“…hajawai, hajawai, kuniwacha hata kama sifai…”
Enters Moji Shortbaba in his verse in this new hit in town. Of all the verses in this jam, this is the only verse I’ve been able to capture and been able to sing along to. So I rewind the verse and join in on spiting them lines.
Radio:“…hajawai, hajawai…”
Me(obviously off key): ”kuniwacha hata kama sifai, eeh…”
Radio: “…hajawai, hajawai,”
Me: (I murmur something. This is one of those parts I haven’t quite caught yet)...
Radio & Me: “…kutoka nizaliwe Ungwaro, nikicheza na urwaro, akanitoa chini kwa mtaro, jina lake juu Kilimanjaro…” Repeat.
Damn! I love this song you would think I co-wrote it. The sound takes the best of me I don’t notice yet how far I have drove away from the city. Just as Bahati with his new hit ‘TenOverTen’ takes over the waves in the player, I pull up at Makutano Junction (Chumvi).
Well, the thing about me pulling over is that kind of thing that happens by reflex.
Short story(Disclaimer: it will be long).
When I was young, well, not young young like in early 20’s, young of nine years old, my dad always pulled over at this junction to buy us those sugarcanes they peel then chop into small bits. That was not the only thing with this place. It was a place papa always used to insist to us on the importance of getting serious in our education.
“Msiposoma mtakua mnakimbiza magari za watu kama hawa ndio wakupee mbao (If you do not read you will end up chasing other people’s cars just to earn yourselves twenty bob),” he always said.
The way he said it could make you think those people now on a 100m dash towards our car were some lowly aliens at our mercy for their survival. And, let’s say his statements worked. Well, not fully on his two kids. My elder sister turned out really ‘good’ as papa liked to say.
It’s not every day you wake up to hear that your daughter got a first class honors degree in Law, from The University of Nairobi. See what I did there? The? Seen it?
Yes, that should tell you how my old man was too proud to see this wonderful day. And we all smiled for the cameras, held my sis real high, while she downed on this extremely huge, black gown. Despite it being a hot day, she put it on throughout the day even when we got home somewhere in Kalama. After all, this was the father’s pride by now. Wait, did I say, father’s only pride by now? Yes.
By this time papa viewed me as a disappointment. And, let’s say, I kind of was one. I had dropped out of the university as soon as I joined it. And just to nail some sense into my huge head that he could swear was totally empty, throughout his speech on this graduation day, he kept saying,
“Kijana unaona vile ukisoma mtu anavalishwa kofia?(hard to translate this as it would lose its original meaning and tone)”
And then everyone would stare at me like some worm meandering on their meal, which obviously had brought most of them here. Free food.
His statements pierced with pangs of regret, but well, as I came to realize later, boys’ psychology is totally different from girls’. When you tell a girl how good she is at something, she will strive to be great at something. They thrive on praise. But for boys, they thrive on disappointment. If you tell them how bad their performance is at something, they will work against the tide just to prove you wrong. And that’s just what happened.
So, I had dropped out of the university and decided to pursue my passion for music. First off, I began as deejay. Not that pro level but using Virtual Dj(of course trial version) installed on my small computer I made mixes that only ended up being listened to by myself only. Because they were rotten eggs I tell you. So that didn’t work out so well, and then luck began smiling at me for the first time in a long time.
As my sister was getting married to Mark, her CEO boyfriend(who by the way I came to realize was the complete opposite of Dad),during one of those ruracio gatherings, she told him how she had this loser bro who apparently dropped out of school the moment he set foot in his first lecture. She went on to whine and whine how I was wasting the family money just lying around my house (which sis called a shack) just listening to criminal music, only dressed in boxers the whole day. Mark heard it all and funny thing, he said he wanted to meet me.
“What?” That was everyone’s reaction when he said that.
I mean how? I was such a waste of resources for heavensake! But turns out he wasn’t such a dick as I thought he probably would be.
The next day he came to visit my ‘shack’ he caught me totally off-guard. If you spend the whole day in the house smoking weed and trying to be a wannabe-Dj the whole day in the house, you relate. So everything was where it is not supposed to be. Literally. Socks in the kitchen sink, cups somewhere in the washroom. Some rotting avocado idling somewhere near the window (honestly, I don’t know how that got there).You get the situation guys. Right?
A knock at my door.
Wait, I wasn’t expecting anyone today save for my friend who pretended he liked my mixes just to pass by my place and get a joint. But no, he wasn’t due until somewhere around 5pm. Who the hell visits me at 11a.m? I peeped out the window and saw the car at the parking lot. What the hell is Mark doing here? Isn’t he supposed to be working? Is it Monday? Or Saturday? I can’t quite figure which it is.
I don’t know how he figured I wasn’t going to open anytime soon, but he picked the door lock and let himself in. At that time I was somewhere near the TV trying to hide my stash. Damn. He was already in the house. I turned around, hiding my right hand with the stash behind me, trying to push the stash inside my boxers.
“Shit! That’s disgusting man!” he complained.
At first I thought he was talking about the weird stench that everyone entering my house complains about yet I have never smelled it.
“Oooh! I get that a lot. The air freshener is somewhere near that carton with food stuffs. You can knock yourself out.”
“No! Well, there is that dead moron stench, but am talking about the weed you are pushing towards your butt idiot! It better be wrapped in paper or I will skin you!”
At this point I am not sure which is which. Does he smoke this shit?
“Hand me a joint and stop staring at me like I’m a baboon.”
Damn! He wants this stuff! Or maybe he is here to confiscate it. Well, I handed him two joints and he walks to somewhere on the sheets and fishes out a match box.
Holy Crap! Who is this guy? I have been looking for that all this long and he locates it like this is his house. And weed he smokes! I’m still baffled!
“Jesus! Are you trying to get mad or what? Kids of these days, if this is the stuff you are smoking, I can’t help but figure why you are dropping out of campus like flies!”
“Here comes the papa lectures, did he send you?” I inquire disappointed.
“No. I just came by to bring you valentine flowers and smoke all your weed! Stupid! Of course he did! It’s your father we are talking about. What did you expect?”
I like him. I light my own joint and join him on my worn out carpet. Don’t ask about the chairs. They are long gone, thanks to weed auctioneers.
“So what have you been doing these days?”
“You know, I’ve been trying some deejaying here and there, but you see I’m still upcoming, so no gigs yet.”
“And?”
Awkward silence.
“And some little chilling you know,” I finally answer.
“So technically speaking, you have been idling, aka,no gigs, and chilling, aka, smoking weed all day?”
“Mmmmh. If that’s what you call it, yes.”
“Can I hear one of them mixes?”
At last someone wants to hear my sound genuinely. I bolt from my seat and put the music on. My most favorite one for that matter. After two beats, I can see him shaking his head. But he stops me. I stop the music.
“The music is good, but the dj effects are wrongly placed,” he claims.
“Says the moron who stays in office all day,” I defend.
“Yes! The guy who manages some of the heaviest artists in Kenya currently? You get that?”
“Stop shitting me. Which artist do you manage?”
“Ever heard of Redsan? Ever heard of Nameless?”
“How do you do that?”
“I have invested in some of those companies. Is there anything else you can do with concerns to music?”
“Well, I’ve been messing around with Fl studio software, mind hearing something?”
That’s rhetoric. By the time he is answering, I have already opened this sound I have been trying to create.
“Is that you?” referring to the music.
“I know it’s a mess, but you don’t have to rub it to my face.”
“No. That’s dope. Do you hear the drum?” He says rising up to get closer to the sound system as if to get a clearer hearing.
“Keep on playing with me. It’s poor work I know.”
“What do you think? Of course it’s poor, but do you hear how good that sound could be with a little practice?”
“It’s nothing I intend to pursue after all.”
He turns off his joint, stops the music and glances at his watch.
“Do this, come to my office tomorrow at 2.00pm.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I kid you not. We gotta do something about that or else you will become a retard here with all this weed, yet you could use your sound to build yourself. And take this to my designer today and get some decent clothes,” handing me a card.
“Wait, were you serious?”
“Yes, I’m fucking serious. Don’t come to my office in those charred boxers,” and he locks the door behind him.
Now, I could say, the rest is history, but that would sound too cliché. So, let’s say I went to see him the next day, not in boxers, and began my journey in the other side of making great hits.
Right now I’m on my way to Machakos, T-Sound records to be specific. There is this rising star from Machakos who needs a really heavy track to push him way way up the ladder. And who else to produce it than yours truly? By now, papa is my biggest fan. He spents most of his retirement time watching Tv, or on the radio, just to hear my signature on the hit songs I have produced. In fact, he texts me all my hits that play on air each day.
Just then my phone rigs. Talk of the devil. It’s papa.
“My lost son!” So typical of him.
“My old papa!” And that’s me.
“What is that I hear that you are coming to Machakos and you haven’t told me?”
“Come on. Where did you hear that?”
“You forget that the owner of your studio owes me a daughter?”
“Mark must make a mark everywhere?”
“Well, can you pass by and say hi to your mother before you go back?”
“My schedule is really tied, but I will definitely do that. Don’t tell her, I want it to be a surprise.”
“Too late, you are on loud speaker.”
“Weee! Mutua upitie hapo Kenya Israel ukinichukulia nyanya ulete.” that’s momma.
“Hehe! Mum hio tutaendea na wewe. Papa, nitakupigia simu acha nifike studio kwanza.”
“Go make music my prodigal son.”
I hang up.
