Bad bachelor: One night stand stalks Amacho

The last ten days have been hell -- that’s since I slept with madam Beth, my 60-year-old jirani. My mistake may have been staying the Sunday and partaking in more of those goodies from Madame Beth, who assured me she hadn’t had any since 2008. I mean, that’s the year that started with PEV in Kenya and ended with the election of Obama in the USA.

‘My nasty German ex-husband, Putzi, I think had by then started sleeping with my 18-year-old niece,’ she told me bitterly, scowling.

Monday I go to work and blue tick all her sexts on WhatsApp. I mean, who knew 60-year-old mathes know how to send such raunchy texts? I thought, enzi zao, huko 1975, they only wrote love letters.

By that last Tuesday of October, the ol’ lady was trying to call me every one hour at work. I lengad! Wednesday morning as I’m leaving for work, I open my door, and as I reach the elevator, she’s there. Panting! (she musta been peeping, watching the corridor, and dashed out the minute she saw me). Her wet kiss took me by total surprise, and I looked around to see if any jirani was coming. ‘I was so worried sick that you were ill, sweetie,’ she gushed. ‘You haven’t answered my texts or calls!’

‘I lost my phone,’ I lied, hoping it wouldn’t ring.

That evening, the doorbell rings, and she is at the door, brandishing a new phone. ‘Gift for you, baby,’ she says, pushing her way inside. A few minutes later, she tries to push herself on me and, what a cliché, I feign a migraine!

Thursday, I left very early, reaching the office at 6am. Then ignored texts and calls on my gift iphone. But who is sexagenarian Beth? That evening, she kept ringing my doorbell every hour, once I’d got in. At six, seven, eight, nine, ten and even 11pm. That’s when it hit me – she’s a serious sex stalker.

On Friday, I got a brainwave and googled the court case she had mentioned: ‘Beth vs Hanfstaegle.’

Imagine my shock when the first thing that pops up is a tabloid headline story of ‘German accuses ex-wife of hiring hitmen.’

Apparently in the heat of their divorce battle in 2014 my jirani Beth was accused of hiring assassins who kidnapped him, took him to Karura, stripped him naked – but he somehow fled into the night forest as they prepared to execute him – earning a bullet in the left buttock.

He told the cops that the gang leader had told him ‘Madam amesema kwaheri ya kuonana, na salimia shetani ukifika jahanamu’. I felt a chill run down my spine...

Although the police had no evidence to charge Madam Beth, she did have strong motives (revenge and the property in Karen). And, in my heart and gut, I knew she was behind the kidnap!

That Friday night, I went to a club in Kilimani – and picked up a pretty, drunk ‘chipo’ – leaving just after 10pm. Blue Subaru, vrooom. Guess who is standing in the shadows of my door at 10.10pm? Madam Beth!

Before I can say a word, she hugs me and says: ‘Son, how can you keep your poor mum waiting outside your door for hours...?’

I see my ‘chipo’ getting sober, and stammering: ‘Ohhh! How are you, Mama Amacho?’

As I glare at my ‘mum,’ she says sweetly: ‘Son, won’t you open the door and let us all in?’

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