An evening Stroll

Grace is the best cook this side of the Sahara. About twice a week her son Daniel arrives over with sweet cake or homemade passion juice or fresh veg. I work with her husband James. He’d talk the hind leg off a donkey, but I join his company every chance I get. He is a wise mzee (old man). I always feel comfortable and welcome in their home…and always leave well feed.

In the evening I usually take a walk out to the Bombolulu stage (main road where the matatus run from). Of a evening, I may bump into Johnny from leather workshop, a rampant Arsenal fan and the main man on the Bombolulu sports committee, of which I am the latest member, every since I made a small donation (thanks Matt/Jen/Dec). They bought a volleyball and net with the donation and the workshop has gone volleyball crazy.

After saluting the askaris (guards), I exit the gate and salute my fruit and veg lady (Harbari ya jioni – how’s your evening; Nzuri – grand). In short gestures I assure her I’ll be calling to her on my way back. The road is newly paved now so even with the rains tis not muddy; a real gift for all the wheelchairs that use it. Half way out I greet Piru (Peeroo), who works in raw material stores (One bad leg, two strong arms). “Where to?” he asks. “Safari Kidogo” says I (Short trip). After a brief commentary on the weather I am on my way again.

My viasa Lady is not there this evening. I salute Makoha’s (office runner) wife at her stall and stop to buy a few oranges. I ordered (and paid for) a pineapple off her two weeks ago but crossed wires meant it spoiled before I collected it. We don’t speak of it. Makoha is in bed sick with Malaria. “Pole. I hope he feels better soon”.

Another hundred metres and I’m at my destination. Johnny’s store. I hand in my glass bottle and grab another liter of sprite, 20 sportmans and some phone credit. Johnny is pure business and hands me my change through the security grill.

On the way back I stop at my veg lady. She give me a free onion and a few free chilli’s with my potatos, bananas, tomatoes and mangoes.

Back inside the workshops James is playing guitar outside his house. I sit while he finishes the song and in gentle admiration say “Tamu” (sweet). We talk about life, religion, work and politics until hunger moves me.

Tomorrow is stocktake. I need an early night. Simple as that.

M.

p.s. This blog's for my Mum. Sorry it took so long Ma.