SONS OF PROBLEMS

SON OF PROBLEMS (WAMATHINA) PRT 2 

by Hussein Muchiri

 I walked towards my house, feeling rejected and dejected. I was so weak. I could remember some old man claiming it shall all come to pass. How wise. At this  moment, i could remember the happenings at Golgotha like i was there. To be precise, i could hear the son of man claiming "all is finished"(yote yamekwisha). I was the walking dead. The energy was drained. I was nothing but a walking corpse, and a wandering soul i could not trace.

But as i rarely proclaim, we serve a God of a second chance. A third chance shouldn't be a wonder either, and a fourth one. At the junction, i met my immediate neighbour's slutty wife. The woman have been a core temptation in the plot, with many men openly confessing they rented their houses because of her. Not like she has marketed the house, nope, its her way of  clothing and her walking style. See through lessos and brightly colored inners is her favorite, leaving very little to imagination. To confess, i have severally gone out to  hang dirty clothes on the line just to  witness her hang her own, because any time she bends over to rinse the clothes, heaven falls all over me. I hope you can feel me. She walks around with a behind vibrating like Sagem phone, so do not ask me how many times i have been derailed to follow her instead of going to own errands

So we greeted each other and started walking to the house lazily as we caught up with recent happenings. As stories caught rhythm(sic), i realised an old proverb was working:- A hen that is meant for your stew don't run  away from you when you run after it, it coils its feather in fear. With several "aki you are funny"and "aki wewe" making most of her replies, i was sure i had qualified for the quarter finals to get laid. I almost raised hands to thank my maker, but then i remembered the parable of the rich fool stated in Luke 12:15-21, and i decided not to count my chicks before they hatch. As fate would have it, after entering our humble apartments, she told me to get into her house so that she could make some coffee for both of us. You see, do not believe Antony Murage's propaganda that i love eating alot. Thats untrue, baseless and malicious mudsmearing by my political enemies. Its only that i read somewhere in the constitution that their is right to eat and i do not like breaking the law, so into her house  we get.

On the wall were pictures of an army man. Those mean looking fellows who look like the lineage of goliath. I almost got chills, but my aspirations to get laid overcame my fear. On enquiry, i was narrated how the husband is a senior KDF officer currently in somalia for Amisom. The absence of the officer was a blessing to me, but i said that in my heart because the devil looms where blessings are abundant. One thing led to another, and before we could say hippopotamus, we had our first suits on, like the one Adam and eve had back in the garden of Eden. Several rumours have it that due to sedentary lifestyle and daily chewing of khat i have become a one minute man, but the woman complained not. After all, a minute and another makes an hour. I can't remember how many laps the marathon made, but i sweat a river and she could mumble "oh oh Hussein" in her dreams for a week straight.

I walked around the house  waiting for re energization, feeling majestic like Herod. My  self esteem had just been elevated higher than the local watch tower. The screams and smoke coming from that house were a clear indication that i do not eat a goat that died from natural causes, or rather in a better way, i am fire to bask from far. Not like am blowing my own trumpet, but the fact is she limped for a whole week straight. Its no mean achievement, give the devil his due.

I bid her good bye and jokingly told her i will be back for a rematch. She grinned like a gecko, and said "aki wewe, usizoee"(do not get used to it. I smiled back. Never in my life have i felt the hand of God in my life. Despite breaking Exodus 20:17 and coveting, i still thanked my maker for dealing with my dryspell amicably. Vaseline is not cheap. I pushed the door to take my leave, and right there, stood a 6"2 man, black with enormous hands and rough veins running all over him even in the ears. One plus one in lightning speed i could tell it was the army husband. Before he could ask anything, i explained that i was the new plumber and i had came to fix the toilet. I saved my little ass. He thanked me for sorting out his wife, i don't know which sorting.

Fifteen minutes later, i had packed my essentials and i had booked a lodging where am holed up to now. I ain't going to that place for anything. Let me start afresh.