With Onie Ndoro In the ghetto, there is always something happening. But I will start with what happened at my home, the first night my family had spent with me after coming from the rural areas, ekhaya or kumusha.
Just at the crack of dawn, there was a terrific knock. The door almost shook off its hinges.
It woke up Mai Maidei and possibly the whole neighbourhood. I knew who it was. It never rains, but pours. It was my landlord. That was always his style during my three year stay at his house. I was now used to his grand entrance and waking up the whole neighbourhood.
Mr Tigere, my landlord I simply called him Mr Tiger. He was short in stature, dapper but his ears seemed to be running away from his head. It was easy to notice his complexion as he was much darker than most people.
However, he had a set of white teeth that contrasted sharply with his skin tone. And even the whites of his eyes were more pronounced and could pierce any object in the dark. A pair of good eyes is in demand these days as Zesa has made it into the Guinness Book of Records for all the wrong reasons, switching off its clients most of the time.
I must not dwell much on Zesa as I would be tempted to “expagorate” big words. All I can say is that at one time it was Dark City, but now it was Dark Country. At one point, he must have had money. He worked for Metal Box before he went on pension to settle in his rural home.
Even before me there had been quite a number of tenants. According to him, I was the worst tenant he had ever had. And he did not make a secret of this.
“You are behind with your rent! Why are you still here Baba Maidei,” he puffed out. By this time I had put on a black short, leaving my abdomen exposed as I met him at the door.
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“I have not yet received this month’s salary,” I lied.
I could hear movement behind me as I knew Mai Maidei was trying to hear everything.
“If they are not paying you, why are you still working for them?” he said. He was trying to peer inside.
“Aha, you have a girlfriend inside, I knew it! You don’t want to pay your rent, but you bring harlots here into my house?”
Even before I could respond, Mai Maidei pushed me aside.
“Whom are you calling a prostitute? Me?” She said, with the final word using her forefinger pointing at her bosom. Mr Tiger took a step backwards.
There was bad blood between them.
“If each time he comes here to insult us, don’t pay his rent,” Mai Maidei fumed.
“I will send you EcoCash today,” I said.
“I don’t want EcoCash, what rate are you using? Give me American dollars,” he said.
“The government has the final say on this, you cannot refuse local currency, you know it’s illegal,” I said.
“Okay okay, pay me with a good rate,” he said.
He had a great fear of the government and the moment I said so he softened. He must have had a brush with the law in the past.
“You are the worst tenant I have ever had. I am going to give you notice to vacate,’ he said.
He had threatened me several times before. It was all a bluff. I was even happy to find lodgings elsewhere but here I enjoyed certain freedoms derived from an absentee landlord. I think everyone who has been a serial lodger knows this.
Staying with one’s landlord can be a mini -hell on earth so to speak. You can be expected to polish the floor until it shines like glass and you are even expected to give your landlord’s dog a smile.
“I want all my money today,” he said as he took his departure.
“Don’t worry about this, “I said.
“I will pay his rent today,” I reassured Mai Maidei after Mr Tigere had left.
“You should give him his money in time, he must not come and insult us,” she said.
I had to find the money. The only place I could get the money fast was from Baba Tata, the Borehole Baron. And I had just borrowed from him the previous day!
Never mind, what are friends for?
When I went back into the house, the kids were still sleeping. I put on my clothes.
“It’s Saturday today, where do you want to go this early?” asked Mai Maidei.
“I want to see some friends of mine, might get some money,” I said as I quickly left the house. I did not want to get into an argument with my wife.
As I got onto the street, the first person I met was Gerald, but these days, people were calling him Putin. I think it was on account that he was very vocal about the Russian invasion of Ukraine. He was always dishing out the latest information on the invasion as if he was an Aljazeera or BBC reporter, reporting from the heart of Ukraine. He always had some followers and some ended up buying him the intoxicating brew.
I was also quite sure that very soon we would have a Zelensky in our midst.
“Where are you going this early mudhara?” Putin asked.
“It’s none of your business, just keep your nose on the Russian invasion, you will be fine and live long,” I said.
“Tambai nevamwe mushe Baba Maidei,” he said.
“You started it; don’t poke your Pinocchio nose into my affairs. As long as you keep to foreign affairs, you will be fine,” I said moving away.
It was still early but already there was quite a flow of human traffic in the streets. Vendors were taking their strategic positions and displaying their products by the side of the road.
That was one common thing about the ghetto; you would think that no one slept at home. The hustle started at the crack of dawn and would stretch to even 12 midnight and beyond. And by this time, some ladies would be selling their bodies so to speak, as they said it was a quicker way to easy money as they were never short of customers.
When I reached Baba Tata’s house, there were three other people waiting for him already.
Rasta was one of them.
“Wangu mudhara, I have a message for you,” he said.
“Jessica is sorry over what happened yesterday. She said it’s okay, she has forgiven you and she is still available,” he said.
This sounded crazy. I had renewed my vows only yesterday, to be loyal to my wife. I really laughed at myself. The devil uses real people to get at you!
“Thanks Rasta, you are just the messenger, so I won’t shoot you. As for Jessica leave her to me,” I said half hearted. Already inside of me, that sinful man was screaming to go get Jessica and be discreet about it.
That girl was going to be the death of me. She had literally ransacked my pockets and everything that could go wrong had gone wrong right at the onset.
I was not relishing another dance with her. It started badly and it could end badly.
“What exactly do you want here,” I asked Rasta.
“Kudheni mahwani blaz, no mealie meal, I want to borrow from Baba VaTata, but I still owe him from last time,” he said.
- Onie Ndoro is a writer, educationist and IELTS teacher. For feedback email [email protected]
