Any person who climbs and stands at the Haile Selassie footbridge near our Landhies-Ring Road roundabout must be both courageous and strong. Strong because otherwise an unknown friend will smoke you out. And when you reach out there you will discover that the only thing you have left on you is you. Of course people will watch the whole movie in awe. But stand guided that nobody will rescue you because the fate that has you standing there is the same one that says you become the boy-child of nature. Continue reading “Out There”
Keeping quiet is a powerful exercise to the mind. But the girls sitting next to me don’t know anything about this. Over the last hour they’ve howled, cried, shrieked, mooed and I don’t know what else is in store for the remaining distance. I’m traumatised already. Next time I’ll think hard before accepting to sit in a bus next to girls with small painted lips. Instead of planning how to take progress to the village, I’ve been reduced to a man in need of a psychiatrist’s number. Continue reading “Birthday Queen”
On evenings when I leave Patel’s early enough, I spend my time on the mattress basking in the dark and musing over the sins I’ve committed under the sun. Some of them amuse me and I laugh. Some remind me that I am stupid and I really feel it. I am that sentimental that something I did in 1927 still haunts me and makes me ashamed even when alone and in the confines of this thing whose rent I pay myself.
Maybe that is how I should live. It looks like the perfect life cycle of a poor man. Do good, regret the good all your life, die, get forgotten, reincarnate as a dog, get beaten up for bones you didn’t steal, get knocked down by a truck, die….
When you’ve been hunting money in Nairobi for long enough and now a burnout has accumulated in your small head, time usually comes for you to lay down your tools and go back home.
You will feel it. Home beckoning. Through dreams. Psychiatric fits. Ancestors calling. Your neighbour will start to annoy you. The weather will get ugly. You will contract a funny tooth ache. Tidings of spirits buried deep in the village pleading that their own goes check on where the umbilical cord was buried. Continue reading “Going Home”