The tale of Wanduta and his over-generocity

KAMUCHEGE VILLAGE HUMOUR With Warui Simon

 

The other day, we village wazees were reading Taifa Leo at our Bunge (Kamuchege Bar and Restaurant) about how various rich and famous people spend their money to impress not only other people but they themselves.

  This reminded us one Mzee Mburu wa Nduta, who once (actually twice) terrorized Kamuchege Village when he had his pockets full of unending (not true) wads of money.

  At the biginning, Wanduta was a usually quiet and humble mzee who kept his cool. When we wazees visited Bunge and an hour later were singing old “cut” songs, mugoiyo, gichandi et al due to being in high spirits (!), Wanduta would sip slowly his glass of Naivasha produce and slowly walk home, without staggering, and tomorrow he would wake up sober as a janji with no lock to remove (kwiruta roko).

  Wanduta’s habits which included not getting tipsy, not buying wazees the famous returning of the hand (gucokia gwoko) and generally thinking  he was better than us since he worked as a supervisor at the village timber saw mill, made him unpopular and he had no bossom friend among us wazees, although I came closer to that due to my prowess in gathering and distributing rumours, by word of mouth, in the village, something he liked.

  Then something dramatic happened which changed Wanduta’s entire life. The Government banned the cuttring of forest trees and many timber saw mills were closed.

  Wanduta akafunga virago vyake and joined the unworking village wazees like us. Tilling of his seven acres of land was out of question because he was approaching 50 years of age and not as agile and strong as he was when he was 30.

  Wanduta was now accustomed to turning at Bunge and heng’ing (hanging) around waiting to get someone buy him a glass of cheap Naivasha products in form of spirits. When he could not get one, he would sauter to the ndia ruru (draughts)  located at the outside corner of Bunge and punish his opponets because he was a maestro in ndia ruru.

  Then one day, his beaustiful daughter, Nduta, who had just finshed college and had earned just three months salary at New KCC, was “asked” (kurio) for marriage by a son of a very rich tycoon from Nakuru. The rest is history.

  Me cut the story short. The betrothal ceremony was done, me as MC, where the potential groom’s team came, Toyata Prados and all, to “know the home” (kumenya mucie) of  the bride.

  For this knowing the home bit, Wanduta ended up with Sh. 30,000 in his back pocket.

  We are now at Karumaindo and the waitress, called Ka-monika, does not need to wipe the tables, because all space is taken by various clans and tribes of drinks, ranging from Ruaraka stuff, Naivasha produce, various soft drinks in madiamba bottles, you name it. All bought by none other Wanduta. Great man this Wanduta guy.

  I am sitting on his right side and acting as financial advisor, bodyguard, and brother at arms. I am proud of this positions because I’ve been man solo to Wanduta when most abandoned him.

  I am at my sixth bottle of some dark beer from Ruaraka, which I have rarely bought because I could ill afford it, when Wanduta whispers into my ear.

  “Wakini, uma nja unjeterere thitanji” (my agemate, get out of the room and wait for me at the matatu stage.) I dutifully comply. He follows later after telling Bunge that he was going to thrown saliva (gutwa mata).

  We enter this matatu and we are soon speeding to Nyahururu, the city of lights. Wanduta tells  me we are going to eat real meat because Kamuchege butcheries sell poor quality, lean stuff not worthy our mouths. I agree wholeheartedly, grinning from ear to ear with contentiment.

  Soon we at at this beautiful pub on the second floor of some building. At one corner is a high class butchery. We sit down and some beautiful maiden matrialises from nowhere, tells us karibu (something we have never heard in Kamuchege) and takes our orders: four GKs (Guinness Kubwa) married to four madiaba cokes.

  Waiter, Wanduta orders, three kilos of the best part of mutton, pronto. Don’t worry mzee, that will be done, he is told.

  Three waitresses have joined our table and this seems the best  part of my life and that of Wanduta’s. He has secretly given me two gikingis ( Sh. 1,000) and told me not to use it for buying anything here. The money, he says, is for when I spill someone’s drinks..which I not prepared to do.

  I am in my third bottle and things start to look hazy. I propose to sing an old “cut” song, but Wanduta tells me this is not a Kamuchege pub. I comply.

  This waitress on my left is touching my kihara (bald head) and jockingly saying she is going to eat meat...I am trying to open my eyes but it is becoming hard to do so...so spare me the agony of telling you more until later...maitu munjiariii woimire na kunjiaraaa....