This is my story with this nduthi guy

It’s Sunday evening, at 8.00 pm to be precise and I am about to have an experience with this nduthi guy. For the past 6 hours, I have been patiently seated as someone braids, turns, and twists my hair with synthetic hair. My scalp is pulled from all directions but that what they say about beauty keeps my mouth shut and the pain somehow doesn’t register in my brain. ‘The lover of beauty doesn’t complain’ that’s what my grandma and her friends must have been told as a 2 cm hole was pierced through their lobes. That must have been painful.

After another half an hour, I have one more hour before the mad rush to beat the curfew begins. I do the maths of the shortest and preferably fastest route home. Google maps estimates there is grid locked traffic at some section of the route and this may cause a 10 minutes delay. With just an hour to beat the curfew, 10 minutes is too much a bargain.
However, a brilliant idea strikes my mind. You know those moments a light bulb shows over your head? Yeah, one of such. There is something about nduthis, that make them traffic resistant. I am certain it’s their agility and flexibility that allows the to snake through traffic
I hop onto the nearest nduthi and give the guy directions. His left cheek is swollen from what I assume is miraa and from what I can smell, he’s had a glass or two of alcohol. My instincts tell me to alight and pick another nduthi, to flee actually but no other nduthi is in sight. The clock is ticking and from what I see, this nduthi guy is sober enough not to topple over his own machine so I hope he is sober enough to get me home in one piece. I move a little closer to his back, clench on his faux leather jacket, and get ready for the bumpy ride ahead.
The first section is a murram road that was last maintained in the Kibaki era so the ups and downs are deep enough to swallow half the bike’s tire. As the nduthi goes down and up so do I. The fear of falling off slowly creeps in but I trust my clech on this guy’s jacket to keep me put, or so I pray it does. Did I forget to mention that I don’t have a helmet on and only a light chiffon top separates my chest from the wind?

After almost 500M of a slow bumpy ride, we make it to the tarmac road, and boy, my heart is pumping. I try to catch a glimpse of the road that we just passed thorugh as it is slowly swallowed by the dark on the side mirror, but guess what? There is no side mirror! My rider is chewing miraa, or so I think, smells alcohol, has no helmet on, only half of his relector is actually refelctive, and his bike has no side mirrors. Does it even have enough fuel?

From the continuous flare of red light ahead of us, it is clear that the traffic is still put but seems to be clearing. Picking a nduthi, I had hoped that he could maneuver his way between the lanes and get me home, but what he does next makes my jaw drop to the floor, in this case, road.
He moves to the service lane and accelerates against oncoming traffic. The headlights from oncoming cars are blinding to me and I can only imagine their effects on a half sober man. Opening my mouth wasn’t a good idea as the wind blows through it and gulping down air isn’t a good pass time on a speeding nduthi. This nduthi guy keeps on accelerating and I try to get a glimpse of the speedometer and the indicator is moving clockwise at a terrific speed. Is this guy on a suicide mission?
The headlights are approaching fast and so are we, from the brightness, I can tell there are two oncoming cars, and this service lane has two lanes. My mind moves to how hard the drivers of those cars are cussing at this Nduthi guy who clearly has no patience and knowledge of traffic rules.

There is beef between drivers and nduthi guys on the road, one is always trying to outdo the other in committing traffic offenses and if you drive, you know who the usual culprit is. However, the bright light falling on my eyes brings my mind back to my situation. Two oncoming cars translate to no space for a speeding nduthi and at this point I know I should have listened to my best friend’s advice and attended the skiing thing that has been on my bucket list for time immemorial.

The wind is blowing hard on my skin and my knuckles must be turning white from my tight grip on his faux leather jacket. Maybe if it was real leather, I would be a little confident. I tightly shut my lips, holding in the screams that are threatening to escape. I have always dreamt of riding on a speeding motorbike as my hair is blown by the wind but a man whose sobriety is in question does not fit in the dream.
The 100 meters between the nduthi and headlights is fading fast and I close my eyes so tight and start wondering how my newly done braids will never see the light of day again, at least not on this planet.

“Madam umenishika sana,” (Madam your grip is too tight)

Do people in heaven speak swahili? Heaven is meant to be beautiful with gardens, animals, rivers, streams, singing orchestra. Not dark, with an awfully familiar black gate and what is my next door neighbor doing in heaven?

“Madam!!”

It takes me a moment to realize that I am not in heaven but at the gate to my home. My hands are clenched around the nduthi guy’s waist and the moment I realize how awkward we look, I quickly unwrap them and get off the bike. This nduthi guy still has miraa in his mouth and is now casually chewing like a curdling goat. Who does that after narrowly escaping indefinite occupancy of a hospital bed or worse a grave?

“Oya… Madam!” he says, his palm right in front of my eyes. For a second, I am lost in space but the alcoholic stench from his mouth which he brings too close to my face jolts me back to reality, long enough for me to pay him.

I remain still at the gate trying to contemplate whether I am still alive and if I am, how about the occupants of the two oncoming vehicles?

What just happened?

A phone call brings me back from my thoughts and it’s been only 15 minutes since I left the salon and that means almost half an hour to spare before curfew. I decide to sit by the gate and come to terms with how this nduthi guy just made me hold my heart in my hands.
I am yet to recover.

***
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^Faith