Vipi sista that’s how he greets me every evening he passed by our place. Hamza is my husband’s youngest brother, I’m not sure if he came every day to see his brother or my son, Aziz. He made it his business to walk my son every evening after school and buy him snacks. Like I said, Aziz is a charming kid and nobody can say no to him and Hamza fell for his charm. If I wasn’t skeptical now after what happened to Aziz, I would say Hamza adored him. I’m not so sure right now, I gauge every person coming to my son, every mother would. On this particular day, I didn’t allow Hamza to walk my son or even see him for that matter. ‘But we always…’, ‘But nothing!’ I shouted back and walked away. His tongue was blue, I guess from the drugs he took, okay am not guessing, it is from the drugs. Oh did I forget to mention, Hamza is a drug addict. But I liked his heart; he was more kind and generous than his brother.
From time to time I felt sorry for their parents; they raised a drug addict and a low life ‘stay home’ looser aka, my husband. Hamza was 4 years younger than Hashim and the respect they had for each other was impeccable. They both didn’t have jobs and whenever I asked them what they do the answer was always the same, ‘hustling’. Wasn’t that the slogan of every youth in Mombasa? I didn’t care much about Hashim’s jobless life; I was focused on getting a new job and moving out of his house. I didn’t want to raise my child around that type of environment. With no motivation. The goal was to get it together and start a new and good life, just me and my baby. But I guess I took long and I will live to regret, if I decide to live that is.
It had been weeks since I found Aziz on a bed, lying like a zombie. Every time I asked Hashim I got the same response. And the more I asked the higher the tone of his voice got, ‘how do I know?’ So I decided to let it go and Aziz was getting back to normal, but I cut off the evening walks and outside games. He was to come straight home from school and never get out till I got home, he obeyed. This new system really bothered Hamza, when he thought I wasn’t around he would sneak in to give Aziz some snacks, chat with him and leave as fast as a deer immediately he heard my voice or my footsteps. It was kind of funny and suspicious at the same time, why was he insisting on seeing my son? It’s not like he was his nephew or something. Did he do something to my son? I would ask myself from time to time then just brush off the ‘bad thought’ because Aziz was now fine and healed. So probably he just hurt himself. Or did he?
My relationship with Hashim took a different turn. We were talking less. I was working twice as hard to get a job and I basically stopped doing all the things that would have you branded a ‘good wife’. One day when Hamza thought I was not around, he crept into the house and I tiptoed to listen closely to their conversation with my son. Before I knew it, I heard Aziz crying while whispering at the same time. I didn’t quite get what he was talking about and I didn’t wait to hear more, so I pulled some ‘flash’ stunt. Where I got the strength to lift up the 1920 washed out ‘home theatre’ I don’t know but I know when I aim I don’t miss. It hit him right on his head as he stumbled out the door while Aziz tried to pull up his pants bleeding. AGAIN.