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Events
happen that we never plan, but they just happen.
A
cousin and an uncle got really sick they had to go for medical checkup
prompting me to make a crass comment that the number of my kin kicking the
bucket had slimmed down in the recent years in my extended family.
Well,
there was a time my old man would journey from one interment to the other and I
kept asking myself what spell had befallen us to witness so many relations
succumbing in quick succession in a certain season. The portentous spate would
cease then another would befall us, again. One time in a skewed pattern, the
other in a string of events. Unforeseen as it was, the experiences were
chilling. Obviously, then like now, we talked about the probability of the
cause being the dreaded disease in hushed tones.
Unfortunately,
as a guy who has come of age, there is never an explanation about the cause of
death and how abrupt these folks die. Death just comes, perhaps, it should be
planned. No, it shouldn’t, because I also fear death, the abruptness is just
fine for now. The only part I hate is that it intrudes unexpectedly and robs us
of loved ones we never expected would give in that fast. Thus, sometimes these
are the incidents that take me to the countryside. To go grieve with kinfolks
and rekindle and strengthen filial bonds that have been weakened by capitalism
and distance. Albeit work and marriage distances us, still, blood is thicker
than water. Oh, Christmas also takes me back to my roots but I don’t feel the
vibe like I used to when I was growing up.
I
reminisce with nostalgia the yore days that have evanesced. Apparently, I have
even forgot what I wanted to write about here because of looking up for
something I had written down. Poor me, am I this poor in memory? It was a hot
thought. Something that you get the gist of while scribing what you had
planned. It really pains that I am struggling to remember it like an exam
question that will give me the coveted grade. It’s not right to admit that you
have forgotten something as a writer. It seems that the cues that I normally
rely on to recollect the pieces of thoughts have also failed me. Oh boy, that’s
life.
Moving
forward. Owning an analogue phone has never been this nice. I remember watching
a certain program on telly where a young couple were planning to go for a
vacation in some lonely island in Tahiti. They had a choice of three
destinations. The first was a well-manicured island that was nested in a
20-acre piece of land going for $21,000 a week. The second was an island that
offered a perfect scenery for viewing the sea underneath from their bedroom and
it had been constructed by a carpenter giving it a unique touch and feel but
also offered internet available for $12,000 for 10 days. The third was a
semi-private sanctuary with an amazing pictorial sense of the mountains they
had to share with 2 others in what offered the best bargain in terms of luxury,
I thought they would settle for it since it was on offer for $13,000 for ten
days. The body language of the lady in their final interview before settling on
the priciest island gave in to suggest she wanted the more expensive one even
though the man had talked about cutting costs and getting a place where they
would be comfortable and free from the hustles of work. In a way, ladies sometimes are no different in
their life’s desires. They still love the costliest and if you can afford, give
it to her because you never know when the chicken will come home to roost.
So,
like the couple who went on vacation to relish time away from the constant
noise of computers and phones, and let their minds roam free, I decided to take
a sabbatical to go to the rurals with my phone that has no internet and away
from my computer that is constantly keeping me abuzz because of Wi-fi. I wanted
a destination that discouraged connectivity and the dings and beeps of modern
technology. I wanted to unplug; to feel relaxed and rejuvenated by visiting the
countryside.
Obviously,
I go for days without receiving phone calls, so si ati I was being distracted
by it, it is just that you must mention some things because unataka kujaza
kurasa. That’s how unnetworked and seemingly unimportant I am. On the positive
side, the phone has Tetris, I loved to play it on Brick Game when I was young.
These days when I am bored and want to induce sleep when am insomniac, I play
it the same way guys become busy with their Whatsapp, Facebook and social media
manenos et al. But given that the game can be boring, I sometimes just make
castles in the air thinking of my next big write up. Which may or may not be
effectuated because when Bruno Mars sang the ‘Lazy Song’, he had buggers like
me in mind. A guy who doesn’t feel like doing anything but wants to have a
girlfriend he cannot maintain. Oh, a guy on Twitter did tweet that only broke
buggers don’t have girlfriends. Kaboom. A guy who thinks that he can outpour
his emotions on the web because that is another avenue for being lazy because
writing is like a lazy job. But hey! Am just a man. So, I can be lazy
sometimes.
Sometimes
back in what used to be described as the ominous month in Kenya, that is in
August, I had about three or four dreams about quietus. By death I mean I was
seeing images of those long gone in my dreams doing normal stuff in my presence.
If I was to interpret them the way I felt then, I had a feeling that someone I
knew was going to succumb but I never knew who. It’s only while writing this piece
that I decided to find out the correlation that exists between death dreams and
life situations. Clicking on the first link which I believe is truthful to some
extent, I discovered that such dreams normally signal something new in life. It
means that a certain phase has elapsed and a fresh one is bound to begin. Or it
can be an attempt to resolve anxiety or anger directed to the self. I will
stick to that latter version of interpretation and try not to overinterpret the
real meaning that has been researched by academics and professionals of repute.
Here
is why. A couple of months ago I was feeling low and downcast. My morale was
low and all I ever thought of was the fact that the world was against me. I
hence retreated to my reclusive cocoon where I could hide and feel sorry for
myself because life had granted me lemon at the expense of a lemonade even
though I have toiled and moiled for quite some time now. I had so many
insecurities, but now I am coping up. I am feeling like am rejuvenating. I am
building up slowly, and that is why I can attest to the fact that the dreams
were preparing me for steadfastness. Something new will surely happen.
Then………
When
one of my distant grandfathers who was still in workforce collapsed and was
admitted to the hospital, I had a feeling that he was not going to make it. And
when results came that his brain was affected, I knew that it he had to fight
for his life because the impact had resulted in brain hemorrhage. He finally
succumbed after a while. Just about the same time he was admitted to the
hospital, my mum broke her ankle and suffered a severe cut that almost cost her
a leg because of the non-ending construction that my old man loves engaging in.
Luckily, with his henchmen, they have sealed the stoned-filled-hole that would
have posed a catastrophe to the many relations who visit my home because my mum
does have an affectionate heart because she welcomes all and sundry who visit
her without prejudice. I don’t want to speculate what would have happened if it
were another person who suffered the injury because the gossip mill that find
its way in the village can be quite venomous.
Consequently,
two things took me back to the countryside, one was to go see my mum, the other
was to go bury my distant grandfather. While I had not intentioned to travel
back home, I felt that I had to owing to the intensity of the situation.
For
someone of my ilk, I normally have the option of taking the modest Easy Coach
or Guardian bus, a spacious shuttle, the comfortable Wish cars or a plane to
jet out to the hot and lakeside city that is my hometown. Where the police were
forced to erect a battalion to counter the bigheadedness of these folks who
love truancy when they feel ‘Baba’ is aggrieved or under siege by the ruling
class that has given the most beloved and hated personality with equal share
from Bondo a run for his money towards being the president. As a matter of
fact, my shallow pockets make me a perfect commuter for the less expensive road
as a means of transport to my humble destination. Am aware that my body sometimes
feels like it wants to take a flight but the fact that the plane is normally
overbooked because reliable sources usually tell me so, I am obliged to use the
road. (White lie because if I use a plane, I will be flat broke and may even
fail to take the journey back to the city in the sun).
Going
to Kisumu after a hiatus of about seven months means that I am bound to see new
stuff while on my way. I had contemplated booking a night bus but rescinded the
decision and opted for a ‘posh’ shuttle. It had been long before I went back
because I normally use a personal car each time I snake out of this city, which
was not available this time round. While I had thought I would part with almost
a G, I parted with Sh100 less than the actual amount I had budgeted for. I
realized that old habits die hard. While there are so many vehicles offering
the same services or probably even better given that there are some that serve
biscuits and bottled mineral water, I did stick to the one I have been using
since time immemorial. Oh! Mineral water was at some point christened ‘funeral
water’ because guys from the city would arrive clutching on the bottles afraid
that the river water or pond water they were supposed to drink would cause them
to have stomach complications after consuming the liquid. Kwani watu wa ushago wako na acids aina gani kwa tumbo wamesurvive hio
miaka yote.
That
day, I realized that there are sixteen seater matatus on our roads. Just tells
you how clueless I am when it comes to long distance public haulage. I normally
keep the cash I have in Mpesa to avoid the temptation of using it on unplanned
spurges because like every other Kenyan, I join the bandwagon of the
existential phrase that ‘Uchumi ni mbaya’, Times are hard for a guy whose
income is so skewed that even if I tried to come up with a Kurtosis, I will end
up with an abnormal curve. Mutatis Mutandis (sic). I feel like a faux hero
barrister having erroneously used that legal phrase. Hio ndio ubaya wa kusoma kwingi. Unatumia maneno bila kuhakikisha maana
falsafa, ati bora uonekane umetumia hio mistari, hili basi ni swala nyeti linalohitaji
uchunguzi wa kina. Kubaff. Roughly translated, the best thing about reading
a lot is that you develop an unrivalled diction so much so that you become very
wise and intelligent even in matters law. And that bruh, is the reason why I
bestow upon myself the phrase, the neo sagacious blogger- That Kubaff bit. It’s
like what Thomas Edison’s mum lied about when she told him that he was a genius.
That deserves a ceteris paribus. Can I get a kudos for my brilliance in getting
things on point in Swahili?
Kudos
bro.
I
chose the backseat where I could peer out of the window and thought that I
could also open and savor the cool breeze once in a while when I was feeling
like I was developing some beaded sweat on my forehead. A situation that came
to naught because the weather worked to reverse the probability of such an occurrence.
Since I had worked for close to eight hours nonstop that day before boarding
the car, I thought that I would recline on the seat and sleep the exhaustion
away. I sprawled uncomfortably on my seat twitching and turning to find a good
position for seamless sleep. The legroom in the vehicle was terse. I slept intermittently
and decided to sleep no more by staying astir.
A
small-scale trader who was seated next to me was also encroaching on my space
because he had very long legs and hairy hands. I could tell he was one because
he was constantly looking at the goods he had carried when the boot was being
open for a passenger to pick his luggage. When he arrived, he was all sweaty
because he looked like someone who was rushing. I silently praying that the lady
who I saw outside to be the person who would sit next to me because she looked
decent and spruced. But when this ruffian of a guy who I noticed had traces of
dirt on his trouser sat next to me, I cursed inwardly because he turned out to be
a space bully and sleeping while leaning on me. At some point, he raided my
space leaving my legs to squirm for a small section as he opened his feet as
wide as he could. I felt like giving him a tirade of his life but rescinded and
waited until that point when he had readjusted his position and I reclaimed my
space.
Along
the way, I could hear him speaking to various people on his two analogue Chinese
phones with that annoying ringtone. At some point, he was saying he was
interested in a certain lady but did not know how to approach her. She also
talked to another who was noncommittal on him visiting her and checking on his
various business that he wanted closed at around 2000hrs.
In
Nakuru, which is the nourishing hub for those who are heading to or from the
Western side of Kenya, I remember having a chat with a certain guy who started
a conversation about the fact that the ruling party was already prepared for
the next re-run election. He went on tell me that he had read somewhere that
Raila had decided to step down in favour of Uhuru after many unsuccessful
trials. Rogue bloggers have a way of writing what the audience wants to hear I
swear. He told me that in the event Raila had gone to the media and said that
in the past three elections he had participated in, the elections were being
stolen from him, he would have cemented his position in history and would have
received international acclamation. Well, I thought he was right but at the end
of the day, a warrior in a battle never concedes until he has been defeated in
the field of fury. I loved the way he was analyzing the political space in the country
and like any other layman, he was just what I call a pedestrian analyst. There
is nothing much I did pick from his analysis that I never knew.
I
arrived in Kisumu late and took a bus to my village. The day I arrived was the
wake night for my grandfather and I could hear dirges on the public address
that was hired for the night. Feeling tired, I slept like a baby because I am
the kind who sleeps and fails to notice that something has happened if I am
tired.
I
guess the fact that one stays in the rurals makes him or her develop a penchant
for attending funerals as if it is a requirement by tradition. There is this
lady who I met with an uncle a day after my grandfather had been buried asking
whether the body of the person who was to be buried in the area had been
bought. It was around 1400hrs and she was telling us how our Luhya neighbours
bury people faster as opposed to us who sometime bury at 1800hrs because of
this ‘neno’ thing. ‘Yawa jumalo iko pio. Parie ni ahae iko kuno to koro adhie e
liel mokel cha.’
My
old man had wanted me to accompany him to another funeral but when the politics
of heading there became too much, I decided not to go given that I was also
planning to drive my uncle who had offered a free ride for me back to the city
in his car. Guys in love freebies back home but when it comes to work, they
will never do voluntary stuff even though they may be forced to. I was planning
to extend my stay but when I realized that I was going to save some chapaa and
not have to struggle in a public car, I decided to take advantage of the offer.
Not that I was saving much but it was an opportunity I could not resist. Public
or private transport, private wins for me.
He
drove till Nakuru and boy, I hate slow drivers. But for a guy in his fifties, that
was bound to happen. At the junction heading to Muhoroni, some boys in blue who
were paper hungry stopped us for no apparent reason because the guy was doing
sixty kmph and when the searched for mistakes and could not find one, the
police decided to ask for lunch on realizing that my uncle works for a big parastatal.
Obviously, being the kind of guy who does not love conflicts, he gave him some
few notes and off we went.
When
we stopped for lunch, we had this conversation about unemployment and whether I
was employed and he was bitter that his two sons had worked hard in school, but
were still jobless years after finishing campus. Then I remembered my uncle who
dropped out of primary school before finishing jibing how guys have gone to school
to university level but they don’t have commendable jobs while we were assisting
a certain motorcycle rider who was transporting tents we had used for the function
back at home. I felt like he was talking about me but decided not to evoke
emotions because comments like those deserve silence as a response.
Hasta
La Vista Baby.
[Picture
Source: Pixabay]
