So Hukuji?

“So hukuji?!”

It was more of an aggravation than a question as he mistakenly hurled a half-full tumbler of tap water across the bedsitter apartment and onto a four by six spring bed in the corner. One could almost perceive the soul being sucked out of his being following the confirmed disappointment after receiving the doubtlessly long-awaited call. Realizing his phone was still in his hand, contrary to his former idea of having it in flight mode (literally) to release his anger, he looked in blank disbelief at the now soaking centre of his navy-blue starry duvet.

Thoughts along the lines of whether all the general cleaning he had accomplished that morning had been worth it began to race up and down his already bombarded mind. It was the least he could have done because what kind of ‘sophisticated’ food (living or non-living) would have loved the idea of being devoured in a dingy bedsitter apartment atop a filthy bed? The blue pill he had swallowed would begin having an effect in his body and eventually, he would need to take control of the situation.

Heart heavy, invisible balancing tears and crushed in spirit, he grabbed the fifty-shilling note on the window sill and began the short journey to Mama Mbugua’s grocery stall right next to the building housing the bedsitter apartment where he resided. Deciding that sukumawiki, two large bright red tomatoes and one onion would do the trick, he quickly paid up, absolutely not in the mood for a hearty conversation with Mama Mbugua after the usual preliminaries, a scene completely different from most of their previous encounters.


He fished his sleek black Oppo A32 smartphone from his faded jeans’ pocket and read the text message that had popped up on the six-point five-inch display.

Nashi Pies Delivery

Due to the rise in fuel prices, we will no longer be offering our delivery services. Hesitate not to amaze us with your physical presence embodying that gorgeous look you, our esteemed customer, behold. Sorry for the inconvenience. We cannot wait to see you. Thank you.

Had it not been for the staircase railing, he would have tripped over the first step on the ground floor as he was solely focused on achieving an ear-to-ear grin, or so it seemed. Thoughtful explanation despite his previous unprecedented outburst. A low rumbling in his gut reminded him that it was time to fill up as the blue deworming pill had executed its task to completion. It was now time for Kinyanjui to showcase his culinary prowess, the source of heat being a red Seagas cooking gas cylinder that had been priced at fifteen-hundred Kenyan shillings, which he had bought using part of the house rent as a Gilbey’s Gin bottle shook its head in utter dismay at the unexpected betrayal in a shelf at the Silverlake Liquor Store.



Baaabe…unaeza nitumia 110/= nikule fries hapa 911. Aki niko na cravings.

Expressionless, he wished the family members in the WhatsApp group chat a good night, long pressed the power button and chose the option that indicated a user’s wish to shut down the gadget. Singing along to Daudi Kabaka’s Bachelor Boy playing on his laptop, he reached for the container of three-litre Fresh Fri cooking oil, which he vividly recalls the Fuliza option coming to the rescue of his M-PESA balance at the time of purchase.

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