward Pause. Unajua hao watu wakirudisha mkono ata kama ni 10%...crime will be a thing of the past.

“Word!” I yelled. If only he had the President’s ear.

Doug 364

Author Doug 364

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