He got out of the vehicle and began walking to his house after mumbling some greetings to a trio of middle aged men. One other man who had a filthy dark-green affair around his mouth sort of blocked his way and held his hand before him. His hand remained outstretched while his eyes refused to lose contact with the polythene bag Beni was carrying. He had got used to such acts. What he did not do is enjoy such intentional gazing at what he considered was going to be his livelihood for the rest of the month.
Beni would have fancied describing the affair around the man’s mouth if it had not looked so disturbing. He decided to neither talk about it nor describe it. Had he chosen to describe, he would have said that the man’s mouth resembled that place in the slaughterhouse where the green and partially digested insides of the slaughtered animals are deposited. But he did not describe it. He did not because the dark green affair that assaulted the mouth and turned it into a mess was another man’s food - if miraa can be so termed.
The man, his red and sleepy eyes threatening to shoot into the nearest space, still held his hand before Beni. He made as if to go round the man but the latter still managed to block his way.
“Nini wewe (what is it)?” Beni asked hiding his deepening irritation.
“Toa chai bwana. Si wewe ni mtu ya pay slip. (Give me tea man. You earn, you know.)”
Then the thought came to Beni. It told him to kick the man very hard in the region below his belt. Maybe the pain in the man’s balls would help him remember that he was a man energetic enough to go out make his hands dirty to get what he now called chai. Another told him to request the man to turn around after which he would kick him in the behind and remind him that he was not suffering from any disability. No he would not do any of this.
The crowd was always at the stage at this time of the month and the last thing Beni needed was any form of embarrassment. He had enough problems with his landlord which he needed sorted out. He had rent arrears in the upwards of eight thousand shillings. Even if he were silly, he would have to solve one problem before being desirous enough to create another. Seeing such acts replayed month after month made him wish that the pay dates were something that could either be hidden from the lookers and the hookers, or even better, made unpredictable to them.
To him, it was not just a coincidence that the Kisima Stage witnessed large numbers of men who could not claim to be any busy between the 29th and 5th of every month. This, he thought, was a reflection of the fact that the men had long understood the relationship between the date of the month and economics. They knew when to strategically wait for you and demand money that was not theirs. They waited for you and they would politely force you to let them carry your luggage, however small, to your house. After helping you carry what you had the ability to carry on your own, they would again politely demand that you give them money for tea.
Knowing that you had been forced to accept their offer of assistance, you would imagine that anything you offered was enough. That would be your thinking until you witnessed them decline your twenty shillings and lecture you on the need to respect other people even if they were unlucky not to have a pay slip like you. Thinking of it made Beni imagine of men who at the beginning of the season had gone to their farms to plant maize, but at the end of the same season went to the very farms expecting to harvest fish.
He was happy when the distraction came. This would help. The idling men had such a short attention span that could not last for more than five minutes. So when the goat appeared, he was sure all of them would turn their attention to it. It is this goat that had made Beni come up with the idea of writing a verse: THE HE-GOATS OF SAMBURU. When it appeared, he at first thought the owner had made it a headgear. On getting nearer, he also noticed a woman in wild chase of the goat. She was telling people to help her recover her garment from the wild goat.
By some trick or the other, the goat had managed to fix the woman’s underwear on one of its horns and began running around town with it. The woman should have been cleverer not to pursue the animal. By chasing it a round, she only made it known to those who would not have known whose garment it was. But one could not blame her. It was better for one to protect what rightfully belonged to her rather than let pride make it get lost.
Beni was suddenly relieved. All the energetic men that had been standing started giving terrific chase. Perhaps there was something in the offing for the one who would help recover the garment. Beni shook his head and walked away fearing to think about why such people could not find something useful to do with their lives. He prayed: GOD, ALWAYS MAKE ME BUSY.
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