Hello, meet my cousin

Well i just get tired sometimes- of idling.And that is when you get to see such wonderful pieces as the one you’re going  to be reading now

I started living in Mombasa recently with my cousin and that guy amuses me the most. Not even that fool Mr. bean would get any close. Don’t get me wrong, I like the place save for the heat. I’m already in love with the people and would want to live in the dirty town the rest of my life- that’s if i’ll die in a short while. The good people apparently do not include the cousin I’m staying with. Well, hell, good is not the word; but funny is.

To start with, he has already warned me from greeting majirani ovyo ovyo.

“you see my dear cousin,” he posed the other day, “the moment you say hi to that mama, she will never buy herself sugar or anything and she will now be coming be getting all that from our house. You don’t need friends like those, do you?”

In short, my cousin is not this person you can describe as being too extravagant or one you can accuse of being too sympathetic to lazy people that masquerade as needy people with fancy names as beggars. He avoids beggars more than  policemen.they might tempt him into losing his only coins in the pocket.

He recently invited me to a local pub and ordered a soda for me without caring whether I drink other things or could pay for a better drink; he just didn’t need complications. He hated something he kept referring to as “complications” and kept no secrets about it “Why would you ask anyone to order anything they want like an infatuated teenager would treat some girl?” It can be worse trust me.

And you have to get to his house to realize he is not anybody’s teenager. Watch this space.


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