I bought a tie. A spiffing red tie with thin discreet red stripes. I’m no expert on ties, but I can tell a sexy tie when I see one and I can also tell a tie that looks like a camel’s tongue when I see one. This tie was sexy. I bought it off this bloke called Kinywa who runs a mitumba shop in Jamia mosque. Kinywa is one of those sharp dressers who talk with a drawl and walk with swag. You know his type, no? You know the type who in their stall is always some innocent college chick sitting obediently at the corner like she is waiting to see the headmaster? A chick who worships Kinywa, which is understandable because Kinywa will get you anything! Nakumat stole their strap “you need it, we got it” from Kinywa. Rock up there with a copy of GQ and tell him you want a certain pant or bag or whatever in the pages and he will scratch his chin and say in a drawl, “Haina noma mzee wangu, hiyo utaget.” And his word is all he got. If he doesn’t have it, he always knows where to get it. Just give him time. Kinywa is a businessman extraordinaire. He is a true hustler and hustlers never say no.
I don’t wear ties. Ties are for stiffs. What am I, a banker? (No offense to your boyfriend Tets). But I had this big-deal job interview coming up and it required me to suit up and tie a noose around my neck. My goodness it would have been easier if they had asked me to show up for the interview in a bra. But a tie?! Christ!
But like I always say if you are going to do something wrong, do it right. I have always promised myself that if I ever was going to tie a tie I would tie a sexy tie, like the ones in Madmen, 1960’s cool. Slim and slender like an anorexic Russian model.
Kinywa hooked me up.
There was a little problem; I can’t tie a tie (Kantai, you there?). The only person who can tie a mean tie is my kid brother, but he lives 45mins away from me. Faced with daunting options I did what Jesus would have done; went to my landlord’s house in the evening and asked for an audience with the man. My landlord like any landlord is Kuyu. Great chap. Sober guy. Rich guy. I hate him like I hate everybody who is rich. Me and him, we get along fine. We hardly ever interact because the landlady receives the rent; I bet he doesn’t know how much I pay in rent. But since we share a parking lot I normally meet him once in a while in the morning when he is getting into his car a Volvo S70 (Did I mention that I hate this guy?). The trick of not having your rent knocked upwards is to flatter your landlord. So I’m always telling him that I love his suit even if it looks like a gunny bag. Or his tie. I’m always calling out; “I see all the swimming is paying off sir,” or “Keep your barber, that guys is precious.” Basically unapologetically and unashamedly kissing his ass. But the perks that come with all that glib are well worth it!
Anyway, he comes to the kitchen door and since this is totally out of character and perhaps improper (it’s shortly after 7pm so he could be sitting for dinner- I hear older people eat early…putting in appearances would relate I’m sure) I apologized for shadowing his doorstep at the late hour and sort of sheepishly asked if he could help me tie my tie. He chuckled and asked me to come in and I politely declined because then they would be compelled to
offer me something boring like tea, and I hate tea. So we stood at the kitchen door and that’s when he started showing off. You can tell someone who is showing of because they act like whatever they are doing can only be done by an elitist few. He didn’t need to try and impress me, I liked him already….or rather his car.
“What’s the occasion?” he asked while he twirled and curled my tie.
“Well, big meeting tomorrow.”
“Hmm…”
More twirling, hands twist and loops form.
“Have you been okay?” he asked.
“Yes, can’t complain.”
“Baby okay?”
“She no longer a baby, she a woman now. They grow up when you in the bathroom shaving.”
“Hahaha…they sure do.”
He completed the knot but regarded it for a second before deciding it wasn’t good enough, so he started all over again.
“What kind of tie is this anyway?” he asked after a while. I think he was having a problem trying this baby up and he was too proud to admit it.
“Er, it’s called a pencil tie.”
Groan
“I don’t suppose you like it.” I chuckled.
“Well, it’s too thin.” (He’s almost 60)
“That’s the beauty actually,”
“It being thin?” he looked up somewhat bewildered.
“Yes.”
Deep breath.
“Why didn’t you just buy a normal tie?”
Because I don’t want to look like a bored banker (again Tets, no offense) I almost said but I didn’t. He finished and the product was a neat British knot. He gave me the knot to admire and while I was thanking him he took back the tie and pulled it apart before handing it over “Now tie it.”
Anyway, I wore this tie half the day and I felt like Borat. People stared. I’m sure some made wisecracks about it. To tie a tie after something like 6years is to feel like a fish out of a bowl, the discomfiture is excessive so is the self consciousness; I felt like a caricature. Then there was the heat. I don’t know how people wear ties the whole day and walk around without feeling watery. And as the sun became hotter the knot seemed to adjust itself tightly…like a noose.
For all my trouble, the interview went like a car in a skid. First they kept me waiting in a room with a small television that was hang waaay up in the ceiling that you needed a periscope to watch. But that wasn’t even my qualms; problem was they were showing this unbelievable Afrosinema movie about medicine men and women with bleached faces and men who wore loin clothes around their loins. Showing Afrosinema in your waiting room shows what kind of a company you are, I’m just saying. Anyway I suffered this for a whole excruciating 45mins and in that time there were no apologies, no offers for water or juice or even a pad and pen to write a suicide note…just Afrosinema and a medicine man with a chalked face who was supposed to be real scary. I was scared all right…for myself,. Things got worse on the inside when the five interviewers refused to introduce themselves even when I politely asked them to. But I wasn’t offended by then because that medicine man had prepared me for something like that.
I blame all these to that tie,
a surely jinxed tie. I’m losing any sort of tie going forward because like my friend always says, ties only makes sense in bed.