I will tell you something we people of Maua don’t like hearing but is true. Miraa is a drug! That’s right and I’m saying it again, Miraa is a drug.
Read: Baite Inside! Yes, I am Meru
But then, so is weed, and alcohol, and coffee, and tea. Especially coffee and tea – those are the closest there is to Miraa. It all depends on the amount you take.
See, when we veveka, we do it from early evening, around 5:00 pm to past midnight. Imagine for a minute, taking that much coffee, and what it would do to your mind. It would not make you mad, or impotent, or anything dramatic, but it will stimulate you so much you will hallucinate.
And you will hear, or have heard stories of miraa exploits.
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One evening, Kero, Musila, Awilo and others are enjoying a giant session of miraa at Plot 10. The fun with miraa is you can chew it anywhere and have all the fun. So, they are seated outside with their sodas and cheeks full of the green gold. Why am I not outside with them? It’s because I am addicted to this desktop computer I bought after getting the long awaited Census 2009 money. So, I’m designing graphics using Microsoft Word, while giving them a dose of reggae.
Miraa and Roots Reggae are twins.
This goes on till very late, 3:00 in the morning, when I see Awilo at the door staring at me helplessly, holding his cheeks like a poor, distressed boy. I ask him what he’s doing.
“I want to get in the house”
“This is not a classroom, man. Do I have to tell you to get in?”
“Can’t you see I can’t fit on the door?”
“What”
“Look at these horns.” He says, pushing his cheeks in. “Pull me in.”
It takes me a few minutes worrying what could be going on. Who has bewitched this gallant soldier? You know how it is back in the village, the best are bewitched by jealous neighbours. But I don’t fear witchcraft, so, I walk to the door, and take his desperately outstretched hand. He comes in, thanking me profusely for saving his ass.
He gets into bed, the same bed that has like 4 other grown people, male and female, and I go back to my Virtual DJ. Occasionally, he is apologizing to the rest of the occupants for pricking them with his horns.
That’s handas.
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Where’s the itch?
Miraa is best enjoyed in a kiosk. That’s why there are Miraa kiosks. You sit on benches and crates and chase veve with soda, coffee, njugu karanga and most importantly, stories. Stories of national importance and development. Because that’s what Miraa does to you – it activates your reasoning.
When I get into politics, which is never, I’ll move a bill to have parliament sessions done with Miraa. This country will be visionary.
And the stories shika. Like, a lot. Everyone presents their ideas, and everyone contributes with real life experiences and examples. A piece in the news (there’s always a TV or radio and reggae is paused when news come on) can be discussed for 5 hours, whatever that news is. Like that time we discussed the over-subscribed Safaricom shares, which some of the participants in the room, as villagey as they were, had bought.
So, a couple of guys are seated on a bench enjoying their veve and stories. Kimathi feels an itch on the leg… And he stretches his hand to scratch the itch off. He even closes his eyes to enjoy the scratch, which he carries on for almost a minute. Kujikuna is always sweet.
Only that he is not scratching his leg – he is enjoying kunaing someone else. The other guy barely notices, but other people see, simply raise eyebrows and go back to their stories.
Miraa comes with itches, especially when you feel like scratching the back of your head, that’s handas manifesting.
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Rebuilding KICC
Have you heard building castles in the air? With Miraa, you are super rich, super powerful. You see possibilities everywhere. Things flow. In your mind.
Like this time we were redoing KICC, giving it a fresh outlook, making it much taller that World Trade Centre which was the tallest building we knees. We event repainted it dark green, with the Safaricom green between the windows.
We even replaced Jomo Kenyatta’s statue with Bob Marley in rasta colours. Oh, it was a glorious sight.
3 grown men and a lady, seated in Uhuru Park, changing the Nairobi landscape.
You should try to chew while studying, man! That’s what helped us as we approached those CPA exams. Again, things flowed. The only problem was keeping the mid from wandering. Because one minute you are here, the next minute you are playing Drogba’s position in Chelsea FC.
That’s handas.
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This Bus is Cheaper
And I think that’s what was troubling one legend, I don’t remember his name. But he was out vevekaing in one of those Moi Avenue clubs (btw, clubs should stop banning Miraa, even if we spit green stuff everywhere, we are much more peaceful than the drunkards).
Where were were? See my mind wandering. Yes, so, this legend decides to go home, and there are no matatus. He asks a taxi guy how much it would cost to take him to Umoja and the guy says Sh. 1,500… which out guy doesn’t have. So, he keeps walking down the street – Accra Road, and comes across those Mombasa buses. The tours are shouting it’s Sh. 800 to Mombasa.
You know what happens next. Long story short, handas start ending in Mtito Andei.
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Have you ever heard the Meru hip hop song called I Kalaa Ndarîte (It’s Miraa I had chewed) by Maua’s finest Red C Media? Well, it gives outlandish Miraa experiences like, seeing a millipede and thinking it’s a train, seeing a grasshopper and thinking it’s a helicopter, a frog that looked like a boat, hearing clear voices, and others.
The song was understandably banned from social spaces and met with a clap back called Tî Kalaa i Mîtî îngî oorîte (It’s not Miraa you had chewed, it’s other plants you had eaten/smoked).
I think the second one was truer. Miraa handas shows you things, but not that manner of things.
Ama namna gani?
Image Credits: The Star (Main image)
