The Outsider(S) (15 page)

Are you wondering what an old people’s home is? This is a different world my friend. People here round up old people and put them in one place. Can you imagine a whole place where everyone is old? It is some kind of an institution, a bit like Kenyatta national hospital. Some people complain about it. That Topista even told me that old people’s homes are God’s way of punishing white people! But to be honest, I don’t think it is such a bad thing. And not just because I work there! These people have enough to eat and they just sit around and watch TV the whole day. Now if that is not a good life, I don’t know what is.

Of all my jobs, the job at the old people’s home is the one I like the most. And you know why? Because they are mostly nice to me. But do you know what Topista said? That they are nice to me because they can’t see properly so they have no idea that I am black… ha!

That Topista told me that she hates white people. She said that they are evil but you should have seen how much she smiled at them. If you ask me, she is even more evil than them. So on the day that the accident happened, I had accompanied her to a dry cleaners shop. A dry cleaning shop is where you take expensive clothes. That was the thing with that Topista. She only wore expensive clothes. She told me she’d rather starve than wear my kind of clothes bah! We reached the shop and they handed over her dress. She looked at it and cried ouiiiiiiiii. For a moment, I wondered whether someone had died. But no, it was Topista wailing because they had not cleaned her dress properly. I tried to calm her down.

“What will I wear to the wedding?” she wailed.

“Everyone is coming in designer and I come in tatters?” she continued.

She started cursing at the people who work there. I can’t repeat the curses. They were words that could make a dead person cringe in embarrassment. Now do you know what happened after that? They said they were going to call the police. “Go ahead!” she shouted at the tiny woman behind the counter. I thought she was going to beat her up. The woman took the phone and started dialing the numbers. That is when Topista grabbed the dress and we started running. We run so fast that I didn’t see the hole on the side of the street. I fell down and when I looked at my leg, it was so swollen I could barely walk. Topista helped me walk back to my place. I gave her money so she could buy me medicine. She came back with the medicine but you know what? She had spent all my money!

The next day the most unbelievable thing happened. She came and told me she was leaving! I asked her, “Where to?”

She answered, “I am a nomad.” And just like that she was gone.

Everything else is otherwise normal. My toilet cleaning job has lately become quite lucrative. I have been employing the same tactics that Topista taught me and they are quite effective. You wonder what these tactics are? ‘Make the people who come to the toilet feel as guilty as possible!’ Topista said that smiling and saying hello are the most effective ways to get people to give you a tip. She also said that I should inquire about their families and if all these fail, give them a dirty look. I didn’t believe this at first. As you have probably guessed by now, that Topista was a bit crazy. Losing my savings has however made me change tact. I have now realized that there is some truth in what she said. I smile and say hello to all the people who come to the toilet. And guess what, they rarely leave the toilet without dropping a coin in my bowl! If this trend continues, I might just be able to save enough money to send you.

That
is
the
end
for
today.

Philister
Taa

Irmtraut

Kenya, 2010, Mr. Makokha

T
he incident with the shit was a low point. After scrubbing myself for hours, I fell into a fitful sleep. I couldn’t quite get rid of the disgusting feeling of feces on my face. I had used several bottles of Dettol disinfectant but could still see a vivid picture of the shit on my face. The next day, I went to the office and promised myself that I wasn’t going to risk going anywhere. I was suddenly overcome with fear. I asked Makokha to bring me lunch from the hotel.

At exactly one p.m., he arrived at the offices. After going through his routine of shaking my hand with both of his, he handed me the lunch. “Madam, this is your lunch,” he said in a respectful tone. I blushed a bit. I couldn’t quite get used to someone treating me as if I were some queen.

“I am sure that it is very sweet,” he continued awkwardly. I nodded at him, not sure what to say. I opened the silver bowl and saw that it was
ugali
and
sukuma
wiki
mixed with beef. “They used Royco,” he added when he saw that I wasn’t quite excited about the food.

Ugali
was some kind of hot bread made from water and maize flour. Without salt and oil, the taste could only be described as bland. I always ordered it whenever I went for lunch with colleagues. But that had nothing to do with my love for it. “You are a very interesting person,” Purity had said the first time she saw me eating
ugali
. Interesting, that is the way she described me. No one had ever called me interesting. And that wasn’t for lack of trying. Ruthless, selfish, vain, aggressive, vengeful, and yeah, self-centered were the adjectives I was more familiar with. Coming to Kenya had brought out the best in me. I was willing to do anything to sustain this goodwill. If eating
ugali
everyday would help, then I was all for it.

I looked up at Makokha. I was going to wait for him to leave and then throw the
ugali
in the garbage. “
Asante
,”
51
I said in a low tone.

He moved slowly and I realized that he was carrying a green plastic bag. He hesitated a moment, and then he stopped and turned to face me.

“This is for you,” he said, handing me the plastic bag.

“What is it?” I asked suspiciously.

“It is a present for you,” he said, and I could read excitement on his face.

“Thank you,” I said calmly a bit at a loss for words. Before I unpacked it, he turned to leave looking very pleased with himself. I touched it carefully. It was soft, and the plastic bag smelled of fish. I contemplated throwing it in the garbage. After the shit-on-my-face experience, I wasn’t too willing to take chances.

I put it aside and logged onto Facebook.

“Do you like them?” he asked when he came back to pick the utensils half an hour later. I didn’t have a choice. I had to unpack the present. I did it slowly, and the first thing that fell out was a skirt. A long, gray skirt with orange and pink flowers. I checked the label and saw that it was from Marks & Spencer. It was long and old and too wide. I raised my head to look at him. He smiled sheepishly. Another skirt fell out. It was a jeans skirt with elastic on the waist. It was the kind that could fit the obese version of me. I stared at him, but I didn’t know what to say. Instead I felt myself laughing.

“I knew you would like them,” I heard him say. The laughter that I had been trying to suppress completely took over. I laughed so hard that there were tears in my eyes. I tried to stop myself, but it seemed like the harder I tried, the harder I laughed.

I calmed down, dried my eyes with tissue, and turned to face him.

“Why?” I asked and could barely suppress a new wave of laughter.

“Madam, I heard what happened to you at Uhuru Park. I am very sorry. I thought I should get you new clothes.”

I looked at him. He was dressed in one of his usual ill-fitting suits. The trousers and the coat were different shades of blue. It was clear that they didn’t belong together. And then there was the white shirt with streaks of sweat on the collar, and a flowered tie.

“Where did you buy them?” I asked, suddenly feeling touched by his action.

“We have a very good, big market here in Nairobi. It is called Gikomba,” he said.

“You didn’t have to,” I said and felt tears welling in my eyes. In all my life, I had never experienced that level of compassion and generosity.

Philister
Taa

Germany, Loneliness

Dear Tamaa Matano,

The loneliness here is overwhelming. Life here has been nothing like I expected. There are, of course, good things that have so far happened to me. But there is a feeling I can’t quite shake off. People here act like they don’t see me. They look past me all the time. No one meets my gaze. No one says anything to me. I don’t know why, but this bothers me a lot. I have been trying to make friends. And it is a baffling experience. After my experience with Topista, I swore to keep to myself. But I couldn’t stand the loneliness so I decided to look for new friends. I was walking in town a few days ago. Did I tell you how clean the towns are? There is no garbage at all. All the
chokoras
52
would starve to death if they came here. I don’t know where they take all of it. And lo and behold, I saw a black person.? It was a woman. A short, healthy-looking woman. And you know what? She was smiling at me. I walked fast, and soon I was standing directly in front of her.

“Blablabbbbbblaa,”
she
said,
or
at
least
that
is
how
whatever
language
she
spoke
sounded
to
my
ears.
I
stared
at
her
helplessly.

“Swahili?”
I
asked.

“Blablablabalabala,”
she
continued.

“English?”
I
asked.

“Pa!”
she
sighed
and
turned
to
leave.

“Wait!”
I
said.
She
turned
and
looked
at
me,
and
quite
unexpectedly
she
grabbed
my
hand.
For
a
while
we
walked
together
silently.
And
then
we
reached
a
building.
It
was
a
tall
building
just
like
the
one
I
live
in.
We
went
in
and
after
walking
up
many
stairs,
we
reached
a
room.
By
the
way,
gorofas
are
not
as
nice
as
I
used
to
think.
She
knocked
on
the
door,
and
a
woman
in
a
colorful
green
kitenge
53
came
out.

“Alleluia!”
she
shouted
in
a
delighted
voice.

“Blablablabalaba,”
the
short,
fat
woman
started.

The
other
woman
looked
me
up
and
down,
and
before
I
knew
it,
she
was
hugging
me.
“Welcome,
sister!”
she
said.
I
felt
myself
smiling.

“Where
do
you
come
from?”
she
asked
in
a
strange
accent.

“Kenya,”
I
responded
nervously.

“Me,
I
come
from
Nigeria,
but
doesn’t
matter.
We
all
sisters
und
brodas!”
she
said.

They
talked
with
each
other
for
a
while,
and
all
the
time
they
looked
at
me.
But
it
was
really
like
they
were
sizing
me
up.

“You have a job?” the woman in the
Kitenge
asked.