Diary entry April 30:
Before actions spoke louder than words – maybe when Zinjathropus was hanging out with her cool, recently evolved Australopithecus boyfie – i wouldn’t ponder hard over this man who noisily slams his right knuckle into his left palm before engaging in demeaning throat slashing gestures when i pass by his mobile smokies-and-eggs-trade booth.
Until a week ago, before auntie sent me this yellow plastic bag (picture those that dig 40bob deep into your wallet?) half full of roasted peanuts; i was an evening regular at Mash’s “3 wheeled fast-food truck”. He’s just next to the Uhuru H.Way – University Way Round About. Purpose? Wait for: my serving of boiled egg and smokie & my Westlands-bound Starbus.
Then one evening, just midway into shelling my boiled egg, Mash digs his forked palm into his supposedly itchy groin. Or what? Normally, I’d instinctively shout “wash your undies” but I blurted out, “Hata sitakula hilo yai sasa, kaa nalo” to the chagrin of slowly scattering-away customers. It was too late for them to discover that Mash was actually just removing his safely tucked money purse from an inside-pocket of his white overcoat.
Guilty. A murmured, half-hearted apology is in time with my bus. Escape route.
But tomorrow comes. No one’s buying. This fuels the menacing death threats. 2 days later and a scared me changes habit and route; i board the warbly 14-seater machines at Odeon.
Until then, eggs and smokies had niched my daily journey home. I’m not that foodious beast. I just munch away something to go down with the food-for-thought that cooks in my head on PSVs.
Apparently, auntie’s peanuts save the while. I pack 2 sets every dawn. 1 set kills cheap talk with a neighbourly passenger on my way to, while the other plays dead in my brown backpack until evening on my fro-escapades. Then, i’d skin each nut alive and toss it way up to it’s deathbed. Others died midflight.
Once, infact yesterday, a bored me served a nut like a volley ball way up towards my mouth. That one found solace in some handbag of a damsel seated behind me. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Trust feminines to always have a bunch of expletives on their fingertips.
You are what you eat, remember?
Enjoy your lunch, 🙂 .