Candace Mwende…

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I have just drank a whole jug of water which I thought would have washed the taste of sandak from my mouth, and because my efforts haven’t paid off, I hope a toothpick will do the trick. I keep shaking the tiny bottle holding the toothpicks but it seems the hole is too tiny.

I am about to give up when I see the pregnant waiter approach. I hand over the tiny toothpick bottle to her. She doesn’t struggle. Three toothpicks poke their heads out. “Here,” she says.

I am about to tell her thank you when my grey Motorola VV22e rings. I hold a finger in the air, the way a detective would do in a movie, to ask for a minute. It doesn’t work with her. She walks off but not before I hear her make the ‘msssschew’ sound with her full blood engorged lips. I don’t blame her.

“Hello Godwin Vigedi!”
“Candace Mwende,” I reply.
“Listen, I’ve got two tickets and I am sure a guy like you would like to see K’ogalo collect Ushuru…”
“You mean, as in Kisumu City?” I interrupt.
“Yes, live and direct,” she replies. “Our transport is leaving in the next one hour. I would be honored to watch the game with you.”
“Thanks.”
“See you at Kaloleni Estate.”

One hour later, I join a group of eleven K’ogalo fans. I watch as six of them fill the car. The driver tells the four guys, Candace Mwende and I to jump inside the boot where we find a spare tyre, a roll of Nakumatt paperbags and three 5-liter bottles of chang’aa. We are yet to settle inside the boot when the Probox speeds off.

(CANDACE MWENDE continues)

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