My brother’s mouthpiece is distorted, the one in his phone. The kind of distortion that gives his voice a twist and he starts sounding like one of those antagonists in movies I used to call ‘guezz staro’ – that was like ten years ago and anything I said then cannot be held against me in any fair hearing, especially the Mr. Right hearing.
So what if I made a few pronunciation mistakes several years ago? People still make them now. My friends don’t like the way I say three or Seychelles. But I don’t care, none of them were lucky enough to get first class English education under a tree and from the one and only Mr. Sayialel, the one who during his school days he had to divide his attention between his two wives, his livestock, being a clan leader and his several children. Just to mention, some of his children were his school mates when he was in class eight. The one who would avoid pronouncing Seychelles for fear of what might come out. At least I try
So, a lot of times I laugh it off with a stupid joke. They think its funny, but I know it aint.
Back to my brother’s phone. The movie is staged in some building in outering on a fateful Sunday. The apartment is cool – there is flowing water and electricity – what else could one ask for? I am fast asleep. At about 12 midnight, my phone rings. Just to mention, I hate late night phone calls if am not the one making them and especially if I spent the whole day wondering the streets of Nairobi with a heavy laptop on my shoulder.
So I receive the late call, the voice is strange, not the stranger kind of strange, the strangest kind of strange. It sounds like the distorted voice of a ‘guezz starro’. The kind of voice that says something like this; ‘is this the prime minister, oh who am I kidding I know it is. Now listen very carefully sir, we have fifty bombs distributes in the city, if you don’t meet our demands… blah blah blah blah’ you get the drift. Its so distorted, it sounds like it was mined from deep inside the throat.
And what does the voice say? ‘halo, halo, Joshua’. I freeze. First, the number is strange, two, it is distorted like in a movie, and three, the voice knows my name. I hung up the phone and switch it off. Sounds pretty cowardly but if it was you, and you have seen several classic movies, you would have shitted your pants.
Let me explain to you why. Sunday morning, a grenade explodes in a bar I Nairobi. On Sunday at around eight am in town doing stuff. Sunday evening, just before I leave town, two grenades explode. The route am supposed to use out of town is blocked and all the traffic is diverted to a much smaller road, we nearly empty that road of oxygen. The buses and cars are crowded and I am seated in one of the buses wondering if they did that so that the traffic can be diverted and then they can cast their net in a much richer pond. In movies, that is a brilliant plan, in real life it is a terrifying one
So we are stuck in traffic less than 100 meters from where the grenade exploded. People are conversing in very sad tones in the bus. Most of them don’t want to talk about the grenade attacks. They go round in circles and come back to the same topic. Me? Am not talking, am tired so I go to facebook and write; ‘these Al-shabaab want us to do to their mothers and sisters what they are doing to our civilians?’
I eventually get home after a few hours and go to sleep immediately. So when my phone rings I add one and one together. Strange number, distorted voice, strange time of the night, the voice knows my name. Al-shabaab must have seen my update and they are looking for me.
After I turn off my phone, I try to sleep. I can’t. I wake up, turn on my phone, go to facebook and I delete the text. I don’t know what purpose that was to serve. Maybe I thought they wouldn’t have evidence incase they decided to take my head to court before they grenaded it.
At around five in the morning, my brother calls again. I don’t know why I picked it. He says very fast ‘ Joshua, Joshua, ni Lenana. Nilikua tu nataka kukuuliza ka utanitumia success card.’ At midnight?
