Bei ya Dizo na Voters Walevi

I have not been in touch with Jamo for sometime, but recently the man showed up at my doorstep.

No!
My allegedly daughter was not in tow.
Her too… a face I haven’t seen in quite sometime.

But something was different.

No car.

Jamo came on a boda.

I saw him through the door, quickly took my coat and met him outside.

Hakuna story ya kukaribisha mtu ndani aisee!!

Mafuta imepanda you know.

These days fuel prices have become the excuse for everything.

Recently I visited our local distillery.

Palm wine being harvested live in our presence.

We are seated there chatting peacefully,

A few minutes later mama pima tells us

“Dabali ni Mia mbili!”

I froze.

Jesus Christ!!.

200 bob from sixty shillings??

How dare she!!

Before I could even protest…

it came.

“Mwajuwa mafuta inpanda!” Mwikali Aka Mama Mwajuma says in her coastal Kamba accent diluted with suffering and palm wine economics.

Now explain to me carefully…

what exactly does locally sourced palm wine have to do with Dizo prices??

I literally saw Mzera climb the palm tree himself minutes ago.

Does he now run on diesel??

I almost asked him.

Then the fellow exhales black smoke from his lungs like a broken Probox exhaust pipe.

I minded my business immediately.

Question answered.

I imagine him at a petrol station.

“Full tank ya Dizo tafadhali.”

Now which opening receives the fuel…

that one I leave to your imagination.

Naenda hivi nakam.


So I met Jamo outside pretending I was also heading somewhere.

Truth is…

that house cannot host  visitors anymore.

Even rats and cockroaches vacated.

The other day I saw a full rat family leaving.

Mother rat.
Father rat.
Fourteen children carrying tiny rat suitcases.

Wajama walitoka tu. headed out never came back

Could see the pain on Papa rats face, He hated me for sure

Good thing he is not licensed to carry-Rat Guns

It was Straight migration.

Hii economy imekuwa mbaya.


I yawned and convinced Jamo twende Gongoni.

We hop onto a nduthi like two school girls escaping chores and head to my usual spot.

The place was quiet before we arrived.

Then suddenly…

life.

Not because of me.

My buddy Jamo.

We sit.

The man confidently orders 5 litres of fresh mnazi.

Now if you have never taken fresh mnazi before let me educate you.

This drink is sweet.

Dangerously sweet.

You can finish the whole thing thinking ni juice ya Delmonte.

Then suddenly…

BOOM!!

The high enters your ancestors first before it reaches you.

Like weed cookies.

Delayed destruction.

I have seen grown men diarrhea themselves.

We once took Baba Alphonse home in a wheelbarrow.

Trousers tied at the ankle!!

And mind you…

the man is seven feet tall.

Imagine transporting a whole transformer using a mkokoteni.

So there we were.

Sipping local boosters.

Mwa the butcher arrives with mutura and thupu.

The place peaceful.

No fights.

Just drunk philosophy and economic suffering.

The hangover will hit tomorrow.

And tomorrow… half the day will be spent treating the hangover.

But you know what?

A day spent nursing a hangover is still half a day stolen from stress.

Sometimes that’s the closest thing wananchi have to therapy.

Next to me sits my buddy Kamaa.

Transport businessman.

Half the mkokoteni business in town belongs to him.

The man takes a slow sip of the sweet local brew then casually removes a packet of ginger biscuits from his pocket and takes a bite.

Now me here… confused completely.

I almost ask but decide to mind my own business for once in life.

He notices my confusion, turns slowly and says:

“Mafuta ndugu… am stressing eating.”

And suddenly I hear the pain in his voice.

Real pain.

Because surely these fuel prices have humbled even the best of us.

Transport men are crying.

Boda riders are crying.

Mama mbogas are crying.

And the Voters?

The Voters are drinking through the suffering.

I take another long sip of mnazi and sigh heavily.

“Ni maisha bro… Mungu yuko.”

I look around.

People seated all day.

No jobs.

Just alcohol and survival stories.

Our drunk voters.

Suddenly nobody talks about Wantam anymore.

Nobody shouts Zakayo must go.

Fuel prices have humbled everyone equally.

Because at 230 bob a litre…

even insults consume energy.

But today?

Today form imeivana.

No worries about tomorrow.

Just mnazi.

Mutura.

And temporary happiness.

But the truth remains.

The ball is now in the hands of Members of Parliament.

Changes must happen.

Because if this is what we are experiencing now…

then August will humble this country.

What we are feeling today…

is just the tip of the iceberg.

And wananchi know it.

That silence you hear in bars, markets and bodas…

is not peace.

It is people calculating ways to survive this economy

“A hungry voter laughs loudly during the day… but cries quietly at night.”

As Chávez once said, “Once you educate the people, you cannot make them unlearn.” We have seen the future, and the future is ours. They think we don’t see. But we are faceless, and yet, we see.

Gods of Taita Taveta, let’s make it in our own image. Next Saturday, stay tuned for our next episode. We are now on Facebook @Alve Mwaregha.

For any queries or information, reach out to us at Voice of Taita Taveta @doctalve or email doctalve@gmail.com.

— Voice of Taita Taveta 

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