Usually, I would have passed by Kangemi for another two days to see Xtash. But given that it seemed Pius already knew about my situationship with Xtash, I went home straight, arriving at around 3pm in Mwisho wa Lami.
After dropping me at Hitler’s, Nyayo—my main boda boda guy and friend—took my bag home.
I don’t know why people think that if you are from Nairobi, you have money. Everyone expected me to buy them drinks. I bought a good number—on credit.
Word must have spread that Mr Moneybags was around, because more people kept coming, asking me to buy them alcohol.
“I am not contesting any elections soon,” I announced. I told everyone that I had no money, and if they wanted to drink without cash, they should do what I was doing—drink on credit.
The only exception was my father. I told Hitler to give him as much as he wanted. I wasn’t sure whether he had come because he also wanted free alcohol or to stop me from buying drinks for people. Even as he drank, I could tell he was not in a good mood.
“Please see me today before you go home,” he told me as he stood up to leave. “We need to talk.”
“We can talk here,” I said.
“This is a serious matter. We can’t talk here. Come home today,” he insisted, then left.
It was clear he wanted to talk about money. He seemed unhappy with how I was spending at Hitler’s—despite being one of the beneficiaries.
I went to his house, arriving at around 7pm. He was seated in his bedroom, and that’s where he called me. That is always a sign that things are serious—no distractions.
I hadn’t been in his bedroom for a long time, and I was impressed. Catherina—the mother of Branton—had bought him a good bed and mattress. I had heard about it, but I had never seen it.
“Why do you want to break other people’s marriages?” he asked, even before I was properly seated.
I was startled. “Whose marriage have I broken?” I asked, genuinely surprised.
“What do you mean, whose marriage!” he shouted, banging the small table. “You should be in Nairobi. Why did you come back early?”
“I know you were supposed to be in Nairobi the whole week. You left because of what happened yesterday. What were you doing with Pius’ wife?”
“Don’t listen to that, Mzee. Pius has problems with his wife and—”
“Stop it, Andrea,” he said. “I know everything. Pius found you with his wife red-handed, and that’s why he chased you.”
“Listen, my brother and his wife are not on good terms—”
“Stop listening to lies, Mzee!” I raised my voice—something that surprised even him, because he immediately calmed down.
“It is because of your foolish problem with Ford and his wife, Ramona. Now you also want to break Pius and Nimo. My son, stop it.”
“I will not discuss rumours,” I said, then left, banging the door behind me.
When I arrived home, I found my bag—the one I had given Nyayo—on the table. Usually, it would have been taken to the bedroom. There was also food on the table.
I was very hungry, so I just ate.
Just as I got into bed, my phone rang. It was Fiolina.
“Come to the sitting room,” she said, or rather ordered.
From her tone, she was not happy with me. I wondered what it was about. Clearly, Pius had been busy spreading his version of events.
“Sit down,” she ordered. I sat opposite her.
“I take care of you every day. I cook for you. I iron your clothes. I do everything. What am I not doing well?”
I told her she was doing everything well. But in my mind, I was already preparing for questions about Nimo—Pius’ wife.
“So tell me—why do you have another wife in Kangemi?” she asked. “The one you always visit every time you go to Nairobi?”
“Tell me. And don’t try to lie—I know everything. I know how you started with that woman, Shitashi, when she was your student. What am I not doing right that you have to keep another woman in Nairobi and even pay her rent every month?”
“So who is Shitashi, and what is she to you?”
“You have many former students. I’ve never heard you go to their houses and sleep there. Why this one? Every time you go to Nairobi, you stay at her place—sometimes two days, other times you skip Pius and go straight to her. Why just one student?”
“I will write to the TSC and report this. Let them investigate. I know enough. I’ve been quiet, but I know,” she said.
“So you’re not going to speak?” she continued. “I have packed. I’m going back to my parents first thing tomorrow. When you’re ready to talk, we can talk.”
I watched TV until late, then went to bed.
When I woke up, I found breakfast on the table. But Fiolina was gone.
Thanks to Pius, I was no longer on talking terms with my father—and my wife had left.
I couldn’t believe this was the same man I ran errands for, for free. I would like to hope he is happy and ready for my next move, because it will be messy.
