hustler’s diary #2

by David Kiriinya.

Hell hath no fury as a woman scorned! Msupa woke up yelling blue murder! Cause being that I had been mumbling the name of a member of the human female species while asleep. Imagine that! Surely these days a brother could not enjoy the pleasure of a peaceful, innocent dream, especially when the star actor was a PYT (Pretty Young Thing). Judging by the hysterical fits, wild gesticulations and her continuous prodding (read stabbing) of my hairy chest, it was evident that I was going to miss that, and the next few days’ conjugals.Include a week’s cold treatment and there you have the complete picture of a man of sorrows.

Not even my honed skills as a serial bargainer of fares to and from town could soothe Msupa. Folks, this is how the devil manifests himself in truest of colors (black I hear) in the wee hours of the morning. The worst thing is that I could not even tell who the PYT in the dream was, but I suspected it must have been either Liz, the petite lass from Majengo who now operates a nearby Mpesa shop, or Shiko wa Keg. Both have breathtaking and clearest of eyes, sexy hourglass figures and of course killer derrieres making it impossible to pick who the culprit was.

I could have gone for Liz, given the flurry of steamy sexts we frequently exchanged, or the usual kamkopo ka veve she gave me especially on Fridays, but the romance between me and Shiko wa keg could not equally be dismissed. This would especially be seen in the evenings when I would buy a full jug of senator keg and she would sit on my lap with her ample bottom caressing my eager loins as I whispered mushy, sweet nothings above the sound of loud mugithi tunes. Mark you, she has never minded my beer breath.

Given Msupa’s foul mood I had to jipa shugli. My presence was a constant eye-sore to her. She was mumbling something inaudible that sounded like going to see a mganga to put ‘brakes’ on my perceived philandering tendencies. I could hear my immediate next-door neighbor, through the solid corrugated iron sheets partitioning sympathizing with a brother in trouble. Talk of solid walls.

After passing the usual smell test, my socks and t-shirt were ready to be worn, two days in a row notwithstanding. A dash of cheap ‘wariah’ cologne (those potent, pungent liquids in miniature bottles sold along virtually every street next to a ‘pima kilo’) and I was good to go. Msupa was still wearing a sullen face, sulking on the corner of our creaky bed. By the way this is a treasure I so valued especially after it had set me back a cool, precious hard-earned 2150 shillings. Just then a text from Liz came through. She wanted to see me to talk since she was lonely. Would I please go? Of course! Perhaps she would even settle my okoa jahazi debt of 20 shillings.

As I went out, I threw a last glance at Msupa. She was inconsolable. She would be fine by evening perhaps, I thought as I sidestepped piles of garbage on way to Liz’s Mpesa shop. A new day had begun.

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