My Village People

Siloma

Siloma

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My village people. I hope this mail, sorry, post finds you well. I know you are eagerly waiting to help us offload our items of baggage off our well-polished cars as you give us those double-sided hugs. Oh my Gad you guys are just so lovely.

Well, please appreciate the 24 slices of Nairobi bread we bring in exchange for the chicken, nduuma, ngwaci and matoke you give us on our way back to the land you think is smooth and flowing with milk and honey. Truth be told, this year, this Nairobi of ours has given us character development like nobody’s business.

These are things we cannot tell you because we want to stick to the fake it till you make it slogan that runs our lives in the city. This is why we pretend to feel jet-lagged when we arrive as you quickly organize how we are going to take the milk-abundant tea served from the beautiful Luminarc wageni cups straight from the cupboard.

We know when these cups are used. They are only used for special Nairobi people like us or when you are having those huuuge parties and when very special guests come to visit you. We really feel privileged to be among the specials because other days, they are used to decorate your sitting room.

I know deep inside, your dirty kids wonder if we have blood circulating in our veins or if we also visit the toilet. And if we visit the toilet they wonder how our excrement is. They wonder how special we are because all year you tell them to study hard so that they can be like their aunts and uncles in Nairobi.

Forgive us for just touching your kids’ hair and asking them ‘ulikuwa number ngapi’ as if we have something great planned for them. We are also thinking about our kids’ future and we strive hard to give them the best. Forgive them for looking at you like scarecrows because all they are used to is Cocomelon and Masha & Bear.

This time round, tunasija. Kwanza they have opened Ramogi Tv. Yeah, I know I am Maasai but we are supposed to celebrate diversity right? I applaud you guys for last year. You understood that there was COVID and decided not to wake us up at 3:00 am to ask for KES 200 to buy Konyagi (Thank God if you do not have a fleet of drunk uncles.)

This time round kindly do not wake us up at the crack of dawn before the cock crows because we will make sure we eat that ‘jogoo’ on the first day – even KANU died and we are still living. So in the spirit of bottom-up, please note that your kids are the ones who will be giving our Jabalis and Dhahabus a wheelbarrow experience down the cliff.

In the same spirit of bottom-up, you guys will now fund us this time. And know KES 200 for Konyagi is a joke to us. Give us a little something like 10,000 so that we can fuel our guzzlers back to Nairobi. This time round, just let us sleep for all days we are there, you usually give us two days grace period after our Nairobi bread gets depleted.

The pampering you give us on the day we are leaving is because you need us to give you that handout. We know those ngwacis and ndumas are nothing but bribes.

Please also cut down the words you give in your testimony in Church. Even the pastor behind you constantly signals you to stop giving details about the stops your children made when driving from Nairobi. Alafu aki kindly this time don’t pray in English.

English doesn’t come with us from Nairobi. Kindly stick to your mother tongue. We remember last time you openly prayed, “Lord, I don’t know where you would be without us!” Yeah, we understand your children have cars but God is ultimate. We still want to keep our wealth. Ama that’s why this year Nairobi has done us that thing?

Please this time round let it be about you, tell us something about the community and how you have been. Don’t tell us woiye woiye stories so that we add you an extra thousand. And don’t tell us about sijui oooh, your village girlfriend, ule ulimkataa ameolewa na mzungu. Don’t you have something positive like, “I invested in this and I got some good return?” Oh! Snap I know you wouldn’t tell us such as we will cut down our monthly retainers.

Some of us have been broken-hearted by children of other women in this nation who will report us to their mothers. Those women will vehemently pray us to God quoting, “Touch not my anointed.” Their mothers will pamper them because some Maasai guy heart-broke them.

You guys in Maasailand think that that is a small issue because you are used to killing lions. Treat us like people with heart flu. Give us an extra blanket for warmth, brew us some good tea, and keep asking us if we are okay or if we need something.

Finally, cut down on the fancy explanations. You are even introducing us to our aunties. Ati, “Hukumbuki Siloma? Haiya! Na tulifanya party kubwa sana nyumbani alipograduate na Masters. Hujawahi ona Range Rover yake ya Buluu hapo Elangata Enkima town?”

My village people, I have missed you so much. I can’t wait to see you this Christmas (We Maasais call it Kirimas). I just want good mbuzi and lots of soup. Actually, you can keep the mbuzi as a friend recently took me to Fogo Gaucho here at Kilimani. Oooh sorry, Fogo Gaucho is not some shrine. It is not the source of my money. Fogo Gaucho is like Tumaini Butchery there at home only that they have not drawn pictures of scrawny cows and goats on its walls. Actually, tell them to stop painting those scary alien animals on butchery walls because they will scare Jabali and Dhahabu.

Buy me coffee? 

Have you read my e-books?

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My Village People

My village people, I know you are eagerly waiting to help us offload our baggage off our cars as you give us those double-sided hugs. Forgive us for touching your kids’ hair and asking them ‘ulikuwa number ngapi’ as if we have something great planned for them.

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