Continued From Part 2. If you missed part 2 read it here – https://siloma.blog/soila-moilaa/

I couldn’t let Moilaa take my girl from me for the second time. This is when my Class 4 insha became effective in my life; nilimwangalia na macho ya shashimamishi nywele kichwani tisti ja boriti. Naam, wahenga wahenguzi hawakutuvuta mikia walipobasiti ya kwamba mjukuu wanafuu huu ata akisema haa. Leo hili jinamizi la Ole Karuko litaona la mtema kuni.

Moilaa realized that he was almost losing this battle. He gazed straight into my pupil, I saw his eyes simmer their way into my wrinkled frowns. He looked at his supposed lover. The ‘lover’ he had been cheating on with lowly girls deep from the crannies of Mfyeka Pori’s home. Who does that to the blooming purple Ntulele flower that had taken every Nyangulo aback.

He then looked at me and for some reason he couldn’t fathom how a low-life like me would have such a girl or snatch her away from him. He thought it would be total disgrace if a grapevine went forth that a scum bag like me snatched his girl friend. He actually snatched her from me not because he loved her but because he is just a rugged bum of a man who wouldn’t want to see the lowly like me prosper. He is a snake.

Meanwhile Bosco was standing chewing his miraa (this dog chews anything I tell you) looking at us, two old respectable morans fighting for a girl. He just shook his head and said, “No wonder these people were called Nyangulos, that name fits them full hundred.”

“Maape! (Let’s go)” Siloma said.

I could see Moilaa’s reluctant self lazily walking to the motorcycle to take his visitors back to Rombo town. He was devastated. And now let me use my Class 4 composition to fully describe his countenance; tears of despondency rolled down his dusty cheeks like waters gushing off the streams of flooded Musangairo river. His face was covered in gigantic nimbus gloom and his lips gyrated like a raving mad mongrel on crack as if to say bladi fwakin! He drove off! Damn, I wish there were awards of insulting Moilaa, I wouldn’t be struggling in life.

“I will call you!” Siloma shouted as they sped off in Moilaa’s motorcycle.

I was so consumed in rage that I didn’t realize Soila was still on the ground. I felt the hair follicles on my arm rise like lilies blowing on swift wind. I felt them waltz rhythmically in a three by four time signature at the sway of Andre Rieu’s arm as he directs a well-trained and experienced orchestra. Don’t worry how a Nasipa boy like me knows these things. Is YouTube your father’s?

My body was oscillating in Tchaikovsky’s Flores (Waltz of the Flowers). If first started with my heart and then the intestinal juices in my stomach and it flowed down to my lower abdomen. There was this calming feeling and an aura of bliss that I had never felt before.

“Mpusu naleng!” (Your are very stupid) Soila shouted as she lifted herself up.

That was when I realized that Soila held my arm as she was lifting herself up and that’s why I was aroused. I looked at Olaing’oni and he was up there in the mountains. For the sake of PG, I wouldn’t translate was Olaing’oni is; if you know you know! Please try to be a little bit smart so that we can be on the same page. Orait?

Soila put her water jar on her back and strolled away mumbling some words. I turned around forgetting Olaing’oni had decided to raise his head higher than Mt. Kilimanjaro and I saw the two women laughing saying, “emilo taa ena murani?” (This moran’s head is not functioning well)

I then quickly turned back and hid in the thicket nearby. Meanwhile, Bosco was uncontrollable. He had even spat out his jaba and was laughing hysterically at me. He rolled sideways like those dirty mechanics repairing those canters that carry tomatoes from Njukini.

I was again there depressed, ashamed and feeling useless, so useless that even an old scrawny dog that looks like its about to die the next second is laughing at me. Damn, it sucks to be me.

Watch out for Part 4.