•Friday, May 26, 2006
it took the two buffoons who were my former primary schoolmates for me to realise what i wanted to purchase at the chemist. i had stood at the counter for the last one hour wondering what had brought me there. these were the guys who taught us how to beat the maths teacher to her game. they made us believe that by placing a three knotted grass strand at the door, we could tell our fate right before the class started. woe unto us if she stepped on it, we would be prepared for a little hell up here. but then we could always counter that by previously sewing spongy material on the inner side of our shorts. maths teachers were dreaded for their obsession with making pupils make up for any difference between the half mark and the grade attained with strokes of the salted cane. that way we were assured that maths sense will diffuse upwards.
those clowns taught us how to cross our fingers when in the wrong for the best to turn up. they sang the national anthem and the loyalty pledge loudest and off tune during morning parades. they would spoil a boring afternoon with their ‘backside hotshots’ and then cause a scene that the room is inhabitable forcing a much-wanted break. or when they wanted an early leave for home, one would perfectly fake a twisted arm, an aching stomach, or a migraine type of headache. the aide de camp would be at hand to escort the wounded soldier to base. there were times they would play around with the bell ringer when the last lesson before lunch seemed to take the whole day. whatever wrong they did, they had a way of getting away with it, to the much amusement and envy of the rest of us, common folk. one was relatively taller, with the shortie being the classic mischief maker, tallman always playing catching up.
my mind amazes me at its recall capability. over a decade later, it could still visualize them perfectly during REM night action with their characteristic posture, wry smile, mischief intention and contorted voices. but my mind did not manage to extrapolate the growth in size and change in fashion; nevertheless it was an amusing encounter. shortie entered the chemist holding a beggar’s can in one hand, the other hand leading tallman who had a crowbar as a walking stick, bowing as he walked submissive to the spirit of poverty. that’s a classic capital scenario. a crowbar is a very heavy metal normally used for digging holes in hard ground or crunching open padlocks in case you need a break in legally or illegally.
i had not heard that tallman became blind so i was taken aback and kept off most of the time. “saidia mapeni, saidia shillingi, saidia kipofu, mola atakubariki”, shortie repetitively called out with a soul-moving begging voice while he cranked the few old-dated coins in the metallic bowl we used for the 'weeviled murram protein mix' we enjoyed in those early days. ‘murram’ was the maize-bean mix we hungrily ravaged during lunch. we fought for the first bowls since they had the much adored ‘top layer’, a layer of fried onions and lots of cooking oil which floated above the rest since it was added long after the mix was boiled. in a flash, shortie was on top of the counter, pulled out a stick of chalk he always hid to keep the class going during those sleepy but heavily scouted prep sessions. he made those sessions bearable with his enthralling cartoons and graffiti on the blackboard. this time he scribbled something on the ceiling, dropped some notes on the counter, the cashier read the writings, took the money, gave a sealed packet to shortie and shortie bolted for the door.
tallman was still at the centre of the chemist open space in his characteristic monk posture waiting for someone to drop something on shortie-held can or for shortie to lead him to the next destination. he had no idea of shortie’s absence or his purchase. his head bowed and eyes blind he could not tell that shortie had written instructions on the sky above him and was long gone. neither could i read, coz shortie had used some language they used with tallman during those days. it had to do with interchanging vowels and syllables in the normal language. they had mastered it and were fast and fluent such that they could talk about you before you could figure out what the first word they uttered was. a word like tallman will be pronounced as namllat or malltan, it was hard to crack the code they used at any one time.
when time seemed to take an eternal turn for tallman, he realised something was amiss. i was shocked to see him take a peek of the surroundings with the corner of his eyes, coz i had come to believe he is blind and dumb. on seeing no signs of shortie and that all eyes were on him, i could feel him conjuring up an excuse to get out of his present predicament just like they did in school. he sprang for the door shouting ‘where is my coat, i want to know who took my coat, bring my coat back’. he tripped on the crowbar which fell heavily on his ankle. that was no problem, as he was soon on his feet limping as he fled to the dark alleys of the capital. i ran after him, i wanted to get an explanation why a decade later, they still haven’t grown up in size and what prompted them to be masquerading as beggars. worse still feigning blindness, playing on the emotions of the heavily financially burdened city dwellers, and making a mockery of the genuinely blind people. such characters were exposed a while back in ‘the inside story’ programme that used to be hosted by my favourite julie gichuru when she was in ktn.
those clowns taught us how to cross our fingers when in the wrong for the best to turn up. they sang the national anthem and the loyalty pledge loudest and off tune during morning parades. they would spoil a boring afternoon with their ‘backside hotshots’ and then cause a scene that the room is inhabitable forcing a much-wanted break. or when they wanted an early leave for home, one would perfectly fake a twisted arm, an aching stomach, or a migraine type of headache. the aide de camp would be at hand to escort the wounded soldier to base. there were times they would play around with the bell ringer when the last lesson before lunch seemed to take the whole day. whatever wrong they did, they had a way of getting away with it, to the much amusement and envy of the rest of us, common folk. one was relatively taller, with the shortie being the classic mischief maker, tallman always playing catching up.
my mind amazes me at its recall capability. over a decade later, it could still visualize them perfectly during REM night action with their characteristic posture, wry smile, mischief intention and contorted voices. but my mind did not manage to extrapolate the growth in size and change in fashion; nevertheless it was an amusing encounter. shortie entered the chemist holding a beggar’s can in one hand, the other hand leading tallman who had a crowbar as a walking stick, bowing as he walked submissive to the spirit of poverty. that’s a classic capital scenario. a crowbar is a very heavy metal normally used for digging holes in hard ground or crunching open padlocks in case you need a break in legally or illegally.
i had not heard that tallman became blind so i was taken aback and kept off most of the time. “saidia mapeni, saidia shillingi, saidia kipofu, mola atakubariki”, shortie repetitively called out with a soul-moving begging voice while he cranked the few old-dated coins in the metallic bowl we used for the 'weeviled murram protein mix' we enjoyed in those early days. ‘murram’ was the maize-bean mix we hungrily ravaged during lunch. we fought for the first bowls since they had the much adored ‘top layer’, a layer of fried onions and lots of cooking oil which floated above the rest since it was added long after the mix was boiled. in a flash, shortie was on top of the counter, pulled out a stick of chalk he always hid to keep the class going during those sleepy but heavily scouted prep sessions. he made those sessions bearable with his enthralling cartoons and graffiti on the blackboard. this time he scribbled something on the ceiling, dropped some notes on the counter, the cashier read the writings, took the money, gave a sealed packet to shortie and shortie bolted for the door.
tallman was still at the centre of the chemist open space in his characteristic monk posture waiting for someone to drop something on shortie-held can or for shortie to lead him to the next destination. he had no idea of shortie’s absence or his purchase. his head bowed and eyes blind he could not tell that shortie had written instructions on the sky above him and was long gone. neither could i read, coz shortie had used some language they used with tallman during those days. it had to do with interchanging vowels and syllables in the normal language. they had mastered it and were fast and fluent such that they could talk about you before you could figure out what the first word they uttered was. a word like tallman will be pronounced as namllat or malltan, it was hard to crack the code they used at any one time.
when time seemed to take an eternal turn for tallman, he realised something was amiss. i was shocked to see him take a peek of the surroundings with the corner of his eyes, coz i had come to believe he is blind and dumb. on seeing no signs of shortie and that all eyes were on him, i could feel him conjuring up an excuse to get out of his present predicament just like they did in school. he sprang for the door shouting ‘where is my coat, i want to know who took my coat, bring my coat back’. he tripped on the crowbar which fell heavily on his ankle. that was no problem, as he was soon on his feet limping as he fled to the dark alleys of the capital. i ran after him, i wanted to get an explanation why a decade later, they still haven’t grown up in size and what prompted them to be masquerading as beggars. worse still feigning blindness, playing on the emotions of the heavily financially burdened city dwellers, and making a mockery of the genuinely blind people. such characters were exposed a while back in ‘the inside story’ programme that used to be hosted by my favourite julie gichuru when she was in ktn.
i caught up with shortie and tallman a few buildings away and was surprised to see them fighting over a packet of condoms. that is when it dawned on me that i also wanted one, the reason for my chemist visit.
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4 comments:
ALAMA WA MSHANGAO! This is either fiction or madness! Be that as it may, amazing story...
Am curious... any particular reason why you bought the condoms at a chemist as opposed to the supermarket?
@kibet,
lol, it was a dream, tried my best to put it in words as i had experienced it. no real purchase of condoms took place
aki...what an anticlimax...
kritik,
not to worry...am still within the precinct of my blogging spirit. life has its own anticlimaxs, you know.