I am in the latrine now. Baba says that my ancestors need my urine so that they can cure me and I can finally get Jenny back. This latrine is not mine, it’s not even ours. It belongs to Baba. This Baba is not my father. He is our Baba, maybe, depending on how you look at it. My own father should have looked for ways to get me out of this predicament. But he didn’t.

This Baba’s latrine is small and the walls are made of mud and it does not have a roof; not even a grass thatch. This is why my shoulder is touching one of the walls and the sun is hitting my head and the gods are staring at my pee pee thing as I hold the empty Fanta Bottle in place so that I can fetch urine for Baba.

“Ngai Fafa!” I curse because nothing is coming out. I struggle and struggle and nothing is coming out. I bite my lower lip and push and push and puuuush. Nothing. Just a fart. Not a loud fart but a high pitched one that sounds like someone struggling to make a sound when their neck is tied with a rope.

I need to relax, so I look up at the sky and imagine good things. Good things like Jenny. Like father, no, not like father. Good things like mother. Like that girl in the bush when we were young and she allowed me to touch her thing and she touched mine and she giggled. I guess she had never touched another or she could not have giggled. 

There…yes… there, it’s finally coming. Tat! Tat! Tat! Three drops only and nothing more. This is not going to be enough. I need to drink water. I don’t know whether it is okay to drink or eat from Baba’s place.

I am doing my zip now so that I can go and ask Baba for water. 

Do I really need to do this? It’s not like there is much to see, I am thinking. But my thoughts are interrupted and I stand there gazing and wishing it was me, thinking why do they have to enjoy themselves like this?

“Lucky bastards,” I say to the two love lizards on the wall. They are not hunting for flies, they are not looking at me and they are not even seeing me because they have both closed their eyes. They are not closing their eyes so that they will get enough urine to put into an empty Fanta bottle to take to Baba, so that they can get cured and finally get Jenny back.

All of a sudden I am angry. Angry at myself, angry at Jenny for leaving and at father for passing his smallness to me,  at these two stupid lizards for making love in front of me when Jenny has left me because my pee pee thing is not good enough.

“Stupid! Stupid Bastards,” I curse them for real and I don’t know whether it is the lizards or father or Jenny that I am cussing at. I walk out leaving the door to the toilet gaping open. There is no door really but a torn sack dangling and half-heartedly covering the entrance to the latrine. I am still cussing when I bump into someone.

“Ngai, pole,” I apologize to a heavily built woman, who has too much blue lipstick on her lips.  

Who the hell applies blue lipstick? I wonder whether she too has a small pee pee thing and Baba has sent her to the latrine to bring urine. I wonder whether her husband left her also because of her small pee pee thing.

The compound is small, like the bad CDF Clinic back in our village that has never had medicine since its construction. No, bad description. This compound has cars, many, many cars and because it is so small and the cars are many, it gives the impression of a woman wearing a sexy bra that is fifteen sizes smaller.

There are no people, just cars and cars. I think the owners of these cars are hiding somewhere, waiting for their turn to see Baba. Baba’s hut, which is brown mud and grass-thatched looks misplaced in front of all these cars. Just before the entrance to Baba’s hut, a small boy sits and fans himself. He registers people and collects money for Baba after he has treated people of their Asthma or love or pee pee or etc problems.

I walk over to him. I do not talk to him. He told me before not to talk unless he talks to me.

“What?” He asks when he sees the empty Fanta bottle.

“Water,” I say.

“250,” He says. 

Two what? Two what you son of  Jajuok?

“You are selling?”

“Go get some from your mother’s house,” he says and continues fanning himself. 

Go fuck your mother I want to say. But then I remember that it is not his fault that I have a small pee pee thing. I also fear that he might tell Baba that I am not good and Baba may send me away. So I calm down.

“He…umn…eeeh…” I am smiling sheepishly. I am smiling sheepishly to a small boy whose pee pee thing has not even been cut, stupid boy.

“Here, two fifty. Actually have this extra ten so that you can buy something for yourself.” I hand him money and smile sheepishly.

“Use your ten shillings to buy panties for your girlfriend,” he says and hands me back the ten.

He goes inside and brings water in an old cup. Old and plastic and creased. More creased than Baba’s face.

I am back to the toilet now. The love lizards are gone. So I don’t feel bad. The blue lipstick woman is also not here. So it’s just me and flies and my small pee pee thing. It’s been thirty minutes since I drank from that old creased cup and I am hoping that the water will have become urine by now.

I remove and point at the bottle and push. Nothing.

“Do me nice, do me nice and come out” I am begging in my head.

I relax and think about Jenny. How we had made love in the first days. Me pushing my thing in-between her legs and shoving and it coming out and she laughing and me feeling bad and returning it again only for it to come out and she screaming.

“Do me now, please do meeeee,” she would scream. “Fingers, fingers use your fingeeeeer,” she would shout and I would do her with my fingers until she stopped shouting.

But those days were nice because she was not complaining. That was okay until we went to her pastor to seek guidance on how to survive this.

“Has it always been like this since you were young?” The pastor asked after me telling him my problem.

“I…I don’t know, it never occurred to me to check,” I said. Jenny was there smiling nicely and believing that our problems would be solved.

Pastor stood up, started praying slowly, his pitch rising with every word. Suddenly, he opened his eyes.

“Come,” He said. I rose up and looked at Jenny and she was smiling and believing that our problems had come to an end. Pastor took me to a small room with a big red carpet and he told me that my pee pee thing had been bewitched that’s why it was not growing.

“We have to beat the devil out. Open your legs.”

I did as he told me. Then he started commanding the devil out. Commanding the devil out and beating it out of my pee pee thing because that is where the devil was apparently hiding. Hitting again and speaking in tongues and I felt like he was going to break it but he did not think so because he hit and hituntil I closed my legs and fell on the floor.

As suddenly as he started, he stopped and said something and left, locking the door from outside.

Has someone ever hit your pee pee thing? Now multiply that with the million blows that the pastor dealt on my thingie and still you won’t be able to imagine the pain I was feeling. Hot attacking pain that blinded me and I fell unconscious.

I woke up to the sounds of do me now, please do meeeee and There…Oh yeah… yes pastor  and more sounds of Jenny begging for more.

***

This thought triggers something in me and the urine comes out. Half bottle. Enough to please the ancestors. I walk out.

“Go,” Small boy at the entrance to Baba’s hut says after I hand him the Fanta bottle that has my urine.

“But I have not seen…”

“Go and come back on Wednesday.”

“Wednesday?”

“Yes and bring the balance,” he says and starts fanning himself, sign enough that he is not talking to me anymore.

I walk away, thinking about the two goats that I have already given to Baba and all the M-Pesa transactions of money sent to Dennis Macharia even though the sign board read that he was a witch doctor from Tanzania, thinking about the urine and cussing and cussing and hoping that this will work.

I will finally get a big pee pee thing so that I can show Jenny and say, “Look, I now have a proper pee pee thing, please come back.”

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About Author

Mwangi Joseph Macharia is a budding writer from Kenya. With a keen imaginative eye, he writes what he sees, when he sees it, how he sees it. He has a Bachelor of Arts Degree- Literature from the University of Nairobi.

9 Comments

  1. abdullah omar on

    oh pole what a night mare!next time do not overindulge before bedtime.it could be worse than dreaming small dreams

  2. abdullah omar on

    bye the way it never came out strongly where the deficiency was !was it a proboscis you were looking for deeper penetration or an anvil to arrest a hemorrhage?but those in the know tell me neither is pivotal in the awakening of the venus!

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