Field Marshal
Elder Lister
Last year, due to extraneous circumstances (ahem), we (I) was forced to engage a Mama Fua to help out with domestic chores. Her duties were limited to just washing clothes and not any inhouse work. She was very good at it.
The lady - let's call her Gladys - was something to behold. A tall, well-toned Luhya of about 45, she oozed raw sexuality. You must know women of that age - they have nothing fake on them like the Nairobi gals of today. Everything she had screamed 'kienyeji' - her cotton dress, her big bum, her large titties, her smile, her humility, her body. And she was bloody clean herself.
One time we found ourselves alone, briefly. It was outside, as she finished hanging the clothes.
The long and short of it is that she indicated that she was available for a romp nikitaka, away from home of course. The way she put it was so innocent that were I not experienced in these matters I would not have decoded the message. It was along these lines:
"Bwana FMCP, I know you can't come to Kibra where I stay for me to make you tea, but tea is also sold in hotels. You people pay me well and I would like to buy you a cup of tea if you want at a place of your choosing." In broken Luhya-Swahili, with that kashamba smile.
Instant turn on bana.
I was tempted, very tempted. You can't live on ugali alone - sometimes you need to eat chapati too.
Any way, I didn't take her up on her offer of 'tea'. I thought it was too dangerous given that I have been on the chopping block a couple of times. And I have only one neck.
When things normalised at the domestic front, we stopped using Gladys' services, and I forgot about her.
Any way, last week she was called again to do some chores. I found her washing at her usual spot.
Shock of shocks, I could barely recognise my femme fatale!
She had shrunk, become pitch black, lost half her weight, and although still super-clean, she looked weird. I couldn't believe that the scarecrow figure - with apologies - I was seeing was the hot super-mama who almost tempted me to sin a few months back.
I later came to learn that she said that she had become very sick with a chest infection soon after we had parted last year, and had been admitted to Mbagathi for six months.
Of course it doesn't take much to know that the chest infection was TB, which is a co-infection of HIV 70% of the time in Kenya.
Given that I don't use condoms much, it goes without saying that had I dried fried Gladys last year, I stood a fair chance of having an 'underlying condition' this year.
Just imagine: Underlying condition + 70 years + corona =cremation. Just like that youngins, guka would be kaput! Gone. Kabisa.
Moral of the story: Uhuru Must GO!
The lady - let's call her Gladys - was something to behold. A tall, well-toned Luhya of about 45, she oozed raw sexuality. You must know women of that age - they have nothing fake on them like the Nairobi gals of today. Everything she had screamed 'kienyeji' - her cotton dress, her big bum, her large titties, her smile, her humility, her body. And she was bloody clean herself.
One time we found ourselves alone, briefly. It was outside, as she finished hanging the clothes.
The long and short of it is that she indicated that she was available for a romp nikitaka, away from home of course. The way she put it was so innocent that were I not experienced in these matters I would not have decoded the message. It was along these lines:
"Bwana FMCP, I know you can't come to Kibra where I stay for me to make you tea, but tea is also sold in hotels. You people pay me well and I would like to buy you a cup of tea if you want at a place of your choosing." In broken Luhya-Swahili, with that kashamba smile.
Instant turn on bana.
I was tempted, very tempted. You can't live on ugali alone - sometimes you need to eat chapati too.
Any way, I didn't take her up on her offer of 'tea'. I thought it was too dangerous given that I have been on the chopping block a couple of times. And I have only one neck.
When things normalised at the domestic front, we stopped using Gladys' services, and I forgot about her.
Any way, last week she was called again to do some chores. I found her washing at her usual spot.
Shock of shocks, I could barely recognise my femme fatale!
She had shrunk, become pitch black, lost half her weight, and although still super-clean, she looked weird. I couldn't believe that the scarecrow figure - with apologies - I was seeing was the hot super-mama who almost tempted me to sin a few months back.
I later came to learn that she said that she had become very sick with a chest infection soon after we had parted last year, and had been admitted to Mbagathi for six months.
Of course it doesn't take much to know that the chest infection was TB, which is a co-infection of HIV 70% of the time in Kenya.
Given that I don't use condoms much, it goes without saying that had I dried fried Gladys last year, I stood a fair chance of having an 'underlying condition' this year.
Just imagine: Underlying condition + 70 years + corona =cremation. Just like that youngins, guka would be kaput! Gone. Kabisa.
Moral of the story: Uhuru Must GO!
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