You’re keen on having a bowl of makongoro soup, a meal touted as being good for ageing bones.
A kitchen boy has informed you that it’ll take a bit of time to have your makongoro ready, and you’ve told him that’s okay.
In any case, you want your meal to be preceded by at least one beer to hone your appetite.
You call Mariana, this lanky girl you usually avoid due to her habit of retaining your change for as long as possible while hoping you’ll forget it.
She's, of course, not aware that being from the land of cande eaters, the very people who, it’s rumoured, can polish off a sima of ugali without sauce as they gawk at a photo of fish!
We don’t forget our change!
You’re digressing. You don’t just tell Mariana to bring a beer; you tell her to be quick about it lest thirst kill you. Sawa, she says.
However, ten minutes expire and your beer has not yet come.
There’s nobody to whom you can lodge your complaint because the manager is seated at the far end of the bar as usual, sponging on patrons and discussing the English Premier League.
When you hail a mhudumu passing not far from where you’re seated to tell Mariana, wherever she’ll find her, that she’s over-delaying your beer, she says, 'Sawa.'
Your makongoro soup soon arrives, and you eat it “on an empty stomach".
When you notice Mariana as she walks past, you hail her loudly.
She exclaims, "Oh, Mungu wangu… nilikuwa nimesahau!”
When she, at last, brings your beer, you’re already done with the makongoro. You tell yourself it’s okay, for this you aren’t at the Kempinski.
The second beer comes without too much waiting.
As times go on, there are fewer and fewer, and Mariana joins you at your table.
You haven’t invited her, but it doesn’t matter. As the Mwalimu from Butiama taught us, all human beings are my kin.
“Mzee Muyanza, I’m now less busy. Will I get one from you?” says she.
"Why do you think you deserve one from me, Mariana?” you ask.
“I knew you’d say that… I knew!” she remarks.
“Why are you alleging you knew I wouldn’t give you anything?” you ask.
In your mind, however, you believe she knows you can’t be that friendly with her given the way she delayed your order. But her answer is much different.
“The only mhudumu you care about here is Lightness… we all know it,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone.
“That isn’t true…There's nothing between me and Lightness!” you say firmly.
And you mean it, much as it’s a fact Lightness is amicable to you, serving you well when she’s around. She’s off duty today.
“Lightness is your wife… everybody here knows it!” she insists.
You tell her to get a beer for herself and stop her wild allegation. “Ahsante shemeji.”
