Mgema akisifiwa, tembo hulitia maji (if the palm-wine tapper is praised for his wine, he dilutes it with water), our elders long warned. That was my experience exactly at the Burma Market, where I returned last weekend, buoyed by the near-perfect experience at Nyambura’s tea kiosk weeks earlier.
I wanted to have my car’s engine cleaned. A friend proposed the Shell BP fuel station opposite the City Stadium.
First came the awkward question from a female attendant there: Was I in any particular rush as were pretty busy?
Fifteen minutes later, I was told there was a free slot in the washing bay.
Soon after an attendant embarked on his cleaning my scribe friends and I decided to venture in the nearby Burma Market.
One of the friends recalled a favourite stall of his, which back in the day was so well loved by scribes they almost opened a bureau at Burma. The place is called Mama Baby’s.
I had had a bite before I left home, so I wasn’t particularly hungry.
But my friends were starving. When we arrived at Mama Baby’s stall, my friends ordered ugali and beef stew, but the portions were so small, my friends protested Mama Baby was serving them babies’ food.
“I’m not looking for an appetizer,” said one of my buddies, which was surprising since I have always known him to be a poor eater. He often says he eats once a day “like a puppy.”
Looking across the table, another gentleman was feasting on chicken stew and brown ugali. My friends drooled at the sight of the chicken. This is quite typical of humans – coveting at their neighbours’ goodies. They settled on chicken stew and ugali.
That appeared to momentarily settle their grievance. Ugali wembe (extra slices of ugali) ultimately silenced the two.