Wakahare; tales of the underdog, continuation….

Part Two: One Plus one Mad People equals to one sane one.

It is already half past 2 am and I am seated next to the most beautiful girl in the pub, who thinks that we had met earlier in the days that I was trying to escape from. “You must have mistaken me for someone else.” I reply to her, trying to sound as convincing as humanly possible. “No, my dear, kama nakujua, nakujua. Behind this beauty is a brain that never forgets.” She replies. I am cornered.  But I take leverage in the fact that she doesn’t exactly recall where she had seen me in my previous life, or maybe she already knows but doesn’t want to tell me. Yet.

“So, what does a girl like you want from a person who clearly has nothing to offer you?” I ask her, curious of her intentions. I had been told enough times in my life that such women were never up to any good. I had already witnessed, furthermore, many of my friends who had been seduced by such ladies and taken them home after a night out, only to wake up hours later to find that they had been relieved of all their belongings, including their inner wear and socks. Damned sadistic thieves.

“I need your help.” She says. That is enough reason for me to walk out and run for dear life. Run and never look back. See, this is how it works; “you do not help anyone in downtown Nairobi, for you have not helped yourself enough to cross over to uptown Nairobi.” Downtown Chapter 1 verse 5. But then again, men were meant to make wrong decisions. Ask our founder father, Adam. “I cannot help you.” I snort back.

“I have seen many men walk in and out of this bar. I have seen thieves, pastors, drivers, touts, managers, bankers and every sort of man walk in here. But none of them seems to have a clean and honest heart like yours.” She replies. “Nobody cares about character around here. You know nothing about me to come prophesying what kind of person you think I am.” I reply.

“I know that I have no business with who you are. I know we have met before and it wasn’t here. I know that you can help me. Please just listen first before you conclude anything.” Oh no! shhe’s the type that doesn’t give up. If she’s looking for money, then I certainly am the last person she should be looking for. “Start talking.”

“We cannot talk about it here, lets go somewhere quiet.”

She wants to harvest my body parts and sell them off to some doctor in India. I am paranoid, yes, why shouldn’t I be? Why does she want us to go somewhere quiet? Now I am thinking of retracting what I had earlier said that I have nothing to lose. Of course I have a lot to lose like my liver, eyes, ears….no they cant have that.

“Where do you want us to go?

“My place.” She replies.

I am dead.

“No don’t worry, I’ll make it worth your while if you just listen to me.”

She’s insane.

“Look, we can have this conversation anywhere else, except from your –“

“No you don’t understand, I am desperate!” she interrupts.

The look on her face is really convincing. If she is playing with my mind then it is working. She gets up and starts walking towards the exit. I stare at her in astonishment. She stops and looks at me. “So are you coming or should I get you?” Every eye in the bar is on me. I cannot turn her down like this so I leave. Mouths are agape as we exit the place. They think I have enough money to- you know what….

We head down the stairs, with her on the lead. She dials a number on her phone and tells the other person on the other end to come pick her up.  The bouncers at the entrance of the bar open the exit for us to leave. Outside the street is busy as daytime. Here it business goes on till sunshine. Then other business starts. I spot a one-eyed ‘Kilucy’ wandering around the streets, followed by a Grand tiger,  ready to pick up anyone that look like they need accommodation in Central police. Some women at work run at the sight of it, as some drunken fellows try to run from the plainsmen police chasing after them. The police have an easy catch. These fellows will have to buy them enough coffee to take them through the night.

A taxi pulls up to the curb right next to where we are, and Linda walks into the back door. I follow her upon her gesture that we should leave, at least before kanjo thinks that we are in the wrong place at their time of collecting offerings. To them, the streets are a church, and anyone in them is a congregant. Woe unto you if you are among the sheep they are herding. But it’s the way of the city. The way the city decides is the way you go. For me, homeless and broke, the city has decided to put me in the hands of this beauty who wants to do-only God knows what, but I follow her. I am just but a believer. A believer of fate.

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