My family seems destined for life in one of city’s slums

By Joseph Maina

On Friday evening, I arrived home after a particularly frenetic day and came across a notice pinned on the gate that read: "To our esteemed clients: Kuansia mwesi injayo, rent itaongeswa na elfu biri. Maji na sitima hasitapadishwa. Poreni," it stated in bold lettering.

As you might have guessed, I was shocked beyond words, and so was Mama Jimmy.

"Baba Jim, let’s move," she announced when I entered the hacienda. "Ni kuhama!" she pontificated. Well, that sounded quite reasonable, but where did she want us to go?

"Tuhamie Pangani," she urged. She has always insisted that ‘Pango’ is great, and I suspect this has to do with the million hair salons in that estate, but what shall Baba Jimmy be doing over the weekends in a place that lacks leisure and recreational facilities? For me, Pango is out of question.

"Na Ruiru?" she piped. Now, is Ruiru in Nairobi really? Do they even catch some TV channels in Ruiru? Okay, I don’t mind my water being delivered by a donkey and having my milk from a cow whose name I know, but life in the "outskirts" has never been Baba Jimmy’s thing.

"Basi twende Kinoo," she soldiered on. Once again, I wouldn’t mind having my milk from a cow whose parents I know, but the area’s security situation is way below sea level. Kinoo really is where our Kiganjo recruits should go for internship. My friend Odhiambo calls it "an active war zone."

"Na Uthiru?" she asked. Now that’s another death wish. Like Kinoo, the place has too many gangsters per square kilometre. See, Nairobi is full of places you’re better off avoiding, unless you’re willing to risk the danger for a good horror story to tell your grandchildren. Kariobangi? The mere mention of this 24-hour danger zone gives me the creeps and no, this has nothing to do with the last five letters in the neighbourhood name. Of course, Kariobangi pales in comparison to well-established danger zones such as Kayole, Dandora and Kinoo, but this doesn’t mean I’ll resettle in that landmine. Next?

"How about Embakasi?" she proposed. "Housing is pretty cheap there," she proffered. Well, it’s true that housing is relatively cheap in Embakasi, and the place is relatively safe (save for those few occasions when Waititu gets angry and throws a missile or two). However, the problem is water. Again, sources close to Baba Jimmy (my friend Odhiambo) relay that ‘Emba’ has too many kindergartens and very few good secondary schools, if any. So, where will my mboys go to school in Emba?

"How about Eastleigh?" she pushed on. Okay, so we’re tired of bankrolling our landlord, but this suggestion was simply ridiculous. Life in ‘Easich’ may mean living close to the shoe market and living close to the great Starehe Boys Centre, and I’ll learn to spit great distances and the air is always rich with "nice" perfumes, but that’s just about all the starehe that Eastleigh can offer. Pass!

"Na Umoja je?" She proposed, almost making me laugh. Now, ‘Umo’ may be a ‘clean and secure’ estate, but the perennial Outering Road jams are something else. Look, I don’t want to be caught snoring in matatus at 6am like some folks from Umoja do on the way to work. The same applies to Githurai, ‘Zimmer’, Kahawa and Kasarani. Baba Jimmy won’t be caught in the kisirani of the unfinished Thika Road, no senor!

"Ah, daddy tuhamie Buru," Jimmy enthused. "Wasee wa Buru wako na swag kali sana," he praised. Well, Buruburu may boast tonnes of the so-called swag, but something tells me that they also have some of the most cowardly cops Kiganjo has ever produced, and the GSU can happily confirm this.

"Ama twende Parklands," Russell enjoined. Now, moving to Parklands will mean saying goodbye to "Nairoberry," and my mboch will learn to make Roti, and my mboys will probably learn to play cricket, but I’ll definitely need a harambee every end-month just to pay the landlord.

So, what does this mean for Baba Jimmy’s sub-clan, you ask? Well, we’ll just have to make the best out of our situation. Like my friend Odhiambo says, one man’s heaven might well be another man’s hell, and one man’s Lavington might well be Mukuru kwa-Something to the next taxpayer.

Now, I need super cheap housing, and I don’t want to live close to a public university, for no one knows the day or the hour of the stone throwing. I also don’t want to live in a place where the area MP plays the parliamentary mascot. So that leaves us with Mathare, Kibera, Sinai, Kiambiu, Korogocho, Mukuru kwa Njenga, Mukuru kwa Reuben, Mukuru Kayaba and all those Mukurus where some folks go to the bathroom in polythene bags. Moving on swiftly...