Wanja Kavengi
Some family members have pleaded with him to stop drinking, but should we all be honest, they don’t ask him to stop because they want him to stop, but because they want the money he spends on the booze. They are not pained by the damage his excessive alcohol intake may be causing him and, by extension, us. They are pained by the fact that Mama Lucy collects all his money, and not them. In some way, they are frustrated, not by his alcohol addiction in and of itself, but by the fact that they cannot control him to do or be what they want so they may benefit from his hustle. They want him to stop, not for his own good, but so that he may stop embarrassing them. What does he think people say about us when he blacks out in a filthy ditch by the wayside for hours, like a dead man? And when he revives he does an about-turn, back to Mama Lucy’s to guzzle more of her brew?
“Okay,” he accepts their counsel.
He assumes a “humble” stance – hands clasped apologetically behind him, eyes fixated remorsefully on the ground, lips pressed together sheepishly.
“My lips shall never taste alcohol again,” he vows. “I’m a changed man.”
“Good,” the family members congratulate him. “When you finish cleaning out the dung outside the slaughterhouse, please come back immediately you’re paid so we can buy some food.”
“Yes,” he agrees.
But when he doesn’t return after a reasonable amount of time has passed, we know he took a detour to Mama Lucy’s mnazi den to irrigate his throat.
That same evening we will hear him on the road outside as he gets closer to our home, drunkenly singing a love song for his bottle and insulting the same family members that were advising him to stop drinking. His voice carries well in the night for all and sundry to hear.
“You think you know me, you hypocrites!” He shouts as he nears our gate. “You want me to stop drinking but have you stopped gossiping about me?”
We exchange glances. There he goes again.
“Stop drinking. Stop drinking? Can’t I drink when I’m thirsty? Who are you to tell me what to do with my life? Stop drinking. Is it your drink? You think you’re better than me because I’m a drunkard? Stop drinking. You, have you stopped sleeping with Hilda’s husband?”
[excerpt from HUNGER. Call/text/WhatsApp me on +254702723310 for an autographed copy. Available at Nuria store for only Ksh 1,000]
This post was created with our nice and easy submission form. Create your post!
Did this story move you? Every gift goes directly to Wanja Kavengi — writers on Muwado earn from reader appreciation, not algorithms. Even $1 makes a difference.
Muwado weekly chart
Get Africa’s top 10 stories every Thursday
No account needed — just your email.
Want to follow Wanja Kavengi and get notified every time they publish?
Create a free Muwado account →