An encounter with Nairobi

It's November 2001, a year when Christmas unexpectedly came early to
us. It was not normal for my father to break the family news, that was
a reserve for my mum. But this day, the tables had been turned,
perhaps owing to the magnitude of the news at hand. Yes! We were
moving to Nairobi, permanently. This had to be the news of the
century. Wait, I forgot I hadn't lived for a century. Anyway they
were the news of our lives.
Nairobi was a city I only visited during my school holidays, a beautiful place. My father only took us to
Nairobi if you were among the top three in your class, and he would
keep his word. Now I proved more of a nuisance than a blessing! I
never tired of the numerous trips to Nairobi as I came out tops in my
class in consecutive terms. I remember counting all the oncoming
vehicles and keeping a record of all the overpasses along the way. And
dad never forgot to take us for lunch at Riverside Hotel, then a 'five
star' hotel just next to the Nairobi river bridge as you approach OTC
from Kariorkor. It was a darling to me. No, my stomach. I loved their
ugali, shaped in a bowl to form a unique shape that delighted my
stomach day in day out.
So yes, I couldn't help but imagine a new life
in Nairobi, the promised land! My mother, sister and I usually
gathered at the fire place singing children songs from the golden
bells. And we would sing till late in the night. This day was
different. We just sat and imagined how life would be in Nairobi.
True to dad's word, we moved to Nairobi, Mlango Kubwa to be specific.
I still have photos of our first Christmas in Nairobi, then in class
four. We would spend our evening learning Swahili, and men, weren't we
poor in it. To add salt to the injury, dad imposed rules to the effect
that Swahili was a mandatory language in our house. No more Kikuyu,
not in Nairobi. One night we were fighting over a blanket and then
Steve my brother introduced the term 'mlingoti' as the Swahili word
for blanket perhaps inspired by the Kikuyu word 'muringiti'. The next
year, we all enrolled at Park road Primary School to the surprise of
finding Indians, Arabs and Somali classmates. And we became the
laughing stock owing to our frequent lingual shrubbing or what was
better known as 'kung'oa'. I remember reading a story in a Kiswahili
class and ended up sending the wrong signals. To me, mukurima and
mkulima sounded the same. Rori was similar to lorry. It came with a
blessing though, I got a new nickname in 'mukurima'. Incognizant of
this fact, that I barely knew, I still insisted on reading literature
to the class. My hand always up and feeling disappointed on not being
selected to read out stories in class. I guess I confused the laughing
and mockery for applause.
With time we got used to Nairobi life and became 'wajanja' but not for
long as you'll get to learn shortly. My father run a small retail shop
and we would help during our free time. I remember stealing a slice on
each half bread to balance the equation. At times I would end up
eating the whole bread to cover up. One evening Steve and I were at
the shop as the rest were watching TV when hell broke loose. We were
both hanging onto a lollipop each when my sister spotted us. Excited
to have caught the thieves, she ran away shouting to my dad's
suspecting ears. The shop had to be closed there and then. Man, not
even a dog deserves the beating that we got.
Back in school, my dad made a laughing stock one more time when he decided to buy me new
school shoes. I decided to 'test' them on a monday morning, a day I
got to school late. Now I found a noisy class and as I approached it,
the noise faded away to a deaf silence. Apparently the classmates
confused the 'kong kong' sound from my new shoes for the
Headmistress'. The pupils broke into laughter as I gracefully walked
in. You can't imagine the embarrassment I endured that day. I actually
  regrettedasking for a new shoe and reverted to the old one. Well, my
first days in Nairobi were nothing short of dramatic