Bingo's Run (4 page)

“Meejit,” Wolf said, and the memory of my father broke. “Meejit, also you'z run for me, right now, ya. Run four bags of white and two blocks of dagga
^*
to tha Livingstone Hotel. Give a hundred to Managa Edward.”

“Yes, Boss Sa,” I said. A cutter slid the order to the table's edge. Wolf looked at me and smiled. His two upper and lower front teeth were gone, which made his smile look as if a brick had been pushed through it. He stroked his oiled hair and stuck his hand into the green bag that hung off his throne. He threw a twenty-shilling
note at me. “Meejit, get a new fookin' shirt.” The twenty fluttered down. I smiled back. “Thank you, Boss Sa,” I said. Wolf liked to see people bow. The twenty was stained with hair oil.

The Livingstone is the grand old hotel in Nairobi, where government types and the rich enjoy what they want. My delivery system here was different from at the Intercontinental—it had more class. There were no hotel boys at the Livingstone; the delivery was at the back door, straight to the manager.

I jogged into the alley behind the hotel. On the corner was an antiques shop. It sold the same masks as the Maasai Market, but for fifty times more. An old woman sat behind the shop on a faded yellow crate, writing out the certificates to make the masks antiques. I ran past her to the back of the Livingstone and waited by the kitchen door.

After an hour, a short, squat man with gray curled hair came out. He was dressed in a black coat with a tongue-shaped tail, a red waistcoat, a bright white shirt, and a bow tie. There was a small silver cross on his left lapel. Manager Edward had found a good place in the world: his belly said “full” and his gray hair curled with lifelong service. He was the best-dressed man in Nairobi. He looked like the English lord in a porn film I'd seen in a bar.

Manager Edward was sharp. He played the servant well, but if I tried to short him even one coin he clipped my ear faster than a snake snaps a rat. I knew him to be one of the three main managers at the Livingstone, and he was the oldest by far. He gave me sixteen hundred shillings. I gave him the four bags of white and two dagga, and then I gave him a hundred shillings like Wolf told me. Manager Edward then gave me a twenty-shilling coin. This was the Livingstone style of doing business—class.

After, I walked down Kenyatta and thought about Deborah. I did not want to be around Slo-George, and I did not want to run
any more that afternoon. There were several runners at Wolf's and I had the Boss Jonni run the next night. It was time to rest. One of my commandments (No. 7) is rest whenever you can; it means you will be ready when chance comes. There was an afternoon to kill.

I walked down Moi Avenue and into a mobile-phone shop. “Jambo,” I said to a light-skinned stick-shaped salesman. “I try that one,” I said, pointing to a Sanyo. The man looked me up and down. He was about to kick me out until I showed him the money from the Livingstone. “Reception on the Sanyo good,” the stick said.

Deborah was at school when I called her on the Sanyo. “Meet you'z at four,” I said.

“Huh?” she said.

“It's Bingo. Be at tha bus station at four.”

“Huh,” she said.

Conversation over. I gave the Sanyo back to the stick-shaped salesman. He wiped it on his trouser leg and put the phone back on its stand. I left the shop. Two hours to wait.

It was around the time when city workers begin to leave their offices. I thought about lipping a few before Deborah came but I was tired, so I went to Uhuru Park. I stole some sugared nuts from a street vendor, ate them, felt sick, lay down under a tree, and slept.

I slept hard, and dreamed of a darkness that sprinkled over me like ash. As I slept deeper, the ash got thicker. At first it was light, but it got heavy. It became tarmac. It lay on me like a brick blanket and flattened me. First I was afraid, but the tarmac blanket whispered, “Shh, Bingo, lay still. I'z keep you safe.” The road's voice was Deborah's. I welcomed the blanket over me and
dreamed that I disappeared under the shadow of my road. A thousand trucks later, I was nothingness driven on by everything.

I woke suddenly, sweat-wet and hard. Deborah's emptiness scared me, but I wanted her. Emptiness is one way people get by, and I wanted to enter it—at least for a while. I ran fast to the bus station. The station clock read 3:45. I ate fried chicken from the throw-out bin at Chicken Heaven and waited for Deborah.

At four-fifteen, Deborah was not there. Four-thirty, no Deborah! I had told her to be there at four.

I went over to a line of workers getting on buses and tried to lip a mobile. I got spotted, ran, and went back to the mobile shop. The stick salesman was having none of it. I went back to the bus station. Four-forty-five—still no Deborah. Tak! An office worker undid his tie and hung it loosely round his neck—orange-and-black. I waited for him to get two steps up on the bus, then I ran at him and pulled the tie off. I was gone by the time his hand got to his neck. I gave the tie to the stick mobile salesman and called Deborah on the Sanyo.

“Wheres are you?” I said.

Crackling (it was rubbish reception), Deborah said, “My fatha got me from school.” Rubbish father.

“Come layta,” I said.

Crackle. “Can't,” she said.

“Tomorra,” I said.

Just crackle.

I said, “You such a mama's girl.”

“Nine tomorrow night,” she said.

“Bus station,” I said.

“Huh,” she said.

Conversation over. Nine tomorrow night—perfect. Boss Jonni run at 8:00
P.M.
, Deborah at 9:00
P.M
.

I jogged down Mbagathi to Kibera and gave the Livingstone Hotel money to Wolf. He pushed the money into his green bag and said, “Meejit, I tol' ya get a new fookin' shirt.” As runners, our dress code was “Be no one.” My ripped T-shirt was too “slum.” This was typical of how Wolf worked. Every detail was important. “Yes, Wolf Sa.” I ran to a stall by the main street and paid ten shillings for an orange T-shirt with “Mombassa Cement” stamped on the front. I could have lipped it, but I never stole in Kibera. Never steal from people poorer than you (Commandment No. 5).

I ate M'bazzi stew for dinner and threaded home. Random people said “Ya” or waved. Cousin Sheila was at my place. Sheila was pretty and about a year younger than me. She was a lazy waste of space. Her father got a job at the Janssen Pharmaceutical plant and left Kibera as part of a “reclamation program.” He was reclaimed, but Sheila was not. Her mother was gone, wasted by the Virus. Sheila drifted around Kibera most of the day, showing her leg or ass and often giving it for free, or for a beer or a cigarette. I had plowed her two times before. That night was the third time. I wanted to stop Deborah from taking hold of my head. Sheila was warm and laughed under the blanket. With her wet, she washed Deborah's voice out of my thoughts. As we lay there after, I gave her a cigarette and five shillings from my pocket. She did not sleep but went off to spend the money or be bought for some more. I fell asleep under the blanket. I thought she could do better for herself, but her fate was Kibera.

It was the morning of the Boss Jonni run.

Guess what? It was filthy hot.

First thing, me and Slo-George made our visit to Krazi Hari. The lunatic was louder than normal. He shouted, “All tha counterfeit prescriptin drugs killin' us!” and pounded the air with a blue book covered with green mold. Me and Slo-George missed him with our rocks. We left the garbage mound to the beat of Krazi Hari's insane laughter and headed to St. Lazarus for breakfast.

On Thursday mornings, the Salvation service was held at St. Lazarus Church. If you say you are saved, you get a free breakfast. St. Lazarus Church was about an hour's walk away. By the time we got there, I would be ready to be saved.

As me and Slo-George walked, I wondered how Krazi Hari had learned to read. There was a school, kind of, in Kibera, just a mabati roof on stilts staffed by nuns and do-gooders. None of the staff stuck around to teach the whole alphabet or past the seven times table, and so none of the children could spell “rat” or knew that 11 times 12 is 132. At the end of every day the children sang together, “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.” I never
went to this school (the School of Benevolent Innocence was enough), but I often sat on the hill behind the school with Slo-George, sipped beer, smoked, and listened to the children learn and sing. The learning never did the children any good, but they seemed to like it. The song didn't do them any good, either. It was difficult to imagine Krazi Hari as a child, let alone as a pupil. But it was no stranger that Krazi Hari could read than that Slo-George could eat himself fat. Still, if Krazi Hari could read, why did he live on a garbage mound?

In church, we sat and listened to the Salvation service. That day, it was much better than usual. The preacher screeched through his performance. He did the Commandments, which I liked, even if they were not as good (or as many) as mine. My thirteen commandments are:

The preacher talked about salvation. My belly cramped. At one point he shouted, “As God iz your judge, iz you here for Jesus?”

The congregation muttered “Yez” only slightly louder than the flies. The preacher turned the page of his book.

A woman suddenly leaped up and screamed, “I'z for Jesus! I'z for Jesus! I want to be at the feet of Jesus. Take ma body, Jesus, take ma body.” The screamer was an old, scrawny, flea-bitten hag. Jesus, even if he was on the cross for a hundred years, would not have wanted her. But the preacher was thrilled, at least at first. He called back to her, “Yes, daughter of Jesus. Yes! Confess your sins. Salvation calls out to you.”

She screamed back, “Yes, I'z for you! I'z for Jesus!” The half-full church of twenty unsaved hungry souls turned to her. It was time for a show.

The screaming hag ripped off her dress and began confessing sins I only ever saw in porn. The preacher's face fell. He rushed to her. He tried to stop her. He even begged Jesus to help him, but it was too late. Her salvation could not be stopped. The congregation started to cheer.

Me and Slo-George left the church after we received salvation and breakfast. In the street outside, we came across the near-naked screamer wandering around alone. She looked like a lost lover. Slo-George pushed his hand into his pocket and pulled out some crushed cake he had taken from breakfast. He offered it to her and she ate.

The screamer followed us back to Kibera, walking fifty yards behind us. All the way, she sang about her love for Jesus. Her love was out of tune. I said to Slo-George, “I'z got ta work now.” He grunted, and I ran off, “Onward, Christian Soldiers” in the background.

I had two runs to fill up the day with before the Boss Jonni run. One was to a private city house, and the second was to the Hotel Serenity in Langata. Serenity is one of the hotels where I can go up to the buyer's room. Whites, four of them, took five bags of
white and three dagga blocks for two thousand shillings. I told them I needed two hundred shillings for bus fare. They gave it to me the way a beggar spits. I should have asked for five hundred. It was only 4:00
P.M.
, and I had to be at Wolf's at 8:00
P.M
. There was plenty of time. I slept at my place until the sun began to drop. I was ready for the Boss Jonni run. After the run at eight, Deborah at nine.

I got to Wolf's at five minutes before eight. Wolf waited for me on his throne, his snake hair oiled back, not one hair out of place. There were no cutters at the table. Dog sat on the floor with his back against the throne, smoking. Smoke came out of his eaten-up nose in two directions. Wolf grinned his empty tooth-gone smile when he saw me. “Meejit, good, ya,” he said. On the cutting table was a big brown paper bag with “Hareef Food Supplies” printed on it. Wolf handed it to me. “Meejit, how long it take ya'z get to Taifa Road?” I already had the run planned out to Boss Jonni's high-rise. A matatu to Taifa Road took fifteen minutes. It would take ten minutes to give Boss Jonni the money and collect the blocks of white from him. Getting back to Wolf would take fifteen minutes. Total: forty minutes. That left twenty minutes to get to the bus station for Deborah at nine. I would get two hundred shillings for the Boss Jonni run, so I would buy Deborah chicken before I plowed her.