Continued from Part 1 – If you missed part one, you can read it here – https://siloma.blog/ole-karukos-coward-the-man-the-dog

I looked straight into the eye of this ‘British’ man and I answered,

“My name is Simintei!”

I had nothing more to add. I was not known for anything and I was simply, the scrawny night cat that everybody feared. Even the Lord, knew that I never deserved Soila. Ole Karuko’s son who I refer to as a moilaa (a dung beetle) seemed to be the best fit for her simply because he had a motorized engine – a motorcycle manufactured from China. China? Of all the places? China? Soila left me for a Chinese?

“Wow! It’s amazing you are reading in the middle of nowhere. What are you reading?” The light guy asked.

In my whole life, I have never heard someone say that reading is amazing. Everyone around me knew that the most amazing thing was having money and lots of it and stealing other people’s girlfriends. I have never been outside Nasipa. I have left Rombo once when I was in class 4. We had gone for games in Illasit Primary School and that was the first time I saw tarmacked road.

I was bamboozled by this alien who thinks reading is amazing and he flipped my book to read the cover.

“Wow, you are reading the Art of War By Sun Tzu? This is amazing.” The brown skin Nairobi alien said.

That was when Moilaa looked at me with eyes red enough to shame tomato farmers in Njukini. He thought I was planning to kill him. I didn’t even notice the title of the book I was reading as I was just passing time with it.

“Do you write as well?” He asked.

I was palpitating. I lost breath. For some reason I felt as if all my dreams had been answered. I peed my pants once more and my stomach rumbled in glee and jubilation and I think I farted thrice because Bosco did what Jesus had instructed and turned the other cheek and stood a small distance away.

“Yes, Yes Yes!” I answered.

I was so petrified as I have never had such mixed feelings before. I felt as if I had messed up. I got my phone off my pocket and I went straight to my notes. I handed it over to him. He looked at the phone, scrolled the millions of notes I had written, turned the phone over and said,

“TECNO Camon 18? Wow. This phone is truly serving its purpose! I wouldn’t expect anyone here to have a phone like this. And you are putting it into good use.”

He opened one note and he started reading. I could see his eyes popping and the sides of his mouth stretching in bewilderment. He started smiling as he skimmed. Meanwhile, Moilaa shouted,

“Maape Ero!” (Let’s go!)

But this Siloma guy told him to wait a bit and Moilaa looked at me as if I was now stealing my Soila back from him. Moilaa is the kind of guy who is very insecure with everything. He moves in fear and he would always let external things, people or forces be his fortress. He really feared approaching my Soila but he used the motorcycle his father bought him to lure her.

I think Moilaa is the South Pole, the pole where all our feces go when we defecate, this guy has got no decorum. He speaks before his tiny brain can process any information. He went close to this Siloma guy and said,

“You know my friend… Let me tell you one thing. Is you wait for this guy here, the animals come and eat us because Tsavo gate is just here and is not safe. You see here the electric fence, one of the workers of Wakili was eat by a Lion. You return this Masai his phone we show you the land.”

Siloma completely ignored him and continued to read my pieces. Moilaa was devastated. Even with his heavy Maasai accent and broken English, a rascal like Bosco would not give him attention.

“I should introduce you to Mamboleo. He runs a page called Kajiado TV on Facebook. These pieces shouldn’t just be in the bush. They should be up for the world to see. Let the world know about you and your world.” He said

I felt a heart orgasm. I was in euphoria. I have always wanted to have my pieces read by the world. I had seen Mamboleo’s work, a crazily relentless guy who had set the pace for many young men in Kajiado county. I have always wished to have an inch of his guts.

We quickly exchanged numbers with Siloma and he promised to reach out. Moilaa felt this acidic burn in his balls and all he wanted to do was to punch me. He has always wanted to be the center of attraction with his jaba stories of how his father met and talked to Osama Bin Laden when the guy was in hiding in Rombo and how he held Lucky Dube’s hands in his over-narrated story about his visit to Nairobi. I am sure this guy just met a beggar with dreadlocks in the streets but who am I to dispute? A guy with Bosco as his best friend?

I helped the trio identify their parcels of land and as soon as we were done the guy shook my hand again, gave me a thousand shillings and told me to keep hope alive. Again, I looked through Moilaa’s pupil and gave a demonic smile, one to say, “Now, I am going to have my Soila back.” In a telepathic moment, we saw three women with water vessels on their backs. The lady at the back tripped and fell, we rushed to help her, I held the enkeene (rope tying the water to her back) tight as Moilaa lifted her water vessel.

The lady rose up and behold, the aurora of Nasipa, the glistening unicorn of the savannah, and the emerald so precious to all the Nyangulos (young men of a certain ageset) of this god-forsaken village.

Soila’s face was partly washed with soil and Moilaa and I, like siamese twins sharing a brain, reached out our hands towards her. Meanwhile, Bosco was standing aside, chewing miraa or something, watching the drama that is about to ensure; I really don’t trust this dog. We then looked at each other face to face, like MMA fighters burning in rage and fury ready to tear each other apart.

Watch out for Part 3