By HAMZA BABU
Kahawa Tungu Coffee Shop has established itself as the meeting place where locals converge to swap gossip and this day in particular, everyone is foaming at the mouth to get heard.
“Can you imagine Hussein engaged this Maalim to give religious lessons to his daughter and now she is pregnant,” reports one excitedly.
The debate rages on and before long, it is apparent the said Ustadh Aboud takes advantage of his position as the official area ghost buster to easily get intimate with his ‘patients’.
“I have never heard of the guy exorcising spirits from men. Does he only process women like a sort of specialist gynaecologist?” I pose.
“Hapo chacha. If he wasn’t a quack, he would have cured his uncle Jomba who must have a whole legion of djinns residing in him,” agrees another.
As I serve my kahawa tungu, which has been spiked with traditional energy boosters, mild narcotics and top of the range aphrodisiacs to my miraa chewing customers, everyone is in agreement that the cowboy has to be run out of town.
“At the Coast, we have this popular superstition that if someone appears while they are being discussed, it is a sign they have a long life ahead of them.
Aboud appears at the entrance to Kahawa Tungu. “He stands at the doorway in his entire majestic splendour with a stupid grin on his face.
“If he attempts to touch my wife, I will chop him up like meat,” says the butcher with twigs of miraa sticking out of his mouth.
“Serve me your stimulating kahawa tungu as I have a stubborn demon to battle tonight,” he orders.
“I will take the teacher’s wife out to the sea on the boat at midnight and by dawn, she will be as good as new,” he announces like it is the easiest thing in the world.
All the customers are awestruck, but not for long as a woman clad in a buibui storms into Kahawa Tungu.
She angrily stands before handsome boy and loudly demands from him explanation for his alleged affair with the teacher’s wife.
“I was going to leave firigisi (gizzard) to be with you,” the cat was out of the bag. Firigisi is none other than the butcher.
Everyone freezes upon realising that the veiled woman is Mrs Firigisi — the butcher.
“Matezo ni gharama (romance comes with a price) Sibanani na huyo. Utajiju! (I am not sharing with her! You are in trouble)!” she screams at him. It is then that she notices her husband and dashes out of the place with Ustaz hot on her heels.
Her husband runs after them, yelling blue murder and it is a foregone conclusion that someone will surely be killed.
That is just one of the many scandals that characterise vituko Uswahilini (Swahililand incredulity) at the Coast.
“The show is over everybody,” I announce as I start closing down Kahawa Tungu for the evening.