PARA MI MAMÁ

You know what ma, my mind is kind of wonky.

I know you love reading. I know it because we used to have those moments. Remember back in the days when dad used to buy ‘Daily Nation’ and each of us wanted a piece of what was inside.

These days, I have an uncanny habit of finding what I love reading from my palm. Phone. Oh! I am still moaning the loss of my phone. I know you tried to reach me the other day. Hence had to contact small bro.

Am trying out something new ma. From the rocky terrains that dad used so much to restore into cultivable land, you wake up every morning. You, ma have made a name out of yourself in those streets.

Those places don’t deserve the Twitter phrase ‘those streets’. It’s a hamlet for heaven’s sake. It’s a community that comes to life once villagers have got out of the lonely mud walled houses that characterize the humble dwellings people live in. Everyone knows everyone.

I know they look up to you because you have been an ‘employer’ for quite some time. Oh! What do those villagers say, that he works in town with nothing to show for what he has achieved?

Ma, I lost my phone in circumstances you would not be in affirmation of. I lost my phone because they get lost and I wrote about it here.

First things first. Ultimately, I will buy a phone. An analogue one that does not attract kleptomaniacs. One that befits my new-found status. An unemployed jobseeker. Because I don’t know how I will explain to guys what I do.

You know what ma, you are the only person who has called within the family and asked about my phone. Never mind that the call came almost three weeks after I lost my phone. Two weeks and four days to be precise. My statistical knowledge of rounding off without truncating tells me that it’s now three weeks.

You asked if I am still working? Yeah, I work. Not for a big institution anymore. I read on a blog they are requesting some staff to take up early retirement. Such inhouse affairs should not reach gossip blogs, right.

Then allow me to tell you that from my investment studies, those targeted don’t affect the investor confidence in the bank. I am like a jilted lover. You may say, nosing it up where I was from. Well, we are humans, we ultimately want to know what is happening the other side where we were initially.

Let me also tell you how it feels not to be having a phone ma. It feels like the nineties. I love it this way. You know that technology is integrated in our day to day life, especially the phone. I love the feel of people not having access to me. I also love it that no one is caring that much about me. Not having to text, call, and the internet of things. I still manage to wake up early due to instincts because I have no alarm to wake me up.

Here is a terse odyssey of my first day without a phone after being relieved off my duties for being AWOL. Minnows like us don’t matter that much when we don’t make it to work. In fact, I was just a torn in the flesh to my manager who never seemed to understand me and all that shit.

I decided to go to the famous Arboretum near State House. A nature trail that is gayer than anything on moors. A luxurious, glorious and greeny terrain that has trees that are alive with birds, insects, monkeys and squirrels. I wanted to go and meditate near the soothing sounds of a flowing river. I wanted to savor the sound so that it creates a sense of inner peace.

The pure white noise that I take for granted. It was going to be subtle experience to ease tinnitus and improve my concentration. Apparently, the sound of falling and gurgling water is no longer free if you don’t have a phone. And for that matter, Mpesa. I wanted to go and calm down and probably fall asleep. Guess what? It never came to be.

Well, ma the place I used to access free of charge while in campus is now only accessible by paying for entry via Mpesa. I had no phone, therefore no Mpesa and no entry.

I walked back feeling abused and weary. That I had walked all the way only to be told that I can access the place only after electronically paying for entry. What do these people want my phone number for? But we are living in a world where people thrive on data. My only question is, why only Mpesa.

That is how I never managed to gain entry. So my hard cash never mattered. Obviously, Uhuru Park came to my rescue. And I passed next to that cube I used to reside in while living in the suburbs. I felt nothing ma.

There is no way I would have put my mind into a thought process afterwards. But here’s a catch.

When you have nothing that goes on in your mind. You develop a sense of self efface. You can even have suicidal thoughts. What’s more, nobody cares anyway. People only care when they gain from you, or in worst case scenarios, when you are about to be interred.

Fair enough, let me now change the vibe.

The other night, I felt that ka thing we feel when we see a person in a poor state of health.  I felt like an emotional roller coaster had taken over me. I even cried and slept knowing that you are experiencing a medical crisis. You voice though, still clear and authentic. But your health and body, it betrays the voice.

Then I remembered how you used to struggle with dad when he used to have those nose bleeding moments when I was a toddler and he had to go for a surgery. Now you only have him and he has you. He may not know how to be the best but still ensures he turns to the occasion every time you are sickling.

Ma, I don’t know how it feels to be that sick. The way dad explained it. The medication had an allergic effect on your body. And I could see it when I last saw you.

I felt sad but had to hold back the tears. At some point, when I saw you, I saw someone who was on the verge of going. But you are a strong woman and has seen worse. Well, because he is with you and knows best, I still carve out time to engage in other stuff other than thinking about your state of health.

Perhaps you are probably wondering whether your son is normal. You have never seen him with a lady, or he has never hinted at a relationship with one. Well, I am still single and chasing after the wind with a certain girl I should not even be chasing. She is my friend’s former girlfriend.

She had a birthday this week. She had wanted me to take her for an Italian cuisine this Friday. But I have gone chini ya maji because of issues finances. Lakini ntampeleka tu. Plus, I know how it feels when the person who should have wished you a happy birthday never does so. Well, I don’t have a phone. That’s my excuse. She knows about that. Hence, she can’t take any offence.

Now you know I am not having that ‘homo’ thing in me. Let me also tell you that there are others who have shown interest in me. Yet I never develop that deeper intimate relationship. I hence forget about them then remember later when their emotions have waned. But I am also to blame because I never tell them my feeling about them.

Now you know.

Moving forward. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I don’t think I am interested in getting married or kids any soon. Well, like Ngugi wa Thiongo said, ‘I marry when I want’.

Let me also take this opportunity to tell you this, I am not sure of what my results will be in the exams, but as days pass, I become more pessimistic.

Ma, I have been thinking about relocating. I don’t know where but essentially where the is more peace and seclusion. Then I will come back. In the meantime, I fear how to go about the whole issue.

I know that you felt disappointed when you heard that I no longer work. Let me try to explain. Sales, mum is a calling. Just like writing they say. It should come natural or you may force it.

The best part is that I had prepared you psychologically for the event. I never made any progress in life other than blog posts and reminisces of the job. Sales was tricky. It was even hard when I combined it with my studies.

It made me feel less of a person. When I look back, I realize that there is so much you can do other than being a salesperson. I have now taken advantage of Edx. It’s a free online learning platform when you are not interested in certificates to show that you have studied a particular course. One day I will introduce your other son when he has outdone his love for FIFA.

Ma am still employed. But I have not got to that level where I can be entrusted with the company email. You know what, when I make this blog professional, I will have mine email.

I know many people take company email for granted but I am envious of them. Does that matter? Not very much. It’s just that I would have loved to have one when time comes. One more thing, I still have my pleb’s email.

Here is something else.

I have a feeling that you pray for me and my siblings to one day get out of the desolation and have proper jobs. I think happiness in life outweighs even the best job with the most competitive compensation package in the world. I also pray for your quick recovery in these times when you have no medical cover.

Seek thee the kingdom of happiness and all else shall be added unto you is my mantra. Once you are happy. It becomes easy to build on confidence and act on prevailing opportunities. Right?

Ma, I hate to say this but I hate when people advise me to apply for internships. It is said that it is a sure way to getting employed. You get skills that employers need. That the exposure is very material.

I will digress. Getting a job has more to do with being very good in what you do so much so that you become a prized possession an employer cannot let go of or the other way around. Again, there is the aspect of trial and error for a newbie like me in the area I want to venture in. It may take long but not forever. In the meantime, I am honing my skills.

But here’s something nice that you would love to hear. I have been up to date in my financial obligations in terms of paying for the groups we share and as such, I am not financially in a quagmire. Only that the big bucks have refused to come through.

Albeit the current moments seem unpromising, the future is bright. I can tell without doubt. You will pona and I will get a job. I will endeavour to beat the ideology that is there are no good jobs for plebs. In the meantime, I am working on getting my grove back.

Finally, it’s that time of the script to wrap things up. Time to tell you that I love you ma for being the woman in my life. Though I rarely ever call to tell you that. Those kibokos you gave me helped in a way. I am proud of you and as you struggle to make ends meet like I am doing this other side, I am pretty sure that one day, you shall reap the fruits of your labour for the sacrifice that cost you and you know where.

Hasta La Vista Baby.

[Photo Source: Google Images]

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PEACE

Does peace mean anything? Does it ring a bell? I am not insinuating about the idea of seeing people in endless strife because of ethnic conflicts, or being held hostage, or like in Syria, citizens killed enmass using chemical weapons of mass destruction. You look at the streets that once thronged with life and everything is gone. Gone are the once lively women who sold their wares while only being afraid of the weather. All there is left is cracked sidewalks, empty gun shells, and broken store fronts laid waste by desperate looters. The once smooth sandstone walls that made the town sunny, even when it was grey and overcast, are now riddled with bullet holes. The streets are like a skeleton, stripped of its flesh long ago by the mercenaries who had no mercy and were high on substance. Working under instructions from a villainous vile of a person.

What am I talking about?

It is about feeling calm. You become silent and still and let hibernation take effect. That is, you cannot hear any sound close by or at a far distance. It’s like being in a coffin. Not even the sound of wailers will resurrect the corpse from the cube to come back to life. Even your own breath seems to die as soon as it leaves your nose. It is an eerie sort of tranquility, the kind that soothes, your senses became heightened. You feel like the prey even though no predator can be detected. Your heart thumps in accordance with slow, shallow breaths. Serenity is plastered across your face and your consciousness swirls in the land of dreams, oblivious to the physical world.

Once you reach the climax of introspection you disengage from the thought process and realize reality is just ahead, not even begging but expecting you to delve straight inside without even seeking permission from you. Déjà vu. It’s spontaneous, your bread crumb trail of ideas start rejuvenating. Only that you are stripped of the inner sanctuary of optimism. Negation has resulted in a carousel of confusion and shackles of fear. Still, like a lion marking its territory, you want to roar and regain the urge to swerve like a cheetah.

Sometimes life happens. We only need to dare by doing to get to the next level. If you remain in a state of gratification, you will probably be overtaken by events and have yourself to blame. Finding peace means getting your act together. And taking the bull by its horns.

It’s time to move to new fronts. I am looking at a time when there will be just me and myself working towards making it big. Like that day I will finish my exam paper, I will take a breather. I have already done away with the first hurdle. Am away on official leave waiting to go back for my termination letter. It’s this kind of acts that make you feel at peace. You reflect and owing to the past insanity that you went through. You realize that it was worth it taking that break from work.

While what awaits may be worse than what was left, the truth is that every step we take in life is a lesson. When you are sacked, it means that you have another chance somewhere else. It also means it is a chance to reflect. To find peace and strategize without being in a hurry.

Hasta La Vista Baby.

[Picture Source: Google Images]

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MORINGA BASE

The filthy washrooms are steeped in mold and dirt and the stench emanating from the overused facility makes you feel like wrenching even though you try to keep sane in a squeamish environment that robs you of every little dignity you thought you hard. The nark in you could not withstand noticing that the toilet had no door and the walls were smudged with human excreta.

Flies could be seen hovering over a half-full cup before panning across to dirty floors moist due to moping taking place because it is the rainy season. The two cubicles available were locked, the urinary is unbearably stinking— generally it is an atmosphere which forces one to opt out. On top of the counter are benches which are used for those who turn up at night for keg sipping.

That is one of the pubs found in this lane that is also the home to a number of low income individuals who congregate here to quench their thirst for ale. We call the drinks chang'aa with my pal Alex, a lawyer whose prospects of turning into an advocate are in doubt because of matter finances him being a pessimist with regard to making money to aid him in contriving over the set back. However, since he is still contemplating on his next move, who knows?

Only folivores partake of leaves. And I am not one. Moringa base is place to find your favourite mogoka. If you are a guy who chews moringa or in local parlance 'mogoka' then you probably know where this filthy lane in Nairobi is found. It has many businesses and you are sure to find anything here. Even a random whore is just a call away.

Ideally, I don’t remember the name of the street or is it lane. If anything, it is one of those lanes that have been turned into hotspots for ale downing when it dawns by the ever liquor seeking peons and blue collar proletariats who compromise on hygiene and sanitation in lieu of spending an extra dime in the more ritzy pubs are as realistic as the fact as they need to go to rehab (not me though). Since most drink on the cold laden street, they also urinate on the drainages which are not covered at night. (Presumption because I have never been there at night)

Moringa base (Moringa are leaves that keep one sane to be able to talk for long) is Juen’s beloved hang out open air joint. As a matter of fact, I had been to Moringa sometime more than three years ago. Then, there was a place we used to go watch football and also the place offers an avenue for cancer stick chaps who cannot find a smoking zone demarcated for them in downtown Nairobi.

Juen said that a reddish type of mogoka is good for men's libido which prompted a colleague to ask a fellow unattached female colleague if she was going to act as the guinea pig to verify if Juen’s hypothesis as he claimed was true. That is, if you use the said mogoka, you go three hours non-stop with a lady until that point when the lady being screwed says she needs time to rest or runs out of fluid. (That is an unproved hypothetical theory though. There is also the hypothesis of busaa having the same powers.)

Juen is a renowned figure in this place (Moringa base) because he also does business when free. He tells me he doubles up as a mogoka seller when things are not looking rosy in matters finances. He tells me if he vies for MCA, he will be elected unopposed.

“Mi najulikana na watu wengi sana huku.”

He tells me in his characteristic reprimanding loud voice that makes him mortifying if it is your first time to meet him because his facial expression also complements his words before he breaks into a smile that eases the tension. And true to his statement his network of friends, associates and acquaintances perplexes me because he barely walks five steps before colliding with someone he knows. Guess they are shags buddies because this is also the place he boards matatus to his father’s place.

Most of the chaps he interacts with are high on the substance or are selling it outside shops that condone them. Hustling their way out in Nairobi to make ends meet. These chaps have bloodshot red eyes you would think they are what Abbas Kubaff calls in his music, ‘Jicho nyanya.’ God knows that they are also anorexic. Their gaunt faces and paled skin complexion as a result of overuse makes them look like thugs who are synonymous to hardcore crime on the Eastern side of Tom Mboya Street.

Juen also operates a mogoka selling cube which I have never seen though he proclaims to own one. Faecal waste are found on the trenches that are on this lane with score of other garbage. I donno how I survived but I was on a mission to find out something. There was a place where cheap food was being sold but it is now under construction. I had to struggle eating chapo madondo.  The waiters were ladies you feel like they serve you under duress. But they were yellow yellow.

That reminds me that there was this butchery cum pub we went for some boilo because when you buy boilo, you are brought the meat in whole.  Not like when you buy nyama chom or fried beef and some parts are missing because a waiter saw it fit to deprive you off your meat.

One of Juen’s lady students joined us for the meal it being end month and he was feeling papers. Actually I don’t remember her name. For real, but I remember she was one chic who albeit seemed to have standards, she was unwilling to make it to Moringa base. The meat was more than one kilo and we were going to water it down with some illicit second generation liquor I refused to taste because I was not ready to go blind or kick the bucket soon since the contents are not KEBSIFIED. I resorted to my Tusker malt brand which is more trustable.

It was the time when a crackdown on all wines and spirits had been taken a notch higher and it was hard finding a place where you can buy ‘chang’aa’. But Juen said he found them ‘chini ya maji’  because black market is real in downtown Nairobi. Even the police who are supposed to be enforcing the law sometimes find themselves among those caught up in the melee of indulging in illicit.

As a Jameson and Johnny Walker chap (I have been doing these because of where I stay and the people I interact with), I must admit that these cheap liquor have counter effects because they make one a slave due to the cheap amount they are being procured. They also have a nasty smell and you meet people who have lost hope in life taking them.

I did chat the student, let me call her Vera. And guess what, she was also my student. Yes, Vera was among those who stood out because her adiposity clearly distinguished her from her petite and lean mates who were also maybe from teenage rampage. She initially rescinded coming to where we were because she never knew who she was going to find. Think she was flabbergasted to see me.

She was going to sit an exam that evening and wanted me to tell her the probable questions which I had no idea of. Clearly, she is not young, I could tell that her age was ripe judging by her built stature. She knew what she wanted and had had her fair share of frustrations and inadequacies in life. She was well and aptly dressed and we did chat about mundane stuff.

This led us to the recent survey that portrayed Kenyan men as the most faithful. She was of the contrary opine which made me ask her which men are not faithful. She told me that I should rephrase the survey of Kenyan men being the most faithful in Africa to being not faithful.

This prompted me to ask her about which tribe she considered not having faithful men. She started by saying the Kisii are the most unfaithful closely followed by the Meru. I told her to substantiate but she could not but intimated to something to do with matoke. She also said Luos are very faithful as long as you give him what he wants and know how to make a lady feel loved and tendered. But Kuyos are the worse than kisiis or merus. They may have as many as ten women in different places and if you have an altercation with one, he pretends he has gone to meet his boys for a drink but in reality, he is with his mpango wa kando.

I must say this are not the kind of places I can take a lady. It reeked of insolence and penury, not a classy place I prefer going to give a lady the impression that I am man enough. The street is too banal and there is a high likelihood it is teeming with peddlers and hobos who are quite frequent. The sorry state is due to insecurity but as a person who is being brought to get a new experience, I had to oblige.

Moringa Base has deteriorated in standards and no matter the measures put in place to curb the eyesore that it has become; it still becomes the murky and sordid place that it continues to be. The ‘Kanjo’ once in a while pass by the place like when I was there to collect their dues especially now that there are some businesses that have no licenses.

On the given day, the owner of the kiosk being frisked was outside doing business. He is a certain bearded Rasta with a turban on his head. Juen told me he makes a lot of cash because he has vested interest in matters dealing with mogoka and mirra.

On my way out of Moringa base, I met one Anto, an advocate in the making who was a former pal in high-school and campus mate though he was in Parky while I was a main campus boda (buda). He was in Moringa buying cigarettes for someone I was not aware of. I was just wondering how one could be able to buy a workmate cigarettes while he never partook them. Worse is, he knew where they are sold.

We exchanged phone numbers because I had left Juen with Vera to have some me time because I thought she was feeling my loose vibes and could have been swayed to change allegiance. That was not something I was aiming at. I was almost sandwiched between two Githurai buses one moving at a very high speed while the other in stationary motion. I saw kissed death but vowed never to pass next to these vehicles. This was a lesson learnt and that is why I should be having class and standards. Death may appear far but just like that you may find yourself going to meet the creator through the idiocy of someone eager to make money at the expense of taking into account human life which keeps him in business.

HASTA  LA VISTA BABY.

[Picture source: Google Images]

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