WHEN PAUL KNOCKS

I’ve been scrapping off some tea stain on this damn coffee table before an unwelcomed visitor passes by and unwittingly judges. I think the stain has a grudge, it refuses to nudge. It reminds me of high school days where I used to peel stamps for reuse. Remember? The vicious fights with stamps back when girls loved getting letters. They still do, at least my editor says she does, then again, a girl from Riara never had the time of day for us guys from a school near Thika. Look at us now, shout out to you. Is it me only who noticed that the post office never seemed to run out of the ink missioned out to make sure they aren’t reusable? I wonder what the budget was for that, probably in the millions now that a cup of tea is roughly the same price. Who am I to raise an eyebrow, I’m just a mere puppet who refuses to let a stain blemish his table. I need not worry about government finances.

The other day had me making conversations with my landlord on the negative effects of a crushing economy. Sometimes you have to use this kind of words to soothe their pockets. Paul wasn’t impressed. Putting those bedsitters up cost him a fortune. All I could think of was the various escapades the walls had endured, hopefully, he doesn’t own a blue light lest he would be shocked. Well, at least when he comes knocking again, he’ll find a clean table for his monthly cup of overdue coffee. Yes, that is clean!!

Landlord yo

Landlord yo

Landlord yo

Eh! Usiniharibie siku bana landlord

Umenifika kwenye koo (eh eh eh)

Wee ni tafash; tu

 

Eh! Usiniharibie siku bana landlord

Umenifika kwenye koo (eh eh eh)

Wee ni tafash; tu

 

Eh! Usiniharibie siku bana landlord

Umenifika kwenye koo (eh eh eh)

Wee ni tafash; tu

Mejja’s Landlord Song

Lately, I’ve been praying more. Being spiritual was one of my resolutions this year. I’ve prayed for mercy and that things get back to normal. I’ve prayed for Paul to be less stubborn, maybe to forget a week or two. Are prayers only answered when one closes their eyes? I hope not. The salient stare of this unwavering stain has me locked on my target, my eyes have hardly blinked. I’ve also prayed for longer nights so that Paul doesn’t interrupt my morning sleep regime. I made an agreement with my new employer, my bed, to be doing some overtime. I hope Paul realizes that it’s not good to interfere with someone’s work. I barely do it with him. I’m hardly ever at home when he announces himself.

Sometimes I find myself staring at the window. I’ve never noticed how greener it has become, I think someone painted the color on the trees. I wonder how it is to be free, I wonder whether the window opens fully and whether I can fit through. Do people pay rent if they live on clouds, or is tougher there? Maybe I should ask Paul when he uninvitedly comes around. That might prove to be something he might take interest in, then again he looks like one of those men who’ve never worked a day in their life. He probably owns one of those clouds and charges extra for questions only paupers think about. Ah! That will be an interesting topic to talk about next as he yells and washes me with his coffee-stained saliva.

Let me ask my employer for advice.