LET'S DO NOTHING

Ta-da. I have finally used this word.

I have resisted the urge not to give in to the demands of the flesh once more. Yes, the priest was right, I should repent. But hey, am just a man.

Procrastination. Only a thorough manager knows how to instill disciple and ensure you never succumb by constantly putting you on toes whether you pay him or he is paid to oversee you do your duty.

Digress.

 “I will tell on you.” My niece uses this phrase when she feels aggrieved and thus, will tell those nasty things to her mom when she comes back.

Me I was used to “Ntakushtaki kwa mamangu.” Well, the language gap is real. I don’t remember doing that but there was one time when I ate at the neighbours and my little sister decided that I was disobeying my mum’s directive of not eating food from the neighbour’s. You see, the traced me to where I was playing at my friend’s place and called me to go for lunch. I dilly-dallied and ate at my friend’s place. My food remained untouched.

Given that my mum had warned all of us not to eat anywhere apart from our house, she saw this as an opportunity to see what would happen to me by ‘foolowing’ me to my mum. She told me on my mum and the strokes I received though a caveat never materialized because I continued repeating the mistake clandestinely. I guess the lashing I received worked in sometimes moderating my appetite when am in a new vicinity.

I really don’t know what was wrong with our mothers during those days. To this day, I have never found a rationale for why they never wanted us to share meals with neighbours when we were around the neighbour’s house.

By the way, back then, the food that was being cooked in our house was never as sumptuous as that which was being cooked at the neighbours. Walai! It’s not that we never cooked good food in our house. But, the food outside tasted more delicious than ours when I was a kid. Hata kama ilikuwa ugali na mboga pekee.

My mum never used to store canes under her bed like some mothers used to do because being a cheeky boy I would sneak and steal the damn sticks and throw them knowing full well that I was the main target.

So, when she got wind of the fact that I had eaten “Kwa kina Steve” and she had warned me never to do that again. She resorted to her common phrase, “Thiom kedi.” And when you came back, she would then say, “Nind piny” after inspecting the cane. I don’t remember ever taking a substandard cane. As opposed to the conventional wisdom, she would beat the hell out of you asking leading questions which you had to answer while crying lugubriously vowing never to repeat the mistake again.

The last time my mum did beat me with a cane was probably when I was in class five or six. I cannot remember very well but when I officially became a teenager, she resorted to revile as opposed to the rod. But occasionally, being the terror squad in the house, she would slap the hell out of you unawares when she was feeling really irked or provoked by your behaviour. Which came once in a blue moon because during my last years in primary school, I became a boarder and that meant less stay at home. Hence, I never came into much contact with her because of the a must ‘holiday tuition’ and the normal school term.

But I appreciate her because she played her role decisively and although she spent most of her time in ‘shags’ just like she does nowadays, her role was pivotal. My old man on the other hand was this easy guy who never saw fault in stuff like eating at the neighbours. Having grown up in shags himself where eating was communal as opposed to the current state where it is capitalistic, he did not see any evil in you eating at the neighbour’s. And he probably did cane me less than three time if I can recall my childhood.

Once he caned me when I was probably six having developed tantrums by crying ludicrously but he was more of a gentleman. He would cane you not more than five strokes and then leave you there. The second time he whipped me, I had been frustrated that he was only buying my sisters clothes from Uganda and I was not being bought any. Being the only naughty boy, I decided not to take it lightly when clothes were bought three times and I was not having any. I pulled the cry card, unfortunately, it backfired. So, he did it because my mum kept pestering him to do it.

My mum was the savage type. She would cane you continuously until her arms got tired. Of course, after the act, she would be motherly and ensured you reconciled because she was not the type who liked keeping grudges. She would then sit you down and ask if what she did was right and you would answer in the affirmative. Plus, when she became endowed, she would buy you new clothes which to us was the best thing ever.

But me, I was like ‘Dennis the Menace’. I loved making trouble more than I loved sticking to norms. I was the kind who had overactive energy and loved engaging in fistfights whenever possible. Once there was a certain boy who did beat me and each time the hood boys who were at the fight saw me after the incident, they would comment, ‘Si wewe ndio ule kijana ulipigwa kama drum.’ The boy was older and bigger than me. Man ile kuchochwa nilichochwa nipigane naye, ni God tu ndio anajua ka nini nilipata kichapo cha mbwa. Normally, the little ones did face my wrath and I would beat them out of their senses when provoked. Even some unlucky bigger 'weakpoints'.

I remember going to play where I had beaten some two boys, and their mum on realizing that I was around came out with a broom stick which she used to give me several strokes because I was constantly beating her two young boys. I went back home crying thinking my mum would use her “lioness lethal force” on this neighbour but she ended up doing the opposite.

“Onyali,” she told me. I stopped crying and went to our bedroom where I did that snuffling thingy because my mum had warned me not to make any noise in her house lest she bring the cane for more dosage because she had also warned me not to go to play outside and I had sneaked.

I guess the phrase, “spare the rod, spoil the child”, was her mantra. Years later, when I interacted with my maternal grandmother, I realized she was the lenient type. She was slow to anger and never did I see her getting as irate as my mother ever does. To date, my mum still has that aura of ferocity especially to those she does not hold in high regard. Not that she does anything sinister but the way she addresses them just tells you how much she thinks of them.

I now wish that the very whips that I used to get from my mum would whip me into shape, to stick to the rote even when I am not feeling like. I err countless times I gave up on abiding by rota. I know the number of times I have departed from one in the recent past. It’s hard saying you will stick to doing some stuff because you might stray in the middle of it like I normally do. I have strayed doing many things mpaka huwa najiuliza kama ‘am serious with life’. But it’s never that serious.

Hasta La Vista Baby.

[Picture Source: My Own]

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ARRESTED BY A LADY POLICE

Have you ever been caught by a lady police officer? Unawares. Driving on the right lane. Listening to music and jokes on radio and laughing like a hyena inside to those bland jokes by a sell by date radio presenter. That’s the time thoughts started accelerating in my head. Even though I knew I was on the right, my heart was hammering inside my chest like it belongs to a rabbit running for its skin.

I feigned composure though.

‘Unaenda na route gani?’ she asked. I don’t remember receiving any greetings from her.

“Langa’ta Road,” I replied.

“Nifikishe Bunyala Road.”

“Ingia twende.” I said then went mum.

She pulled the manual lock because I had rolled down the window due to the sweltering heat and entered inside. She looked motherly, removed her reflective jacket and I noticed the sillage. It was floral and nuanced of a finer approach. After sitting, we had a plausible awkward moment. I remembered I had discussed with someone that cops like freebies. Lifts are their weakness. This was the second time I was carrying one. The first was a young policeman who stopped me and as opposed to this lady, we had a lengthy chat. Usually, they are on their way to attend to duty.

Nairobi traffic jam. It was a gridlock on that day. Every car had turned off its engine, you could see matatu conductors wandering on the highway looking up and down for clues. My panya route turned out to be the longest route. I had used Kenyatta Avenue, then snaked effortlessly on Processional way to Haile Selassie from Uhuru Highway. I caught up with her just after switching lanes from Processional Way. Then I saw the cars I had left in the jam on Uhuru Highway getting preference over us. Ouch! Reminds me that I always have to exercise patience. However, this lack of patience had resulted in me giving a lift to a lady police. Is this not a worthy exercise?

I normally listen to Capital FM while alone. A habit I developed in campus because we thought it was cool. So the practice has stuck. The sassy diva was on air. Apparently, Koffi Olomide, ‘Mukulu Kulu’ is coming to town, tickets go for 2K. I was made to understand he has over 35 names. Pole Musa. I cannot afford to attend this concert. My uncles love such stuff, Rhumba. They hyped how they would attend Fally’s concert. Did they attend?

Sitting inside a car with a police is uncomfortable. Especially with the sweltering heat of Nairobi and am dark-skinned. That makes me look darker than usual. Compounded with sweat, I look scary. Just wondering how she resorted to ask me for a lift. Is it because I had not tinted the front windows? Do I look philanthropic? Or is it that I am homely and kind? Food for thought.

Inside I started being bombarded by many questions. How do I start a conversation? Why does she not take the initiative? She is a cop for Christ sake and should be able to take initiative. The insurgent cold almost resurfaced. Most guys I know are currently battling a cold. ‘Mapua karibu itoke makamasi.’  I had to look up and sniffle. To avoid eye contact, I decided to look outside. Imagining.

This were the imaginations. Why is that guy in a bespoke suit walking from work? Does he even know that I have no money on me yet am driving? Or did he pack in a shady place where he does not have to fork out parking fees? We surely needed to switch positions if he had no car. He is burly and am kind of skinny, I think this is a reversed role. Then I notice a dude who has a big derriere. They go like, ‘ashu mia, ashu mia’. This sounds gross, right. But he should have lent that lady in front of him with some. She looked like someone denied those assets which are hideous on men.

A voluptuous lady with yellow thighs passed by the kerb. She had a slit on her skirt that almost kissed the ass. And she had a fine ass. I wish I could go tell her ‘Kizuri chajiuza, Kibaya chajitembeza’. She probably caused men to have lascivious thoughts as she walked the aisles of the offices.

As a driver, you only imagine. Imagine a lot of things. You are also imagining what the cop is imagining. Let me not pen down those dirty thoughts. But cops know so many secrets. This one was a traffic police. She was well build, round faced and had a mellow voice. A phone call did break the virginity of silence.

‘Hallo.’

‘Sitafika mapema leo.’

‘Unataka nikulete nini?’

‘Sirudi town lakini.’

I could not hear what the other person what saying. But it did sound like a young’un. That was just an excerpt of the short conversation they had. I was not keen enough because I was driving. You know men cannot multitask.

She also talked with someone who sounded like her boss. The jam was on again. She kept referring to him as ‘Sir’. Her senior. Sign of respect, like we used to call all our male teachers ‘Sir’, in primary school. And that mentality has also stuck in me.

After the conversation, the jam started moving. I remember her telling him that she was taking to her what he had required of her. Then I realized that indeed, cops have sway on the Nairobi jam.

We had been in the jam for more than thirty minutes. But after the conversation was over, we started moving.

She said something but I still could not respond. I have some kind of introversive demeanor with strangers. Then there was news that there was a proposal to increase the age of judges to 74 from 70. She gave the example of Kubana. That they were going to age while in office. But judges are like wine. I corrected her that it was Kalpana Rawal, the deputy CJ.

We talked about how judges like privileges, and she talked about immunity and some other benefits I have forgotten.

I wanted to ask her how comes guys in big cars with normal number plates were overlapping and overtaking using the wrong lane while we were in the jam. Why did they let them do so? Were such guys more special than us in small cars that with three litres, you can drive to Nakuru and back? Could we also do that now that she was going to build the nation? She never looked like someone in a hurry.

On reaching Bunyala road, I almost hit a car by the side. ‘Umeingia vibaya,’ she told me.

One of the side mirrors is past its useful value. It serves no purpose other than it just being there. A grease monkey had told me it retails at 4K. I cannot afford that.

She did alight on the round-a-bout as I sped off.

I remember seeing a guy in a vitz looking at me. Maybe, he thought I was caught and the fact that the laws do not allow police inside commoner’s cars, it looked odd. But at such times, you need to kill your conscience. If you can kill your conscience and live your life, you will achieve great feats, someone told me.

PS: Someone pulled the charger from my pc while doing the original version of this post. It was over 800 words. I hate having a laptop in form of a desktop. That means I should buy a battery as soon as possible. That was more than two hours of time lost. I now wish all my content would be web linked so that nothing is ever lost.

Hasta La Vista Baby.

[Picture Source: Pixabay.com]

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