A day in the life of a non-mungiki

There’s this guy I know who people think is Mungiki. He looks like one. But doesn’t smell like one. And definitely doesn’t behave like one. He’s not into collecting heads alongside matatu fees.

This is a day, one of the many, in his non-mungiki life.

He wakes up with a start every morning and not because of the alarm clock. It’s non-existence. It’s mysterious. He always wakes up between 6 and 6.30. No matter what. (He once visited me at my ‘daktari-wa-kutibu-kila-kitu klinik’ but couldn’t help him much). He also wakes up all drenched in sweat. Another unsolved mystery, since it’s freezing and ‘heat’ is something alien to his blanket. And every morning as usual he reaches under his pillow to retrieve his modo-bile (Hallo Modo!). This morning it informs him it’s 6.24 in the AM. Long after the cock has crowed.

Unfortunately, there’s no morning glory today. Oh, but what a glorious morning!

And just as he does every morning (he should have gotten used to it by now), he lies in bed with his eyes shut and his mind half asleep to do the math.

The Math

He’s required at the office at 9am. Meaning, he needs to grab a 33-Mombasa Road mathree from Kenol at around…erm…8.15? (Yawns a yes) Meaning, he needs to be in a number nane mat (from home) at around 7.45. Meaning also he needs to be leaving his digs at around 7.30.

And eventually meaning he can sleep on till 6.45. Tweddy minutes? Bliss!

(The calculus at a glance…15 minutes for the water to heat and an additional 30 to shower, step his teeth, comb…wait scratch that, apply Kimbo, take a snap on his Modo-bile to check himself-no mirrors pliz, and other miscellaneous stuff…when done it’s usually 7.30)

So our fellow, hugs the blanket tighter, ‘chews’ air and goes back to sleep.

Shortly, (so he thinks) he wakes with a start again. This time he doesn’t reach for his Modo-bile. He jumps straight out of bed almost knocking himself out. Our brother, like every other brother, due to some amusing dreams always wakes at “attention”. Since he sleeps like Tarzan…commando, he was about to have a ‘head’-on-collision, so to speak.

He was supposed to have slept ’til 6.45. But it’s now, 7.05.

Mandingo

No panic though. Mandingo here (he’ll stop being called that when the ‘post’ goes down…which unlike the ‘gadget’ won’t be long) So, Mandingo doesn’t panic. This guy is cooler than the Nakumatt shoshobazcombined.

He just maneuvers his way to his water kettle scratching his nether regions. He says “you must confirm you woke up with them. You have to be sure some ‘chokora‘ didn’t make away with your rod and sacks”.

He has 15 minutes to boil his bath water. That’s an extra 15 minutes of shut-eye. An important part of his day.

Y-front

Shower done with (it always surprises him how his bar soap always lathers well) he moves to the next stage…dressing. Usually it takes him five seconds to dress. Jeans, T-shirt and of course he doesn’t want to forget his Y-front. First it’s a gift from one of his better halves. Second, Mungikis are notorious for not wearing underwear so to make sure he’s not confused for one, he must wear one. And boxers are out of the question. Some crazy guy may confuse them for swimming trunks (the disadvantages of buying ngothas Gikomba…’mbao mbao chupi!’) He can’t take that risk.

He dives into his ‘closet’ and sifts through the clean and the dirty ones. Today he’s looking for the ‘clean’ ones. By ‘clean’ I mean the ones he can wear/rewind. If it were Sunday he would be looking for the ‘dirty’ ones. Yes, the ones he can’t wear/rewind.

Dressing right

He knows the perfect T-shirt to wear. The blue one written “God’s Property”. With this the people will definitely not associate him with Mungiki, or any other vice for that matter. It’s no surprise he bought two of these.

He miscellaneously brushes his cliché shoes and sniffs for his socks. In this dark corner of his house where the socks are stored he has learnt to depend on the other senses. And anyway, it’s the best sense right now. Pong means dirty. Mouldy-whiff means it’s never and will never be worn. Kerosene-whiff means that’s the duster. Ushindi whiff means clean.

He puts on his Ushindi-clean socks, his barely Kiwi-brushed shoes, grabs his ‘pencil’ and pours out of the house. Small is his door that you simply don’t just step out.

Out alone. Away from his safe haven

Our Mungiki-fearing-public-fearing (??) mungiki-look-a-like is now at the mercies of the world. But he lives in an area where thanks to the Nubians and the Raila-loving enthusiasts the Mungiki menace is just but a whisper in the wind. In fact, our hero is treated like a celebrity. You’d think he’s the kajora. After a “niaje ras” here, a “sema ras” there and an odd “Gotaa” from people he has no clue of an inkling called an idea who the F they are, he finds himself at the matatu stage waiting like every other struggler for a means of conveyance.

He’s a tad late and he needs a fast matatu. The ones with a bigger screen than the one in his crib. Unfortunately, usually at this time he can’t ‘have his cake and eat it’. So the first ramshackle that shows up, as long as it’s moving…on wheels, will have to do. But he’s not alone and just like the others he must fight and hope to be top 13.

He has learnt that having dreads accords him some privileges. Like, everyone will keep their distance. But not when fighting for space in a matatu. You are all equal and none is more equal than others. But after it all, one, a few, are definitely dirtier.

Good conduct

Thankfully, he manages to get a space at the rear of the matatu. That’s good. Should he have gotten at the very front with the driver he would look like either a carjacker or a mungiki extorting the driver for fees. Sitting far from the driver and the tout is VERY good.

Once inside the matatu he has to be a good man. At his best behaviour. A model citizen. Any signs of resistance will be taken either of two ways by the matatu people and the passengers. They may respect/fear him and return the proper change. Or they will ‘risk’ it and insist he wants to extort money from them. Then the passengers will be on him and that will be that…a statistic. News at Nine headlines…

“Today another Mungiki-suspect was lynched by the general public as he tried to command a matatu vehicle. They managed to overpower him and the police arrived at the scene to recover 10 rounds of ammunition, three G3s, gas masks and a rocket launcher. When he leaves the morgue he will help the police with investigations.”

That is why he carries nothing but the exact change. And when he’s paying he announces how much he is giving the tout. “Hiyo ni THIRTY BOB sawa? Sitaki change. Asante.” He has to be careful.

He’s also careful to avoid down-town. It was therefore a great discovery when he realized where he alighted from home was the same stage he’d take the matatus that would deposit him at work.

Source of happiness

After quickly dodging cars [and hopefully not cause drama like this he gets to his stage unscathed. He quickly jumps into a job-bound matatu. Makanga insists it’s 30 bob instead of the usual ‘mbao’. Our guy doesn’t care, 30, 50, 90 just get me out of here! Again he avoids the front seat.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he alights somewhere on Mombasa Road. He again plays a successful ‘dodge-car’ on this notorious road and sneaks into the office. He’s late.

He does his usual happy rounds saying ‘Hi’ to all (except the bosses), who always wonder why the hell he’s always soooo annoyingly happy. He explains his happiness.

“I woke up. What could be better than that?”

My guy spent the rest of the day in a happy mood, surfing, chatting, blogging and occasionally working (after five). He chills in the office until around 7, chatting with a few bloggers, when again it’s back home…not via town. As usual he just tastes town. Kuonja tu!

Then he’s back home way after the chickens have gone to roost and way after the thugs have emerged from their roosts.

The good and the bad

And everyday it’s the same. He hopes to one day work at a place where days are never the same. Days where today he can wake up at 6.30, tomorrow at 11, the next at 4 in the aftee. Not wake, job, sleep. Wake, job, sleep. Alone at that.

The beauty of looking like Mungiki is he avoids traveling to visit annoying relas who live in hot zones.

The ugly is chicks have now stopped looking at him like thaaaat. And now look at him LIKE that as they cross the road. Plus if an idiot owes him money, he craftily suggest a meeting on River Road or in Muranga or even worse Mathare. In the hot zones.

And at around 1 in the AM, he blacks out on his ‘matrix’ seat before crawling into bed one hour later after ‘stepping’ his teeth.

And tomorrow, another day, just like this one. Only he’ll be wearing his red t-shirt, or his dirtier jean and maybe get a call from one of the guys he owes money.