Juzi juzi, I was walking to work, just musing on my own (yaani nilikua zangu tu). Ingwe had just lost a match to Chemelil and armyworms had invaded farms back at home. These are trying times for sure.
Soon as I enter the office, there's a crazy commotion. I see the ladies and men as well running around scared. Must be a bomb alert! I presume. As I get closer, I notice relief in everyone's faces. Turns out that there's a tiny snake curled up in a corner and they were waiting for me to kill it.
I notice Ombogi the accountant ballooning with envy. He's usually the cock of the office but this is my moment of fame. And as Kamene said, only omundu strong could kill that snake. Cut the long story short, I kill it. And survive.
Later, I sit at my desk, open my facebook account and update, 'proud to be lunje, na usiniulize mbona'
#another-day another-hustle!
I log out and log into a pseudo account which I mostly use to insult my political enemies and comment to posts in Kisumu dads and Group Kenya. Am reading a very irritating post on Uthamaki and just as I attack my keyboard, someone taps my shoulder. From the smell of her weave, I recognize her even without turning.
LYNN: sasa Wa Ingo?
Me: poa
LYNN: Naskia umeua python?
Me: apana, kalikua tu kasnake kadogo
LYNN: of course kuna python moja tu (she smiles lewdly as she directs her gaze on my lap)
There are always whispers about my humongous Weiner and how am the only guy who does a marathon. None has ever seen nor felt. But by virtue of my being 'my tribe', I have to play along. Such stereotypes have earned me adoration from the likes of Lynn.
She's really working my nerves. But I let her humour me. Plus, not everyday is crush day you know. I only wish it was Kessie Were. She is the only lady who gives me sleepless nights yet she doesn't even say hi to me in the office. She's ironically my only Luhya compatriot but word has it that Luhyas are a no no in her book. They say she is dating a Nigerian.
Its lunch time already. I join Muriithi and Opiyo at Mueni's kibanda for ugali and matumbo. I don't feel hungry but since lunch is a norm and I'm a Luhya. Why not?
As we walk back to work, Mutua joins us and we work up a banter on politics.
MUTUA: Wa Ingo, hii kitu unaona NASA tupatie nani?
Before I even answer, Muriithi interjects,
' wacheni madvd apeperushe hii kitu majamaa'
For a moment I feel anger stirring in my soul but it cools and a weariness replaces it. Here is a guy talking about the second most populous tribe as casually as he'd talk about a band of Gypsies. I feel like asking him whether he Knows Mukhisa Kituyi but I'm weary. So I pass.
Me: Sawa buda, tutapatia Kalonzo.
Back in the office, there's a heated argument about Victor Wanyama's tribe. Opiyo is livid and foaming at the sides of his mouth. He vigorously declares that Wanyama's parents are from Siaya and he is a Luo. But why are they robbing me of my only claim to tribal pride? So I wearily agree that Opiyo might be having a point. I do it just to end the argument. I even offer him Oparanya. I tell him that his parents were from Sigomre.
As soon as I sit, another hot argument erupts in another corner. Now its Mungai's turn to sermon me.
Mungai: Wa Ingo! Wa Ingo! Ebu kuja kidogo
Kamene's face is creased and her mouth is curled in an agonizing twist. She seems like she's about to deposit her lunch right on her desk.
MUNGAI: cheki Wa Ingo, am telling this guys western wasee ukula termites wanapinga!
KAMENE: (mouth covered) eeeeeew eeeeeewest!
Mungai is desperately waiting for vindication.
Me: eeh sisi ukula termites. Zinaitwa tsiswa!
KAMENE: Lynn ebu pitia hapa uskie hii hahahaha
Within seconds, the entire office assembles at Mungai's desk with horror masking their faces.
So I spend another hour narrating to fellow Kenyans how we trap the termites with blankets and beat sticks on dry twigs to impersonate rain and lure them out of their layers. I tell them how we love it raw, and how the off white mayonnaise like stuff from the abdomen is the gist of it all.
I suddenly feel an urge to go on and on. So I offer to disclose more delicacies, like the monkey. I tell them how primates from Kaimosi/Kakamega forest make the best barbecue. Kwanza when you are nursing a hangover from Idakho gin.
'Enough!' They all chorus.
I spend the remaining thirty minutes in peace trading insults on Facebook. That evening when I leave for home, I'm properly tired. I ask God why? Why was I born in a tribe that was to be constantly answering questions?
It would have been better if I'd been born a Samburu. Maybe I'd have my ragtag militia burning up ranches.
You are not alone.
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