A Letter to the Girl Next Door
Each time I stand on my doorstep or have a rest on it, there is a thought that ever paints my mind and head- you are a possible stalker. For months now I have noticed that every morning I open my window and release the casement to allow the fresh morning air enter my crib and manifest my kindred room alongside with my heart soul, the first thing that hits my face is your stale face and sleepy eyes covered with rheum, I hate that. I keep wondering why you would sit on your doorstep and watch me open my freaky door release an onomatopoeia of rusty sounds. I also wonder why you pretend to be paranoid when I do my washing .last time you made a compliment of me not properly washing my beige shirt, popping up with words like ‘’hujui kuosha shati’’ I want you to know the questions I ask myself are bitter worrying. If you wanted to be them for me I would merrily accept the offer rather than you spitting the empty compliments. Or do you speak because you have nothing to say in those dry mornings?
Hey neighbor, learn to ask relevant questions or table topics of interest that arouse m attention. Last Wednesday you asked and talked something about Halloween. I do not celebrate Halloween and neither do Kenyans honor solemnity of that macabre and exceedingly insane holiday. I have no idea about Halloween costumes so never ask me about masks of concealment. However, there is something that you should know, in Kenya every day is Halloween. For the obvious reasons –hard economic times. Why do you think students burn schools and prefer smashing window panes with stones? Why is that people from the lakeside are will wear facial concealments, block reads, and deflate tires stone motorists and police in exchange for teargas? Some confessed they enjoy the demos! They do this because they are celebrating Halloween on a daily basis flavoring it with drama just like the blokes did in the early 20th century in the United States.
There is something that I must confess, something personal and I do not know what your attitude and reaction would be. I again confess this, I love your thigh lands and the shape of your tummy, just above the waist gate. I understand at you have caught me severally drooling over your chestnuts but that does not justify anything. In any case, I must tell you for free, you are in shape and cute, short and sweet. For your information I love it when you are washing- when you read this, remember I was an altar boy on last mass. I have to warn you about something though, those stockings on your head in the broad daylight keeps potentials away from you. They look ugly, and by the way, I have seen you in them for the past mornings –they are brown in color, do our eve wash them?
Girl, there is a game that we need to stop. The game of pegs that seemed pretty good when I had always won. Why do my pegs keep disappearing and later appear fastening our underpants? Let me promise you this, next time I will dare take them. I would have done so were it not for the uncleanness I would land into if I touched those clothes. My ancestors might send a bunch of witches from Hogwarts to punish off the stains. I must congratulate you, they are cleaner than those of our neighbor upstairs, room 38, who hangs stained ones so that my white towel gets stained too, remember the dirty patch I was struggling to clean
Here is a question for you. I know it does not and should never be a concern to me, do you have a boyfriend, husband or a sponsor at least? Ladies of your age shouldn’t miss either of those. Last night I heard creepy and spooky sounds from your room. What were you really doing? It all started when you opened your door last night only to hear you smash the ceramic flower vase hanged on the inside of your entry. The music from your room kept me awake, I kept recording you secrets and rhythms all night. Be mindful next time, please.
I must warn you, men out here are vipers who spread the deadliest diseases they bite and release the venom to their victims. (Thanks for the thought, am not your mama to advise you, sorry for my concerns). Am not into his because for a fact, I am never a zero grazer –those guys who love to hit a home grounds.
Very soon neighbor, you won’t be seeing me. I will be moving to a new apartment, of course. Mind my words, I said an apartment, up in the heart of the town. They call it upper Nyanchwa .it is a duplicate of Lavington. Do not be bothered by my magical limps from a bedsitter to an apartment, be bothered by my new drive. Did I not tell you I love German machines, precisely the Mercedes s class? For this case, I prefer an S Classé. Meet you next Tuesday, street 22 apartment number 44, I have a birthday party!