My Jacket

It had been drizzling lazily for two hours now. The policemen at Sunshine were still not leaving the damn place. I kept thinking how to go round them as I drunk some more. I hadn’t planned to drink much but the rain made me do it. I said a little prayer asking God to help me be like my friend Kigo who only drunk water. I mean, how can a man sit in the bar for 6 hours listen to a lot of nonsense from toxicated men and still not drink? I made a note in my mind to send him an email on Monday asking him how he does it. I suspect he is bewitched thou. That cannot be normal behavior.

As I asked for the last drink, the heavens opened up at once. The rains were coming down with a vengeance. I guess God was telling me he would be following up on my promise to become a teetotaler.  My cab guys calls me “Hawa Karao wameondoka, hii mzua ni mingi sana hata wewe inaweza kukubeba.” And for sure it was coming in such generous proportions even I couldn’t venture out. But I knew the Cops could not be coming back. So I let the rain subside as it always does after the initial outburst.

After about an hour I left the establishment on Langata road. As I passed the KWS stage I saw a lady standing in the rain. She was trying to flag me down. I passed her, you know Nairobi-never stop for a stranger she might just kill you-. I was starting to accelerate and then something stopped me. I mean I could easily just throw my umbrella at her then zoom off. Our dear Lord had let the rains pour so that I would not be caught by those Cops. It was my time to payback and anyway this could be my one act of kindness for the month. Maybe even by doing this my thirst for alcohol could be wiped away. I started reversing towards her. 

When I reached where she was standing she looked so scared. She was lightly dressed. The rain had done enough justice on her. She was total soaked. She said: please drop me home, please”. She was crying. I let her in (I will never drink again. How can I let this stranger into my car at night- damn the alcohol and Alcoblow I could be in my bed sleeping)? “Where is home?” I ask. “South B, a friend gave me a ride until I realized we were headed in the wrong direction and I alighted here.” I sober up more this must be the story the rest of the gang she works with must have yarned to get a victim like me. The girl spoke when facing forward never at me. She was shivering and still crying. I decide to drive like a mad man up Langata road so as to turn at the Galleria roundabout within four seconds. If the girl was lying I was going to make sure we perished together.

I drive at the craziest speed up and the down the road. She says nothing. I ask where in South B she gives me directions still crying and shivering. I put on the car heater and give her my jacket. My mouth opens involuntarily and I ask what her name is. “My name is Cindy”. She is seated the same way she was seated when I picked her despite my break neck speed. I peep at her feet, you know the urban legend where you carry a chic’ on the highway and later you discover she has hooves not feet? But this one still had feet. We are now entering into the estate where they live. The watchman left the gate open I guess he did not want to keep running back and forth on such a wet night. 

She points at their house when we get there. She turns to me and tries to smile from her heart “Thank you so much. God bless you”. She walks out, covers her head with my jacket and dashes into their house. She fumbles with the key and then gets in. I head back home; I remember I didn’t ask for her number. Damn it, I curse. But I remember her mumbling under her breath. My Dad will kill me. Too bad for me. I drive home and finally catch my sleep.

On Sunday I oscillate between the kitchen and the bedroom. I wonder why in God’s name I allow myself to partake in the devils drink! By 2.00 p.m I have no choice but to sleep and I fall into a deep slumber. I dream with Cindy. How could someone live such a young beautiful girl on the road at that time of the night? Why hadn’t she gotten a taxi? She wasn’t a con? When I wake up it already dark. Time to start planning my week.

On Monday I decide to go to South B to pick my jacket (You know I bought it at the Emirates?) after work. It cost me a lot and my car just seemed to drive itself there. I get to the entrance of the gate and tell the guard am going to Cindy’s home. The guy lets me in. I ring the bell the door is opened by a light lady who talks to me through the grill. 

“Habari yako?”

“Poa, Nataka kuongea na Cindy.”

“Na Cindy?”

“Wewe umechizi. Cindy alienda”.

She speaks such fluent Kiswahili I cant keep up. “Please ambia Cindy aniletee ile jacket yangu nilmpea Friday.” She tells me as she bangs the door

“Wewe umechizi.” What is with her telling me am mad.

I ring the bell again. She opens after awhile. “Nimesema Cindy hayuko!”.

 

She bangs the door at me. While contemplating leaving (I didn’t buy the jacket at Emirates- I just wanted Cindy’s number) someone different opens the door. Clearly it’s her mother, their eyes are so strikingly similar. She greets me very warmly like every African mother and asks

“Whom do you want to see?”

“Cindy.”

“When did you last see her?”(Ok the friendliness in the greetings is a cover up).

“On Friday. I dropped her home last Fridy.”

“Kijana are you sure?”

“Yes, I even gave her my jacket”.

Gee what kind of people are these? I just wanted the jackets oops the telephone number.

“Ngoja hapa kidogo.”

What? The lady has gone to get a gun!

“I tell her never mind pass on my greeting to her and tell her she can keep the jacket.”

The lady turns and with determination of steel says

Nimesema ngoja hapo.”

Two minutes later they open the door and let me in. I find three wazees inside the house. They are observing me like a specimen in a lab. I can feel their eyes drilling through me. If I ever get that jacket I will give it a kick and throw it away.  The man who looks like leader of the group asks what my name is and exactly what happened. I repeat my story to them. I feel like an imbecile. They kept quiet for a while and then ask whether am sure of what am saying… What is wrong with this people? Do I seem not to know what am saying?

Then one gentleman speaks up. The only people who live in this house other than Cindy’s parents is Getrude and the help who you already met at the door. Cindy no longer lives here. Okay, I dropped her and waited for her to open the door and get into the house. The lady starts crying a younger version of Cindy comes into the living room to comfort her mother. Why is this lady crying? What could be the matter with this people? I gather guts, stand up and ask to be excused. I have to get home and I have an early meeting in the morning. Please forget about the jacket and pass my regards to Cindy.

I take two steps then Cindy’s younger version tells me  “She passed on last year why do you want to open a healed wound?”.

“Who is she talking to? Who passed on?”

I sit back and clutch my blazer tightly towards me. What? One of the gentlemen tells me he is a senior pastor in the church where this family worships. They had visited the parents who were organizing for Cindy’s first anniversary memorial. What? I started feeling dizzy and my head starts spinning fast. I passed out.

I come to and find myself now lying on the sofa. The men are still seated as they were but for some reason look older than they did when I first came in. I can see the old lady still whimpering from her crying. How can this be true? I open my mouth and speak to no one in particular:

“I don’t know what is going on but I tell you that I carried Cindy(I could identify her from the pictures hang on the wall)  in my car on Friday, I brought her home and she opened this house and got in here. That is how I came back here! “

The senior pastor asked whether I could spare them sometime and accompany them to Langata cemetery where Cindy was buried. I wanted to refuse but there was more to this story than I could fathom to just let it go. I accompanied them to the cemetery. I drove quietly with one of the church elders. We gathered again at the cemetery entrance and I followed them quietly to her graveside. There lay my jacket!

Sojourner.

Please do not drink and drive.