If you managed to date the chief’s daughter back in the day, you deserve a government position as a chief strategist complete with a house, a driver, a cook and a personal assistant.
Playing Romeo on this daughter required meticulate planning. It was a not a fete for faint hearted. Before getting to her you had two hurdles that you had to jump even as you dealt with your raging hormones. These were their Dog Bosco and her big brother brother.
Yours truly had set his eyes on this chief’s daughter whose pair of oranges that pierced her tight top gave him sleepless nights.
I conceived a plan. First was to win the loyalty of Bosco their fierce dog. That way I could sneak at their gate without it telling on me. But to do this, I had to bribe it. I had to pass by Mutiso’s Kichwa ya mbuzi joint and carry bones for it a couple of times a week.
Whenever I approached the chief’s gate and Bosco appeared, I would throw it the bones before it could think of barking. This went on for a while and when it wagged it’s tail for the first time, I was ecstatic. I knew the first hurdle had been jumped. I had a won a place at the chief’s gate with Bosco’s approval.
Winning the brother’s trust was not a very tough a task. All I had to do was to help him carry a load of Napier grass from deep the valley to their home up the hill. It went on for while until I got an invitation to his cubicle that was lined with the pictures of famous musicians. The bed area and the sitting area were separated with a pink bedsheet. That day it felt like a visit to Statehouse.
I managed to pass my statement of intent to the chief’s girl in form of a letter written on a flowery writing pad borrowed from the cool city chap who had visited the village. In the missive I had used all Romeo words to praise her beauty and profess my undying love. I had indicated in the letter that if she made herself available, I had too much more in store.
On this bright afternoon, she sent signal that we could meet at their gate that night. I spent the rest of the afternoon preparing for the meet up and rehearsing the poems and quotes that would melt her.
When the night came, I camped at their gate and threw a stone at the cowshed roof. It was the signal of arrival.
As expected, Bosco, the dog was corporative. It even came to give me company as I stood at the edge of the gate, in the dark, waiting for her.
She finally came. I was just warming to the conversation when something stopped reggae. It was black ants that had made their way to nether regions and gave me such a bite.
I started sweating. I couldn’t scratch my privates infront of her highness. I put on a brave face and persevered for a moment.
I was about to taste her lips like I had read in Mejja mwangi’s books, but just before I could do it, I got another bite on a tender place.The pain was too immense, I almost confessed my sins to the ancestors. That I was common village thief of Wakiramba’s passion fruits. This marked the end of our date. I excused myself and made a dash for home.
I was too embarrassed to ask for another date. If only I had made peace with the black ants.
LIKED WHAT YOU READ? Buy me a coffee
