The X-Ray Matatu Thief

Dear Doris is a blog about life in Nairobi. Every month Ian Arunga writes letters to his beloved Dorris about is escapades in the city in the sun.

Dear Doris,
A little while back I fought pneumonia. I learnt of my ailment at Acacia hospital. I do not like hospitals because they smell of spirit. And I hate spirit. Spirit is the only thing that doesn’t look good in purple. Even poison looks good in purple.

I was in hospital by 9:00 a.m. next day. Nice and early so that I could get over and done with it.

The place was full. The waiting room was a zoo. Everyone in Nairobi decided to fall sick on that day. There is something uncomfortable about being in a room full of sick people. I mean you might walk in with Malaria and leave with Anthrax or Coronavirus or SARS.

There were two TVs in the room. Both played Papa Shirandula on repeat. It calmed the sick. All of them were glued to the screens. All but one little girl who was sitting right next to me. She was pretty but she had the scariest cough. Scarier than mine! It was loud and it sounded like her chest was going to split open. She would cough then smile at me.

The pretty girl had the thickest glasses. They were so thick that her eyes were magnified terribly behind them. She wore a pink sweater that was a few sizes bigger and multi coloured leggings. She had tiny cute sneakers that she didn’t like to have on. Her mum kept on shouting at her to wear her shoes but she ignored every single order. Her mother, who was seated across the room, would roll her eyes and turn her head to watch Papa Shirandula.

She had an A3 drawing book that was half her size. All she drew were flowers. She drew the same flower over and over in different sizes. I love art and she got my attention. “What is your name?” I asked her with a friendly smile. “Zahara,” She replied but does not look at me! Then she coughed, looked at me, and then smiled.

When I coughed, she turned to me and said, “You should drink Actifed.”

Her mother did not like my cough so she called her and made her sit next to her. She would sneak back though. I taught her how to draw the fish from Little Marmaid. The Little Mermaid’s best friend. I can’t remember its name! She was so excited about this new knowledge and drew nothing else then on…

My name was called and my verdict stated. “It is pneumonia,” the doctor said pointing at a pale spot on an X-ray image I had brought in earlier. She was in her mid 30s. I could tell she was not married because her ring finger was virgin and her red blouse cut way too low to suggest that she was ‘taken.’ Her lipstick was not done so well and some of it got to her teeth. I concentrated on her lipstick-stained teeth more than what she was talking about. Every once in a while my eyes would, without permission, dart on her bosom.

But this was not my story…

Walking to the matatu stage holding my huge X-ray envelope and bag of drugs, I decide to look up pneumonitis. It was a boring read up until I got to the, ‘may lead to death’ part! It hit me that I might die before I got to treat myself, so I decided to spoil myself a bit. I walked up the road to the Kenchick at the Silver Springs roundabout and ordered for ‘chips mbili na kuku full na fanta baridi’.

I got on a 46 matatu to Kawangware nearby. “Shukisha Othaya!” I tell the makanga who was looking at me funny.

In the matatu I sat next to a large woman who sat at a window! She clutched on her handbag tight like I was a thief. She was not white. In fact, I believe my skin was fairer than hers! Before the matatu moved, she changed seats. She went and sat at the back, which did not make sense because her seat was actually more comfortable than the back seat. So I moved to the window and smelt my armpit to check if some might have left because I smelt bad. All I could smell was Hugo Boss by Hugo Boss.

The seat next to me was the last one available. The makanga came to my window and said,“Usikuwe hivyo boss! Utauliwa na hii tabia!” I was extremely confused. Something was definitely going on that I didn’t know about.

After two stops the driver came to my window and asked me to get off! Of course I said no. “Sijafika. Mbona nishuke!?”

“Shuka ama tutakutoa.” A voice pierced into the dense atmosphere from the back of the matatu. A random passenger!

Confused, I get off without paying, convinced it was my cough that got me kicked out.

As I waited for another matatu, a woman taps my shoulder and asks me, “Mbona munasumbua watu?” “Sielewi!” I respond… She shakes her head and ignores my response.

A young lady at the stage later explained to me that pick pockets walk around with large X-ray envelops to aid their hustle. The pickpockets use these envelopes to distract passengers as they go through their pockets.

I was almost killed for pickpocketing because I had pneumonia. Nairobi!

 

By Ian Arunga