You’ve been attending a community function at a place that’s some 6km or so from your location. The function is over and you’re now walking to the main road, which is just a ten-minute walk away, to catch a daladala.
As luck would have it, this fellow you’re familiar with (call him Steve) stops his car after seeing you and asks whether you could do with a lift.
He’s driving to the same direction as you, so you say yes, and hop into the back seat. His sole passenger at the driver’s cabin is a young woman. The lady (call her Rehema) is talkative and quite knowledgeable on various topics, more so topics on Bongo celebrities.
Old fellows too like a bit of gossip (ahem!), so you quickly appreciate Rehema as she regales us with stories on Bongo Flava and Bongo Movie stars.
From our conversations, it becomes clear to you that Steve and Rehema are an item. The guy must be in his late 50s while Rehema is seemingly under 25, but so what?
Now when we reach the shopping centre which is part of your wider neighbourhood, you suggest we proceed to a popular joint that Steve and you are regular patrons. The guy says we shouldn’t.
“Why,” you ask, “are you in a big hurry?”
You quickly realise you’ve asked a stupid question. Anyone accompanied by beautiful young woman who is neither his wife nor his daughter would always be in a hurry to somewhere, wouldn’t he?
Steve says: “You and I know well that place of ours; it’s a hub of gossip mongers, right?”
You agree and ask: “So, what do we do? You see, you and Rehema deserve a drink on me.”
He proposes another joint not quite far away from our usual haunt, and you give a nod.
At this alternative joint, we’re led to our own table at a discreet corner where Steve orders a “Sere Laiti”, cold, as you order a “Castro Laiti”, warm. Rehema says coyly, “Me, I’ll take a Fanta…cold.”
You protest. “No way, Rehema! We don’t come to a place like this and you take a soda; you aren’t a schoolgirl, are you?”
Before she responds, you notice someone at a cabin not far from where we’re seated, busy preparing fresh juice from an array of fruits. So, you say to yourself, why should anyone take soda when fresh juice is available?
You turn to Rehema and say, “I have noticed they make fresh juices here…so, have some; achana na soda!”
You and Steve continue with our beer as Rehema waits for her juice. Soon, a mhudumu arrives and lands at our lady’s part of the table a large packet of juice. This rattles you, for the damn packet will eat up a whopping Sh6,000 from your wallet!
The two lovebirds are further served with a plateful of kiti moto, which you don’t touch. Soon they’re ready to leave, but you suggest we take another beer, a proposal Steve accept gleefully.
But the guy takes his beer so fast that, before you’ve swallowed even two gulps from your bottle, he’s done!
“Now; Mzee Muyanza, us we’ve to leave … thank you so much for the drinks,” he says and stands up to leave with his lady, having paid for the kiti moto.
And know what? He doesn’t even bother to offer you at least one! You order yourself the third and last bottle you need before heading home.
As you take a glance at the bill, you curse your kiherehere, while saying to yourself: “Why didn’t I let Rehema order her Fanta?”
