That’s why while I was
obsessing with ceremonial prestige and my (perceived) intellectual superiority,
my boy Skinny will go to the Tijania Fashions, buys stuff for five and resells
them to me at ten, and he will be like: “Star, I saw these diplomatic stuff and
I knew you’d love them.” Then he’d wrap the deal with: “Intellectual nga,
belahi.”
Now he has his own shop
and drives a BMW, and I, a piece of shit; a Vectra 1995, 'howma' 2002 probably
1988 Model. And no, I’m not blaming Skinny for any wrongdoing. As a matter of
fact, I admire his ingenuity. He turned me
into a permanent consumer, and himself, an entrepreneur… ‘defa ehwoo.’
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