Tale of strange village economy and rogue shopkeepers

When you live in the village, there are things, especially government directives and orders, you only hear about on the vernacular radio stations or watch them on TV. Shopkeepers never implement them. Take, for instance, the unga dilemma.

Now that the price of that precious commodity has dropped, it will take several weeks or even months before our local guys like Wa-Dafidi of "Mama Dafidi and Sons Supa Duka and Retail Shop" implement it. Or never do so at all.

Remember shopkeepers here buy stocks that last for months. Business is always slow. The prices are always permanently written on the kiosks' walls in both capital and small letters using kibiro (oil) and the sentences will look like they are going to drink water down a river in a valley.

The artist will then brand his work with his "Kim-Master Art" name. Wa-Dafidi is not always at the shop, she's either tilling her land or doing other things in the house, which means to get served, you'll have to shout out her name, especially if it's in the afternoon and she's listening to 'man Saimo and Kata' on Inooro FM at full blast.

You will walk to such a shop holding a one hundred shilling bank note, hoping to buy two kilos of maize flour and some salt with the change. "Kiro....... ", you'll tell her, showing with your fingers the number of kilograms you want. You'll feel very confident, vigorously rubbing those two fingers against each other in her face.

"Ongesa kifao (add twenty shillings)," she will yell. Out of shock, you freeze and almost collapse. "Si bei imeshuka (but haven't the prices gone down)?" You'll ask in disbelief. "Skiza, hii unga tunaedea bali sana. Unalipa mtu wa nduthi, saa ingine ananyeshewa ama inamwagika. Hata hairudishi kakitu. Ni vile hatuwezi funga duka tunakubali kuchomeka tu. (We go through a lot to get this flour. In fact, we just do it to keep the shops open as we await better times)," she'll lie to your face.

"But government has lowered the prices to 90 per 2kgs," you grumble, before she coldly dismisses you with, "washa wewe, hio ni mambo ya ma-TV na ma-radio, kwenda nunua kwa TV"! Never mind the flour is branded with the price!

As she tells you this, the radio presenters will be talking about the maize flour prices. Deep inside you'll want to scream, insult her badly and possibly show her the middle finger. But because you know that getting that flour at the main shopping centre kilometres away will require you to shower, put on clothes reserved for Sunday and waste more money on 'nduthi', you maintain calm.

You picture the boiling water over the fire and the hunger biting your intestines, intestines that got on fire and are now rumbling after she demanded you add twenty shillings.

"Okay. I'll bring the twenty shillings later," you'll beg her, but take forever to pay it so that she also feels the pain and gets a share of the problem. To punish her further, the moment you get some cash, you go to the supermarket, buy lots of stuff and pass by her shop, showing off those huge see-through plastic bags and pay your debts.

Unfortunately, she will still have last laugh towards end-month. Deep in the villages, shopkeepers are gods. They unashamedly sell you soda branded Sh30 at Sh40! Even stuff like Sh50 airtime, goes for Sh70. Same with newspapers, bread and all. But who is complaining? It's life!