Tag Archives: ng’etuk

A Letter From The Bush.

Lalur aka fisi.

Dear Nairobians,
Warm Greetings from this other side of the planet. This side of the world you have inconsiderately eaten up in the name of development. It is no wonder ng’etuk (the stray lion) paid you a visit earlier this year. We would have strolled down your streets as well but with the fate that befell my friend ng’etuk am afraid we gonna have to pass.  But as politeness and respect (or fear, call it what you want) would dictate, RIP ng’etuk, we loved you but KWS feared you the most.

Let me introduce myself, they call me lalur here in the jungle, but you know me best as FISI – hyena. I took to writing because you left me no choice. The scuttlebutt reaching me has it that I am all cunniving, calculated, annoyingly narcissistic, and outrageously debauched or perverted. Well, I am writing to set the record straight. In as much as I would want to distant myself from these malicious innuendos, they are half-truths, ok, 99.98% half-truth. However, they in no way portray my true demeanor.
 
You see, these suppositions reached my many wives, concubines, and courtesan and didn’t pass my mistresses. My reputation is now questionable and I am exhausted giving deceitful explanations. I am a generous giver, I love my women equally with no bigotry whatsoever. They all get a part of me whenever and wherever they need. My prowess is exceptional. So I consider it a win-win situation.

Ever since my name started being part of your conversations, I have been having extremely hard time putting my women in their place! What happened to discretion? What happened to clandestineness?  Look, these things take time, it is not for public display. I hear you even formed a SACCO in my name and christened it: MAFISI SACCO!  Now that is just so cheesy!

My honourable name now finding it’s way in clothing lines. Did I say clothing lines? I mean every struggling jobless youth, with some poor graphic skills is using my pristine and prestigious name on some third hand T-shirts to get some coins. Now that hurts. Hurts my ego and pride to the core. Do you ever imagine you can earn a living off that? By soiling my honour?  Did you ever bother asking me for a piece of advice? You thought you had every right, yay? Felt I was too cool too dumb I guess. But now I am out of the bushes. Out to take back my honour. I’ve been watching all the braggadocio the use of my name has brought to your shallow lives.

I hear you even have a feminine version too; fisiress or fisilets, whatever you call it. That’s so silly of you, if you may ask me. That’s like walking into a funeral wake and slapping the bereaved family hot in the cheeks. Or going to a jilted husband and telling him that you are the one who has been laying his wife. It is this insult that prompted me to write you this letter. This protest letter. I’m out of the bushes but nowhere in your streets. Neither here nor there. But I’m here. I can yank kilos of flesh from you anytime, anywhere. But I chose not to. Not now. I wouldn’t let my retaliation be so obvious and predictable. I love being smooth. Call me Mr. Smooth Operator. For now I’ll pretend like nothing happened or is happening. I’ll assume we are friends, friends with lalur wannabes.   

For the sake of standards I want to see upheld, I’ll give you some free advice. Tell you how I want things done, just how they need to be – and not how you, Nairobians, want it to be. To set the record straight; we need to be discrete, we need to conduct our operations the chini ya mawaba way for the sake of our numerous wives and potential wives-to-be. Not a word of our activities should reach them, lest they pull a Bieber-too-late-to-say-sorry crap.

In the interest of haste, I will have to stop here lest the floods get me here. Oh, and my number one concubine is here so shhhhhhhhhh. Quick advice, when you bump into your house on your way home from work, know that mother- nature in no friend of yours and you should stop littering your city. As for us we live by three rules only. Do not get killed, do not die and the third rule is if rule number 2 does not apply, please refer to rule number 1.

I will not be making any appearances in your flooded town and its suburbs, some of us learn from other people’s hard learnt lessons.
Cheers mates.