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Malindi italian stories: "The Sappe"

10-09-2020 by Marco "Sbringo" Bigi

The first time I met the Sappe was during one of my first flights to Kenya.
That time I was traveling alone, with my nose attached to the window and the Sappe was sitting right next to me. 
Grey was his long wavy hair and equally grey was his big mustache that covered a wrinkled smile of those who had seen so many in life. 
The creased shirt and pants, witnesses of a remote elegance and a pair of sandals completed the image of that man. 
He chatted amiably in English with an African boy who occupied the third seat.
"The descent towards Mombasa has begun - announced the flight attendant from his station - the landing is expected in twenty minutes, the weather on the ground is good and the temperature is twenty-eight degrees. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.
From the window I could see the immensity of the Indian Ocean and, almost between me and myself, I murmured: "At last!
"Is this the first time?" my neighbor asked me cheerfully, smiling.
"The second time," I replied, smiling back, "but it's always exciting.
"Imagine, it is also for me despite it is from years that I do not return to Italy, I arrive from Addis Ababa, I go there for a week every six months to redo the tourist visa. By now I have put down roots in Malindi. 
Pleasure!" and he shook my hand vigorously presenting himself as "the Sappe". 
"They call me this way because I know a little bit about everything and everyone".
"I realize that if you don't have a nickname in Malindi you are nobody, mine is Ric Giambo" I said, and he burst into a thunderous laugh. 
"How true it is! Imagine that I find it hard to remember what my real name is!"
Then he lowered his tone of voice and asked me, almost whispering in my ear: "Listen, did you by any chance call a driver to go to Malindi?".
"Yes, he is waiting for me at the airport.
He confabulated for a few seconds with his seat neighbor and then he turned to me again: "It's not that we could go with you, sharing the travel expenses, of course".
"If the driver has no problem and if there is room for all the luggage, it will be a pleasure for me".
"Ah, I only have hand luggage and Francis only has one trolley".
I lean forward to say goodbye to Francis, a young Kenyan looking young man with a smart look who reciprocates my "Habari" with a smiling "Mzuri sana".
And so, between waiting for the luggage and the long drive I discover that Sappe is, in fact, a well of knowledge, of all kinds of topics he knows something: "Many say that when Wikipedia was not there, you either consulted the Garzantina or asked the Sappe.
Arrived in Malindi, it's time to divide the expenses of the trip and, while Francis gives me his share, the Sappe, who asked the driver to pull over, tells me: "Now I don't have them, I'll bring them to you tomorrow morning at ten o'clock in the morning at the bar", and if na it's all going to a dilapidated building.
Those who frequent the bars of Malindi know very well that every morning it is enough to sit down, order a coffee and look around to see a carousel of characters whose peculiarities can far exceed the imagination of any brilliant novelist.
It's an important moment of socializing in which, while sipping an espresso as good and as small as in no other foreign country in the world, one can exchange chatter, information, sign contracts, and return the money lent...
No, this last thing doesn't seem to be very fashionable, in fact, I go to the bar at ten o'clock in the morning for a series of mornings, but I don't see any Sappe.
"He was here a little while ago, he left just before you arrived".
The days go by and sometimes I think I see him in the distance hiding his face behind his hand and changing direction.
I ask those who have known Malindi longer than I have and in the end the picture is defined.
The Sappe is a man who has known a past of well-being, fame, success at work and then, slowly, he has been reduced - because of the Casino, some dishonest partners and women - to living on gimmicks. 
He has stopped playing now, but he keeps all the money he receives from his pension in order to keep on having love relationships with some very nice students from Nairobi who can't wait to give languid glances to the Mzungu.
The fact is that in Malindi, over the last few years, there have been a lot of people waiting for the Sappe at ten o'clock at the bar to get back small or large loans.
I think about it for a moment and decide that it is not for that twenty euro - which I would have spent travelling alone anyway - that I am willing to miss the opportunity to deepen my knowledge with such an interesting character.
And so, the next morning I arrive at the bar at nine. Without being seen, I spot the table at which the Sappe is sitting with a beautiful Kenyan girl and, arriving four by four from behind, I grab a chair and sit down without asking permission. 
He looks at me with the expression of someone preparing to make a series of excuses, but I prevent him by saying in a reassuring voice: "Ah, for the money from the trip? No, don't worry, you'll give it to me when you have it. May I offer you a coffee?"
Relaxed the Sappe sits down, introduces me to Doris, who is really a delightful girl and we begin to talk about an unthinkable series of topics, from tides to maximum systems, it is really a pleasure to listen to him.
More than an hour goes by until I see him standing up. 
He slurps something and suddenly gets up and runs away. 
Evidently he saw a creditor and is forced to put the tried and tested escape tactic into practice again, who knows why I feel like looking at the clock: only one minute to ten o'clock.
I am left alone with Doris, who gives me a languid glance and, as a result, I invite her to come to the beach with me. 
She accepts with a mischievous smile, I take her under my arm and we set off.
As we get into my car, the Sappe arrives, breathless and evidently annoyed by the intimacy between Doris and me.
"Where are you going?"
"Don't worry - I answer in a reassuring voice - I'll bring her back tomorrow morning at ten o'clock at the bar!"

(The characters in this story are all imaginary, including the narrator. As for the facts told... well, those happen almost every day in Malindi).

TAGS: italiani kenyaracconti kenyastorie kenyail sappemarco sbringo bigi

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