ThEsther

Esther. That’s right. The Star.

Or as my little brother would put it, “The Artistic Superwoman of Substance with a refined personality coupled with an aura of polished air of resilient nobility.” Smooth, huh? Yeah, Professor Biwott is smooth like that. I mean, he is my brother. And my brother was looking for an Artistic Superwoman of Substance with a refined personality coupled with an aura of polished air of resilient nobility. I do not believe in coincidence much but I see a pattern here. Correct me if I’m wrong but I think I just got myself a shemeji. Just the thought of that makes me have a “Pain in my Shest” and “I can’t breaf.” Even George Lopez would share in my pain in my shest if he heard about this insanity. I really wanted a much younger shemeji, you know.

But she is the kind of person that changes your life. You stay with her an hour and wish for twenty three more. I lived with her for a while in our little artistic blue crib filled with hair products, coffee, scarves, black clothes, laughter, intelligence, laughter. A lot of laughter and a dose of sadness and silliness. The sadness and the silliness always came together. What with the Goat “matatas” and the Grift rift. The “I’M DONE!s” and the “We are strong independent women, c’mon we don’t need that shit.”

28th November.
11th December.
18th January.

Even 1st April! We don’t need that shit. Money over men. We are strong, independent women. African women. Esther’s hair can testify. I was talking about our ritro crib and its fine carpets, divine curtains and two duvets, one as black as the night. Wonder how we ever woke up? We woke up to work. Work, something some people may not understand. And when I did not have work, it certainly did not mean I could sleep comfortably as Esther wrote and wished she were me. Man, she pressed that keyboard hard like a mad woman. And made money just as hard like a mad woman. Or how do you think we bought these matchie-matchie, most expensive shoes I have ever owned? Well, M-Shwari may have chipped in a little bit but well… Our blue room felt homelier than anything ever. I was the happiest pirate ever recorded. ‘Cause it’s recorded. Right here. Jepchu is eternally grateful. That was one phase of her life she is thankful she didn’t miss. But now I have my GreenRoom which she keeps popping in like I stole something from her BlueRoom. Girl!

And her BlueRoom is now an Art Museum. Clearly, I was standing in the way of art, or my presence itself was art enough, and there was no use adding any more.

Speaking of green, remember the numerous green lights and red lights and green lights and red lights and green lights? When your times were good, mine were bad. When my light were red, that was when yours shone like they didn’t pay electricity bills. GREEN. Green as your Ingrams. Those times, I even try to talk to you but you don’t want to look at me. So I WhatsApp you but no, you do not want that either. I am coming in between the two names. I am disturbing the flow, you said. But now you do the same to me but you put it slightly different. “No, Jepchu, I am not disturbing your flow. I am maintaining the Barriers of Christ. Separating the good from evil”. Lady, who are you?

“Time should be your friend, Sharon. Not your enemy.”
More famous quotes by Esther: “Avocado should be your friend, Sharon. Not your enemy.”
“School should be your friend, Sharon. Not your enemy.”
And I ask myself how many friends I should have. I know I am a lonely person. But I am a happy, lonely person, Esther. I do not need more friends, and especially if that friend is avocado. I definitely don't need no friends, especially if those friends are avocado-like douche pants.
But I, too, picked up the line. “If person X will be your husband, then Esther, John Grisham should be your friend, not your enemy.”
It worked. She read the whole of “The Associate.”
Probably this is why she started formulating quotes that do not involve friends and enemies. “The higher you climb, the harder the fall.”

Some days, Esther could just jump into some funny character. Cate, for example. You know, Cate… Joe. Singing “Happy Birthday, Joe”, I’ve got my Ray and everything? ...Sharon looking pretty as ever; Linda, sexy as ever and Mildred with her boobs everywhere? Wow, Esther, you’ve got some fine lines. The Aloe Vera is doing you good. It’s not only nourishing your hair, your hairline, your hair roots, your hair all those things that mean the world to you. It is seeping through your skull, past your dandruff, if available (I’m sure there’s none given all the “water n oil” spray ritual that you conduct faithfully on a 7x1 basis), and into your skull. The Aloe Vera is now safely in your brain. Gal, you have a cracked skull. You a crackhead? Ne’er doubted that for a second.

Let me just ask you this. All those hair products, what’s your deal? I even suggested you open a hair clinic that we will name “Esthair Products”. Coconut oil, Bentonite clay, Chia seeds, Mustard seeds, Apple Cider vinegar, cocoa, eggs, avocado, cinnamon, bicarbonate of soda, Mayonnaise, Argan oil and many other names I cannot pronounce. But one that I can never fail to know to pronounce is Fenugreek seeds. By Jove, that thing smells nasty! It make us walk around smelling like we fried our hair with Royco. And I’m kinda bearing that burden on my head right now. So, next time you are lucky enough to hug me, don’t smell my hair. Or smell my hair and twist your nose a little but don’t say a word. Don’t disqualify our friendship on that basis. Don’t let Fenugreek seeds come between us. Fenugreek seeds come and go but our hugs should endure forever.

But never mess with Mama Kwame’s hair. Do anything, cut her legs off, chop off her ears, she doesn’t need them. But let her hair be. Buy her a nice hair product approved by her and you will be best friends. Show her some information on the internet about healthy African hair and she just might marry you. She will be sobbing like, “I’d like to thank my mum, my dad, and my parents.” It will lead to some serious ‘Harmonisation and increased productivity.’

That reminds me: the differences between VAT and Sales Tax. You know, with VAT being the woman and Sales Tax with all its bad qualities, of course, being the man. The riterare rogarithimic equations, the ritro conversations in the midro of the night. The Aloe Vera and the craze to live healthy and then ruining it all by Detoxifrying (the art of detoxifying your body with fries). And the prophecies (Hey yo, who I gonna marry now?), the difficot times. Abu’s place. I feel like this is where I bring in BP.

B without BP is like a car without an engine. BP is the best friend we will ever have. In fact, if you want to be my friend of Esther’s go consult BP. Bompo will tell you about the difficots, the juice, Labamba, the funny memes, the nice chapati at their home, the “liar liar pants on fire” and how they’d planned to sabotage my date so that we all remain single forever. Those little devils.

The first thing you will notice when you see Mama Kwame is that she is all African. From her WhatsApp (I’ve always wondered if it’s statuses, stati or just status), profile photo, the books she reads, her clothes and of course her hair. I only pity her kids. She insists that Kwame Beberu, Hazel Nazari and Biko will dress African to the waist cloth. I can already hear Nazari saying, “Mama, Nice has beautiful bikinis that her dad bought her in Budapest but I have to wear these ugly prints and look uncool in school. I hate you mama. You suck!” I hear her slamming the door. She doesn’t speak to Esther for another two days. I can see that Beberu does not change his clothes in public. He doesn’t say it but I know he hates the African print boxers to the bone. Cool guy. Like his dad. Biko is the one that subscribes totally to his mother’s beliefs and philosophies. He carries a weird-looking, healthy concoction in an Africa-shaped bottle to school in the place of a tasty beverage. His hair smells like Royco. He already has a nice, black, shiny afro. The apple of his mother’s eye. The child after her own heart. But it won’t be too bad because I will be there. Their cool aunt will be there for them. For Nazari and Beberu, I will be their saviour. Their knight in shining armor. We will detoxifry once in a while, and Esther will not know.

And the smoothies they will drink. The overwhelming amount of Aloe Vera they will subject their little digestive systems to, and spray on their hairs. Nazari will go off to boarding school at eight. She will go to college abroad and never come back. She will marry a white guy that hates Africans but somehow loves her. It will break Esther’s heart. She will feel a pain in her shest and she won’t breaf.
The most important thing this Spidergirl (Nigerian accent) did for me was help me make very important bad decisions in my life. If I had not made those bad decisions, I would still be a wreck. But I made one particular bad decision and it’s the reason I will be eternally happy.  Thank you Mama Beberu. Dhanks. The walks along Arboretum Road, Statehouse Road and all those places, all those topics. Sisters over Misters, Goat, small bradha, Ngong, Grift… When after that we felt like we could rule the world, even with just our hips. Well, my hips and your hind hips. 412, 208. Those numbers ring a bell? And when someone said “Beb”. Remember? So wrong.

It was funny how you let messages marinade and how you expertly snoozed your alarm, lying that you’re off to your brother’s, stealing Biwott from me.  I would steal Jose but Jose doesn’t chase, he replaces. I would steal Aaron but Aaron ako na warembo wake. "Warembo na Aaron". How you got a small rash on your face and couldn’t sleep because you have three acnes. Then applying Bentonite Clay on your face and looking like a Nigerian ghost.

A whole suitcase of memories, I tell ya.
Remember the song:

Why worry, when you can copy
Trust in Davie, he knows the way
Don’t be a doubting Esther, just lean upon his answers
Why worry, worry, worry, when you can copy!

When we feared the prEdicaments dancing at the door. So funny, such a wonderful enigma you are.

I could go on but I think this is where I apologise. Sorry about yesterday. It was necessary. It had to be done, somehow. Happy April Fools’ Day!