I had just received my first ever fat cheque, and when I talk of fat, I do not mean those skinny HELB disbursements that we used to receive back in campus. I mean, a cheque that would require an instant recruitment of security detail, complete with intelligence experts to guard and protect me around the clock. Immediately, a 24-hours’ surveillance on yours truly was installed.
My safety became a third-party concern. An aura of self-importance and self-confidence developed. And you know, I started calling that beautiful slay queen in my phone who I couldn’t call before. Even before I could break the news to her, she already heard it from Peter [Read as Piiitaa]. Peter should have been a feminine name. I mean, anyone named Peter, and Daniel should have been women. They gossip a lot.
When she picked, she was chuckling. Not sure why, but anything I said, she laughed at it profusely, even the bluntest of rants. She broke the news that I wanted to break to her. For a moment, I had forgotten that I had called her because the cheque. It was surprising how word got around very fast.
And man! Nairobians can be noisy! Especially those ladies that come in droves, with heels that are as long as oil rigs! Someone should kindly let them know that they can talk in talking in normal tones.
It was that call to the slay queen (Ok, enuff with her title, let’s just call her Dee) that necessitated my travel to the city the next morning. I arrived in the city at 7 a.m. and Dee asked me that we meet at Al-Yusra. Before this, the only Al-Yusra that I knew, is a hotel in Moyale that has bad food that can give you kipundupindu by just staring at it. Am kidding though. The name was not actually the elephant in the kitchen, the chicken in the elephant was how ‘Dee escaped the end-month Mombasa Road traffic jam and made it to town by 8 a.m.
So, I walked into Al-Yusra with ‘Dee. It is on Banda street. For those geographically-deficient or the technological dinosaurs who can’t read a damn map, Al-Yusra is on Banda Street, next to the MacMillan Library. Al-Yusra has this air of importance that can be infectious. Even if you are an underachiever like me, you feel like you have accomplished something, by just sitting inside.
A petite waiter got us a nice table at the furthest corner. I think she knew we needed privacy. It was the time for lazy Nairobians to come for breakfast, and so the place was relatively full. And man! Nairobians can be noisy! Especially those ladies that come in droves, with heels that are as long as oil rigs! Someone should kindly let them know that they can talk in talking in normal tones.
So, me and ‘Dee (Yes, You grammar soldiers can go hang yourselves with camel intestines …I want to use words the way I want) ordered our breakfast. I give specific orders that they should serve me coffee until she (I mean the waiter, else I would have said ‘Dee) gets tired or till I die, or whichever comes first. ‘Dee orders for something she called ‘Yusra Breakfast’. Am informed that it comes with fried liver. “Make the liver double, I shout to her as she leaves to get us the order.”
Now, why am I even telling you guys all these? You should just walk in there and get that kidney! I swear, they taste like sex on a rainy morning. That rain that thunders at 5 a.m. on a Sunday morning. Now stop imagining, I was also imagining.
Al-Yusra does not only offer kidneys. And I know some of you would start yapping oh! They sell kidneys in the butchery and all that! Yes, they do…But I think, it also matters where and what the kidney came from. These guys get their kidneys right. Their coffee is brewed to perfection, and their tea is highly rated.