THE NEIGHBOUR’S TEMPTATION

 I’ve heard of moving Companies and on a few occasions seen some on a couple of TV Series. Designated Survivor, 24, and the list go on. However, that is as good as it gets. Personally, I don’t know a single moving company. When my moving day came, I went to the shop I frequented, Esther’s shop (She has the best overdraft Sukuma wiki) which is beside Trizzah’s fries joint in Keffinco. Not the gated community, of course, that would be for the Indians who run the Chandarana Supermarket. The road in between is a clear demarcation of social classes, and I was on the other side of it. I got a list of moving companies in town, the first on the list was expensive so after a few calls, I settled for Maganji’s multipurpose tuk-tuk, fairly reasonable rates and he also happened to know where I was headed, which would save me the burden of having to shout left and right every two minutes.

Within fifteen minutes, I was curdled with my three comrade belongings, husked around by the moving three-wheeler that almost sounded like an old roaring posho mill on wheels. The sound was almost unbearable, I could hear the utensils shaking although I had my earphones on. It was fairly dark outside, the ideal conditions for such an event. I kept reminiscing the good times I had spent at Jua Kali zone in Keffinco as we sped through the night like Alladin on his magic carpet. Good is an overstatement of Keff. It infused a sense of belonging and yet at the same time a premonition, kind of bittersweet, and I got hooked on that. A halt of the rattling generator engine of the moving chariot brought me quickly back to reality. We had arrived at our destination. Sichirayi was the place, quite subtle compared to Keff and safer (so they said). “This is a beginning of a new journey,” I told myself as I started unpacking my things.

“Well, well, well, I guess you are the new neighbor. You are quite handsome compared to our previous neighbor,” a female voice said behind my back. In most cases being called handsome would make me blush but that day I felt nervous, and my spine felt cold (between me and you, I blushed a little.) My mind went sub-zero as I turned to see the owner of that voice. She was lovely. A pretty face, a confident smile, a bosom not too big not too small (just the right amount), and a tight denim pair of trousers that revealed her well-crafted curves. Her gender would not have all these attributes embodied into one physique, but she had it all. She was a ten, a pretty- ten- red flag.

She offered to help in settling and moving my belongings to my new house. The chivalry and a low-key thought of my three belongings pushed me to refuse the offer but she insisted. She was funny, or maybe I thought she was, blinded by her beauty, of course, was I though? It took us a few hours to settle in (She did most of the cleaning, the floor, the window, and the private room). She then invited me over to her place for supper. Her house was just across mine. 9 P.M was the time.  Who could turn down such an offer?

I hated rainy days More so, the nights. Cold sips through your single body with insolent boldness and tenacity. Seated next to her warm tender skin I enjoyed the ugali, wet fried meat, and kales. The food tasted different, delicious, and fulfilling. It was as if I was having that meal for the first time. She was wearing an oversized knitted polo sweater and socks (I think that’s all she had on). We talked for a while, as I waited for the rain to recede, but it did not. Instead, it continued to pour with a fearsome crescendo as if it was mocking my discomfort. I think she noticed, she then stood up seductively, exposing her bottom, headed to her small refrigerator, and brought out a bottle of Four Cousins and two glasses. We drank a couple and for a while as our talks and the rain intensified. Blackouts and rains go hand in hand. We were suddenly in the dark, she claimed to be afraid, she moved closer to me, and I felt her hair on my chest, her skin brushing with mine as she moved up, then, a touch.