I don’t know when this will be ready or when I’ll send it for publishing (depending on when I wake up), but I’m writing this at 3 in the morning. I tell guys I don’t sleep – that I stay up late tryna get some bread or, unbelievably, studying – but most think I’m just pulling their legs. My troubles haunt me when I close my eyes; my demons awaken when I pull up the sheets. You wouldn’t believe half the things you could get done at this hour; one of my boys recently told me he wakes up early to get ahead of the rest of the world and I told him to fokof. Of course, that was before he bought us a 1 liter bottle of Jamie and a couple beers each. Then I started re-evaluating my life; because me, even as much as a bottle of beer – at this point in life – would mean starving the rest of the week.
Fine, I have absolutely nothing to tell you guys today. I’m just going to be fumbling with characters throughout the rest of this piece. I swear, I have tried to find something interesting or tragic to write about this week and come up empty. I’m losing my shit. It’s like the universe doesn’t want me to prosper anymore. Either that or somebody performed voodoo on me. If that is the case then I have a lot of suspects; could be the old man (he has always thought writing was a waste of time); could be the mami I was supposed to take out for coffee at Dreambeans but didn’t because she sort of called me while drunk and confessed that her Chapos look like Museveni’s head and taste like Faxe Beer; could be the ex I recently ran into and lied to that I now work at State House as Kamwana’s speech writer and the pay was six figure and I even drove a Merc now and owned a bungalow in Muthaiga and she awwwww’d and asked if I could buy her dinner for old times’ sake and I gave her a stern NO and threw two fingers in the air to imply ‘Deuces’ (I could have sworn I saw her face turn red). Whoever it is, thunder fire you (You have to say that with a Naija accent).
I’m banging this down while high as a kite, and fully nude. Not eti I sleep like this; I just got off the shower and I thought I’d try something different for a change; I thought maybe I’d figure out something to write with my balls hopping up and down between my legs. I was wrong. The only thing happening to those boys down there, I think, is that they could be catching a cold. It’s so cold I can literally feel air blowing in and out of my ass crack.
I just came off the joint with the boys; three of them had to leave because, apparently, they were to buy supper for their old ladies and it was past midnight yet they still hadn’t and the girlfriends were becoming such a pain in the toots. I told them to switch off their phones but they said that wouldn’t get them anywhere. If anything, it would only land them spots on the couch for the night. Then one of them told me to start acting like such a hard nut; like I don’t cry on my pillow every night. He told me I needed a girlfriend too; that I should stop pretending like I’m so miserable; like I don’t need a woman in my life to help me arrange my socks in my drawer and clean the dishes and get my blood sugar level up. I told him if having a girlfriend meant I had to ditch my drink halfway to go buy her something to eat just because her lazy ass couldn’t cook then he could keep that shit; ain’t nobody got time.
The remaining two jamaas I was with are big fans of this blog. One of them goes by Peter and the other goes by Lenovo; because back then when we only knew of HP and Samsung laptops, ninja showed up with a freaking Lenovo laptop; so the name stuck. Peter asked me when I was going to write next and I said soon as I left the joint; that I already had the content. I lied. You know, sometimes we lie because we don’t want people to stop believing in us. We lie because we don’t want people to stop believing we can move mountains. (Guys, in case you hadn’t figured it out yet, I just gave you boys a shout out, hiyo beer ikuje.)
The Landlady knocked at my door the other day; at 8 in the a.m. No way I was going to open that door, unless she was dishing out free Chapos. Believe this, she kept knocking and stood there for over an hour. I had to cut my sleep short and go see what she wanted. Turns out it was about rent, which I haven’t paid yet because, you know, I’m jobless and broke. There might have been a little squabble there that may or may not have gone something like this;
Wewe Omondi (she calls me Omondi when shit is about to get real) wapi pesa?
Madhe bado sina kakitu. Nipe masiku kadhaa nitafutange.
Masiku kadhaa aje na deadline inafika? Unajua unanisumbuanga sana wewe. Ni wewe tu kwa hii plot mzima unanipatianga headache.
Aki pole sana madhe. Haikuangi kupenda kwangu. Si unaelewa vile hustle saa zingine inaendanga mrama.
Apana Omondi. Kwani hii yako inaendanga mrama kila siku? Kwani uko na mashetani?
Heheheh. Si wewe wa kwanza kusema hivo. Ata naanza kufikiria ni ukweli maze.
Yaani unacheka hii inakukalia mchezo sindio? Nakukalia nacheka sindio?
Apana madhe, si hivo. Rent nitalipa. Shika basi sufuria yangu moja alafu nikishlipa utanipea.
Sufuria ni mia moja na Rent ni maelfu ya pesa Omondi, wacha hii mchezo ya paka na panya na mimi. Nitakufungia hii mlango nione ukora itakufikisha wapi.
Apana madhe. Tusifanyiane hivo. Hii maisha ni polepole.
Wacha kuongea na mimi ni kama mimi ni rika yako.
Pole madhe. Fanya hivi. Nipatie wiki tu mbili nione vile naweza panga hiyo maneno ya rent.
Wiki mbili ni wewe. By tarehe sita kama hujalipa iyo pesa wewe anza tu kutafuta mahali pengine pa kulala juu hutalala hapa. Tusisumbuane.
Guys, I’m opening up an M-Pesa Paybill number. If you count yourself one of my real friends then you’ll come through for a Bachelor. Check press and posters for details.