Now, were such an unfortunate and shameful thing to happen, it would not only dent my otherwise good name in high places in Happy Valley and beyond but also irreparably destroy my highly erratic marital nirvana at the Palace, which, as you can remember, recently cost me an arm and a leg to restore.
As you will remember, when I left Mrembo’s for Margie’s, all of Mrembo’s customers followed me in sympathetic support. As you can expect, Margie started suffering from very fertile imaginations. A juicy story began doing the rounds in Happy Valley, jeopardising not only my marriage but also her own life.
“Mrembo cannot maintain a good man like Mr Survivor. She can only keep mifugo like that good for nothing so called Chairman of hers. See, Mr Survivor is home with me,” Margie said recently.
“I shall teach that man and customer-snatcher a lesson. Mr Survivor and I have come from far; even his wife knows me,” Mrembo reportedly threatened.
With the likes of Master and Sumbua, such information is broadcast even before the last word leaves the speaker’s mouth. Of course, the reported version is heavily exaggerated to earn the reporter the maximum number of cups.
Master and Sumbua are Mrembo’s and Margie’s watu wa mkono . Although they are politely called bouncers, their real job is business espionage. They are overzealous workers and goons for hire who can do dirty jobs at the lowest fee.
I called Mrembo last Saturday and told her to organise a meeting between us outside Happy Valley. Seeing how she had suffered financially, she readily accepted to meet me that afternoon. Kichakani Paradise Resort, at the shores of Lake Olbolosat, was her choice. Unknown to her, I invited Margie and paid Ndoria to deliver her there by her Farasi .
The beautiful and soft spoken Margie is a level-headed entrepreneur who would better have been in a convent canteen.
“Why are the two of you spoiling your good names in Happy Valley?” I asked them, shortly after they had absorbed the shock of the surprise encounter.
Mrembo, as expected, was the first to respond. “Why did this one give you kamuti (love portion) to destroy our many years of friendship and my business? At least, she could have taken you and left my business!”
“Why can’t you say things that you can defend in a court of law? I have and will never use witchcraft to grow my business. That is for your dirty type. As for Mr Survivor, the heart eats what it desires. You can up your game!” Margie said.
“I came in peace. Mr Survivor should say what he called me for,” Margie said.
“True Margie, I called the two of you because you are my business friends,” I said. I paused and caressed my glass as I arranged my Solomonic punch line. The air was heavily expectant with anxiety.
“Mwenda tezi na omo, marejeo ni ngamani . There is no need for the two of you to fight over me. Both of you are mine and I shall serve your business interests equally,” I said.
Again, Mrembo was the first to speak, “You have spoken like ten elders. The three of us are business partners. Why fight over you and you have your own wife? Mambo nikuelewana .”
“True, the field is so expansive. One cow cannot finish grass for the others,” Margie said.
By the time we left Kichakani Paradise, sometime close to midnight, we had made a tripartite handshake in which I promised to equally share my time and customers between the two. As a sign of peace, Mrembo shouldered the beer bill while Margie paid for the kuku choma and gave me two thousand for fuel. Margie sat in the front seat of my Volkswagen Beetle while Mrembo sat at the back.
That is Mr Survivor for you, the taxi driver with one dear wife and two dear women friends. I am waiting to hear what the Happy Valley radio has told Queen about the tripartite handshake.
