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thirty-seven f

Waititu

A short, angular, mid-thirties man sat in the hotel lobby the next morning. When he spied us coming out of the elevator, he jumped from his seat.

“ Siku njema bwana, madam. Good day, sir and madam. I am Waititu. At your service.” He smiled and bowed deeply.

Despite his formality, he was warm and welcoming. I liked him instantly.

“ Siku njema bwana. I’m Ava. Pleased to meet you.” I bowed and smiled, hoping to get a laugh from Waititu.

“I’m Mike. Glad to meet ya. I’m not much on bowin’.” Mike extended his hand.

“Obuya says you need a guide. What can I show you?” Waititu spoke with the Kenyan accent I was beginning to love.

Mike and I had discussed our strategy the night before. We would warm up to Waititu, have him show us the city, ask questions about the countryside and farming, then mention drugs.

“My wife wants to visit the markets. Then maybe you could drive us past some ruins,” Mike said.

“Of course. Twende zetu. Let’s go.”

Waititu wore faded blue jeans, a striped polo shirt, and scuffed leather sandals—all of which were clean but had seen better days. I noticed he was missing a few teeth in his lower jaw. I was confident he would welcome our dollars and do whatever he could to help us.

“My car is not new, but it is clean. Madam, it would be best to sit in the back. Your husband has long legs and needs the front.” Waititu opened the rear door to a dark-green Toyota with a dented rear bumper and several scratches on the doors.

“Thank you,” I said.

Mike climbed in the front.

“I will drive you around the city and show you our history and markets. When you want to stop, you tell me.”

“ Asante. ” Obuya had taught me to say thank you.

“ Karibu. You are welcome,” Waititu replied.

Mike wasn’t looking too happy, but I was having the time of my life.

Waititu wove his Toyota through narrow streets, pointing out shops, ruins, and street vendors. I felt I’d entered a time warp: no McDonald’s, no billboards, no upscale shopping malls. Most men dressed like Waititu, though I did see a few in military outfits.

Some women we saw wore traditional brightly printed robes and headdresses. Others wore sundresses, still others wore skirts and tops that often didn’t match. What surprised me was the number of women in saris. Everywhere was color, vibrancy, and smiles.

“You may like Today’s Market. It is under a tent and will be safe for you,” Waititu said. “I will let you out here and return in an hour.”

Safe? Were we in danger? I looked at Mike for reassurance. He winked at me.

“Cool, man,” Mike said. “One hour.”

Stepping out of the car was like entering another dimension. The streets were hot and dirty. We were hit with one smell after another—gasoline fumes, urine, spices. People stared. Apparently, this part of town saw few American tourists.

I was grateful to enter Today’s Market. The tented roof shielded us from the midday sun. Fruits, vegetables, spices, and grains lay in baskets, on blankets, and in wooden boxes. Women cooked soups, stews, and snacks, and called to us to sample their foods. We’d been warned about eating street food, so I smiled and shook my head.

At the far end of the market were the local crafts. I bought several strings of colorful beads, two wooden bowls, and a small, handwoven basket. The vendors spoke little English. I sensed they wanted to bargain with me, but I was content to pay the highest price. We had an endless supply of cash, so why not share the wealth?

“Whadda want this crap for?” Mike asked.

“Souvenirs. Maybe I can help some of these people.”

“You’re payin’ top dollar for junk.”

I held in my temper. Mike thought he was better than these people. He was so wrong.

An hour passed in a flash. As promised, Waititu was waiting for us.

“I’m gonna start chattin’ him up,” Mike said.

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait? I thought you wanted to chill out for a while.”

“If this is Africa, you can keep it. Sooner we get rollin’, sooner we get outta here.”

“Be careful, Mike.”

“Yeah, doll, y’know me.”

I sure do.

I was tired, hungry, and needed a drink but didn’t want to be the one to pull the plug on the day. I decided to trust Mike’s decision to get down to business with Waititu.

“What is next for you?” Waititu asked.

“D’ya know anywhere by the ocean where we can get somethin’ to drink? We’ll buy ya a beer and we can talk,” Mike suggested.

“I will take you to my favorite place. It is popular for locals and tourists,” Waititu replied.

He drove onto the main highway and from there onto Link Road. We passed our hotel and made a left turn, taking us to the ocean. Several thatch-roofed huts stood on wooden platforms on the beach. We had returned to the twentieth century and paradise.

Waititu waved to the bartender. “He is my brother-in-law. I will order Tusker beer for us.”

“I don’t drink beer,” I apologized. “Maybe white wine?”

“I will ask for the best wine.”

A short while later a waitress brought our drinks and a plate of samosas.

“ Asante ,” I said.

“ Karibu ,” she replied.

Everything tastes better at the beach; this meal was no exception. Once we’d eaten our fill, Mike got down to business.

“Thanks for today,” Mike began.

“You are most welcome,” Waititu said. “I can show you more of the city, beaches, and countryside.”

“Actually, we’re here for work,” Mike said.

Waititu put down his beer. “Yes, that is what Obuya told me. May I ask what is your business?”

“Sunstar Industries. We’re into farming.”

My heart pounded. Don’t blow it, Mike.

“Kenya has much farmland. What is your crop?”

Seconds of silence surrounded us.

“Marijuana,” Mike whispered.

“ Bangi . You know it is illegal here in Kenya.” Waititu didn’t appear surprised.

“Yeah, same as the States, but that don’t keep us from growin’ and smokin’,” Mike said.

Waititu smiled. “Many things are illegal, but many people are for sale.”

“Are you for sale?” I asked.

“I can help you, but it will take time and money,” Waititu said.

“We got both. I’ll start by buyin’ you another beer.” Mike signaled the waitress, who brought another round of drinks.

“To new business ventures,” Mike said.

“Cheers!” Waititu said.

We gave Waititu a generous tip. He promised to meet us with an update in a few days.

“I hope you had a pleasant day,” Obuya greeted us back at the hotel.

“We did.” I showed him my treasures from Today’s Market.

“Something to remember your visit,” Obuya said.

“Thank you for introducing us to Waititu. He was very helpful,” I said.

“Yes, he knows many people.” Something about Obuya’s smile told me he knew what we were up to.

“C’mon, doll. Time for a shower.” Mike nudged me toward the elevator.

Once in the elevator, Mike said, “Be careful what you say to him. We don’t wanna blow our cover at the hotel.”

“I have a feeling word travels fast around here. Anyway, like Waititu said, everybody’s for sale.”

“He said many people, not everybody,” Mike argued.