When living in Ruaka, none of my neighbors knew who I was. I stayed indoors a lot. With that, I used to walk around the estate gathering interesting stories for my social media followers.
Unfortunately, where I moved to, somehow, people know me from social media. At first, I thought nobody would recognize me when I first moved here. Until this day. I was having a walk when I observed a squabble between a man and a woman, probably husband and wife.
It was very ugly. Unpalatable words were exchanged. I went back to my house, sat behind my computer, and wrote an opinion piece about the squabble.
I narrated the trivial exchange and shared my opinion. The woman was in the wrong, and I used unkind words to describe her role in the fight.
That was it. One day, I was marauding around my estate, observing and scavenging for any interesting things to share with my readers. I heard thunderous steps behind me. I looked back and there she was, the woman whom I had vilified and lampooned in the story.
She was walking faster than I was, and she was catching me at a considerable pace. At first, I thought to myself that she was probably on her own path, chasing her endeavors. But the closer she got to me, I learned that her face harbored some degree of malice.
Right away, I knew that I was in trouble. I tried to increase my pace. She called my name. And of all my names, Ongoma was her favorite.
It was not the fact that she called my name that unnerved me, it was the manner in which she said it. She separated O from the rest of the name. “Oh Ngoma!” She called, with her Kikuyu accent betraying her.
I stopped. She was towering over me. “Say those things to me in person,” she said, breathing fire. Her face was tight with rage.
I knew what she was saying, but I feigned ignorance. “I don’t understand.”
“Stop pretending. You know what I am talking about. Describe the way you described me in your stories. Call me those names. Say them on my face!” She said with her fists clenched. I remembered how she grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and shuddered at the thoughts of the same happening to me.
I looked to my left, the road ahead was empty enough for me to scamper away from her. I just wanted to run away. But then, you cannot just start running away from your enemy in Nairobi. Least they start screaming, “mwizi! Shika mwizi anakimbia!” while running after you.
So, I stood there, humbled and meek, and listened to her rumbling and insults. She even defined the meaning of my name in her language, and said that I look like a man possessed by demons. At the end, I apologized and offered to delete the post. Which I did.
These days when I observe something in my neighborhood, I only share it with my cousins.
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