“There is a motorcar coming!” a young boy shouted, “and it’s not a bus nor a pick-up truck!” Buses and pick-up trucks were the norm, but small saloon cars meant someone from the city was visiting.
Buses drove by the main dusty road three times a day; early at six in the morning, at noon and at six in he evening. The pick-up trucks passed more often. Most preferred hitchhiking at the backs of the pick-up trucks as one could carry more luggage and we almost always got free rides.
“It’s yellow!” someone else shouted.
Immediately I knew it was kaka Joseph. Excitedly I ran to the road where other children had already crowded waiting eagerly. The yellow car was rolling fast down the dusty road that had only been graded several months earlier. Everything else behind the car was a blur, having disappeared in the boiling cloud of dust in the horizon.
Kaka Joseph, Makicha’s stepbrother had gone to Mererani to mine Tanzanite and found one big stone, we were told by Makicha’s mother, as big as a newborn baby’s head. He sold the stone, with the money he got, he built a house with electricity and running water – and an inside bathroom and kitchen. He also bought that yellow car. I often wondered how such a small stone could be worth so much. Every time I went to the stream I would look for bright coloured stones.
Makicha was a neighbour and classmate. We had been playing and doing things together for as long as I could remember. Though the same age I was, she looked a few years older. Makicha was tall, big-boned, with large brooding eyes and a wide mouth. For her big bones, Makicha was quite thin. She could be very lecherous and lewd. Mama blamed it on her mother not being at home to take care of her family. Makicha’s mother owned the local bar.
Though Makicha’s mother was much older than Mama, she behaved like Mama’ s young sister. Makicha’s mother was loud and could also be as lewd as her daughter. Her laughter was always as deafening as those of the men who visited her pub. It was shrilly and long. She always had a kata of mbege in her hand. Sometimes she would mix beer in her mbege.
Makicha’s mother never got married, mama had told me once. Makicha had four other siblings, apart from kaka Joseph. Rumour had it that the other four had been taken by their fathers. However, kaka Joseph and Makicha’s fathers did not care enough to bother about them. Mama had told me that when she found me playing at Makicha’s place with four boys instead of doing my chores. We had been climbing tree and swinging like monkeys. She immediately ordered me to come down the tree; she then grabbed my ear and dragged me home. I screamed painfully as she dragged me home.
“What in heaven’s name were you doing up there?” she hissed through clenched teeth as she was dragging me home, “you know want he boys to peek at your wee-wee?”
“We are just playing mama,” I tried to protest.
“You want to end up like her mother?” she had yelled at me once we got home. “Selling at bars and sleeping with every man that came along?”
Kaka Joseph pulled the car over, stopped on the dirt shoulder and looked out the window at for a few seconds before getting out. Excitedly Makicha ran to him with greetings.
“Have you been behaving?” were his usual greeting, “are you studying hard?”
“Yes kaka,” Makicha replied quickly as she knew a present would soon follow, “Mama is not back though. She is still at the bar. But she should be on the way back now.”
“When will she ever stop making that awful cheap brew?” murmured kaka Joseph.
“Mama said until we all finish school,” chipped in Makicha not mincing her words, “she says she needs the money to buy us school stuff. She also says if you had sent money more often she wouldn’t have to stay there all day.”
“Hush kid, you shouldn’t be discussing grown up issues like that,” glared kaka Joseph clearly not pleased, “who taught you to talk like that? Is that what they teach you at school?’
“I’m sorry kaka,” cowered Makicha, “its just what Mama said.”
“Next time you watch that mouth!” Bellowed kaka Joseph, lifting his big hand as if to strike Makicha.
“I’m thirsty,” a voice called out form inside the car. It was then we noticed the passenger in kaka Joseph’s car, who was now getting out of the car.
Without another word to neither of us, she took out a cigarette, got out of the car and leaned against it. She then flicked open the top of a lighter, struck the flint and lit the cigarette’s tip. Her eyes wandered across the vast compound that lay before her. She took another slow drag on her cigarette and watched as the children stared at her. We had never seen a woman smoking before, so we couldn’t help but admire her and look in awe.
“She is half naked,” I had whispered to Makicha as I looked at her bare shoulders and legs.
“Don’t be so ignorant,” Makicha hissed, “it’s the fashion in the city!’
The back of her dress was cut out and a single piece of material tied around her neck. She had told us later that is was a summer dress, when we bombarded her with a million questions about the city. All the city girls wore them during the warm season. She had the longest hair I had ever seen, which she wore down, loose around her bare shoulders.
“But it’s so short,” I whispered, “you can practically see her knees. And thighs.”
Her summer dress that was quite short – was just above her knees - with pale yellow floral patterns. On her feet was a pair of pale yellow sandals with the highest heels. How could one walk in such high heels, we all wandered.
“Tell them to go away,” she said to kaka Joseph, “they are filthy. Look at those flies around them.”
Makicha’s place was now filled with children and neighbours speculating about the visit.
“Go get some water quickly!” Kaka Joseph instructed Makicha.
Makicha came back quickly with a blue plastic jug filled with water and two plastic cups that they use to serve visitors.
“Don’t they have something cleaner, “asked the girl after inspecting one of the plastic cup, “a glass perhaps. This is filthy. I can’t drink in this.”
“Go get a glass.”
“But we only use these kaka.”
“How about the glasses I brought the last time?”
“But mama has not yet opened the box, kaka.”
“Go bring the box.”
“She will spank me, kaka. She told me never to touch them.”
“Stop arguing and go bring the box,” bellowed kaka Joseph, “you’ll tell her I told you to do so.”
Kaka Joseph then opened swiftly the box with the special glasses that Makicha had bragged to me that would be used on her wedding. Makicha always dreamt of her wedding. She didn’t want to be employed one day, she always said, as she never liked toiling. She wanted to get married to a husband who would have a car and live in a nice house, which would have electricity and running water. She always talked about how she would help him hoot the horn of the car as they drove around.
Makicha looked on flinching as kaka Joseph ripped open the box. Just as swiftly he quickly rinsed two glasses with some the water from the plastic jug, and poured some of the remaining in the two glasses.
“I bet you she doesn‘t work!” Makicha whispered to me.
“Huh?”
“Look at those long nails,” we were staring at beautifully painted longest nails we had ever seen. “How could she get anything done with those?”
“So?”
“So, you always said if I don’t work I wouldn’t get money to buy me beautiful dresses. Then how does she do it? All I need is a husband!” Makicha concluded smugly.
“If it was that easy wouldn’t everybody have done it?” I tried to argue.
“You mean here in the village? All the potential men are in the city! What do these ones have? Don’t you ever listen?” She asked as she dramatically swept her left arm around.
By listening, she meant eavesdrop at our aunts who have been to the city conversations. They always got together with lots of gossip to exchange when they came down for holiday such as Christmas.
As kaka Joseph’s beautiful fiancée drunk the water, the reflection of light upon the glass made it difficult for me to see her clearly so I impulsively moved closer and squinted up at her. I watched curiously as she sipped the water.
“What are you staring at?” she asked me through her teeth.
Quickly I moved back shyly. Just then we heard Makicha’s mother bidding someone goodbye at the top of her voice. Kaka Joseph’s visit was a surprise so she was very happy to see him.
Chairs were brought out and were placed under the mango tree, but the beautiful girl remained standing by the car puffing away her cigarette. Kaka Joseph then introduced Makicha’s mother to the new beautiful girl. He said she was his fiancée and they were intending to get married soon.
As kaka Joseph’s fiancée turned to greet Makicha’s mother, her heels dug into the ground deeply leaving prints. Her hips swayed as she balanced on them doing a fast retreat. She did not look back over her shoulder. If she had, she would have seen everybody looking at her with awe struck admiration.
She had a long difficult name. Kaka Joseph told us it was a French name, one of the mzungu languages. When she greeted she didn’t kneel like we did, but rather shook hands and nodded.
“Ain’t we going to take the suitcases inside, kaka Joseph?” Makicha was so excited when she saw the three big suitcases in kaka Joseph’s car.
“No, we won’t be staying here, Makicha.”
“Why?’ confused Makicha had asked, “but we have plenty room. I can sleep in the kitchen, you two can sleep in the lounge – like we always do when you visit.”
“Sleep in this damp? She must be kidding!” Kaka Joseph’s fiancée laughed sarcastically.
“Erm, we will just go to Karibu Lodge, Makicha, where it is more convenient,” kaka Joseph replied quickly. Karibu Lodge was a small but luxurious and very expensive hotel. We had never been inside, but whenever we got the opportunity we would peep dreamily through the wrought iron fence and admire the lush gardens and glimmering swimming pool.
“But how about the presents in the suitcases?” To Makicha’s disappointment the suitcases did not have any presents for her but clothes for kaka Joseph’s fiancée. Although kaka Joseph had given her some money, Makicha cursed the whole week, not understanding how one person could own so many clothes.
Mama always said that the city was cursed everybody who went there came back vain, with their morals distorted, culture forgotten and lazy; and that the city always swallowed their children and never spit them out. But I didn’t think so. I longed to go to the city one day. They had school for doctors there. I would study medicine there – and maybe move there permanently and practice medicine. It was a big dream for a village girl, so I had dared not tell this to Mama.
