Usually,I laugh at such situations. I mean,you find your friend making out with a guy you were just making out with 3 and a half minutes ago...what's your typical reaction,really? Is there a predefined set of rules that directs you on how one should behave (as opposed to making some up on the spot)? I didn't get that memo. So I stared for a bit at the writhing mass that was KK and JavaGuy,before laughing.
And thus they came up for air,a tad bleary-eyed but not worse for the wear...if that's what we're calling it nowadays. I stopped laughing,because it stopped being funny and started feeling...what's that word? Awkward.
'So.' Yeah. In that brief moment of intense brilliance,THAT'S what I chose to go with.
'So.' *as he looks completely nonchalant,and KK just looks tipsy. Stop copying my lines! Digression here. What do I say? Expletives flow,but I have no claim. The monster-both the one that got me into this mess and the green-eyed one-are still clamoring loudly,like especially rude children. But..he's not mine. Why should I be vaguely annoyed? Sharing is caring,right?*
'Um.' Wow. I was the epitome of eloquence tonight,really. I was even blowing MYSELF away. Which,really,it was beginning to look like I would be doing. Just me and my hand tonight. Menage á moi.
'Are you ready to go?' Did he just...well,judging from the expectant look on his face,I think that IS what he just said. So we were going to act like he hadn't JUST been-
'I know I am,' said KK,giggling.
WHOA!! Clearly I was missing something here!! So in quick succession,JavaGuy takes her hand,AND mine,and before I could say-well,anything,really,all three of us were headed out the door.
!!!??!!!
tSN
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
1 in the morning
Inspired by @EdwinBaru,who is probably also writing a blogpost in the club.
1. Wtf? Nigga,you can't hit on a girl and her sister at the same time in the same club. At least wait until one of them go to the bathroom.
2. I am probably the only person in the world who doesn't like the song Renée by Lost Boyz. That's a stupid song. The rhymes are wack. Period.
3. If you value yourself in any way at all,quit allowing yourself to be abused. Whether that is in relation to abusive relationships or still being on Safaricom. Oh,wait. Same thing.
4. Bongo is GENIUS. As in? Kwanza that song Nakudata by Radio and Weasel. GOOD TIMES.
5. Don't be mad when you get ditched at the club by who you came with for a quickie. Satisfying carnal needs is extremely constructive. Go do something helpful like get drunk so you don't notice or call them every 5 minutes so that...um...
6. What is it with obes and lollipops?
7. Another genius song- Lollipop,Lil Wayne.
8. Family rocks. Especially cousins. As does Kisumu and chocolate milkshakes from Dormans.
9. Eating fries in the club is so gangsta.
10. What's all this stigmatization surrounding wearing underwear? Dude. We live in a tropical country. You don't need more layers of clothing.
Time to go check out Quorum. :*
tSN
1. Wtf? Nigga,you can't hit on a girl and her sister at the same time in the same club. At least wait until one of them go to the bathroom.
2. I am probably the only person in the world who doesn't like the song Renée by Lost Boyz. That's a stupid song. The rhymes are wack. Period.
3. If you value yourself in any way at all,quit allowing yourself to be abused. Whether that is in relation to abusive relationships or still being on Safaricom. Oh,wait. Same thing.
4. Bongo is GENIUS. As in? Kwanza that song Nakudata by Radio and Weasel. GOOD TIMES.
5. Don't be mad when you get ditched at the club by who you came with for a quickie. Satisfying carnal needs is extremely constructive. Go do something helpful like get drunk so you don't notice or call them every 5 minutes so that...um...
6. What is it with obes and lollipops?
7. Another genius song- Lollipop,Lil Wayne.
8. Family rocks. Especially cousins. As does Kisumu and chocolate milkshakes from Dormans.
9. Eating fries in the club is so gangsta.
10. What's all this stigmatization surrounding wearing underwear? Dude. We live in a tropical country. You don't need more layers of clothing.
Time to go check out Quorum. :*
tSN
Sunday, August 29, 2010
A turn of events
Then he said "How about we just go back to my place?"
There come several times in every woman's life when she realizes that it has been forever since she was kissed. Or touched. Or held. It awakens a sleeping monster that whispers in her ear that she needs to make sure she's not completely undesirable to the opposite sex. Other than the needs that need to be met and the body parts clamoring for a little affection,a girl needs to get physical. Truth be told.
And so,every broad-shouldered well-toned smooth-talking specimen of pectoral perfection begins to look like a feasible option. If these needs are not catered to,the situation deteriorates to a point that the men they lust after do not necessarily have to fit the necessary criteria (average-looking,has a job,is single,is not my ex),which is detrimental for everyone involved.
KK and I sat at the bar for exactly 4 minutes before JavaGuy showed up. Chivalry,like punctuality,is a dying art,so I was suitably impressed with his attempt. This being the first time I'd studied him up close,my eyes were immediately drawn to his lips. *enter the monster* The banter began. Casual conversation,cocktails,loosened tongues...at some point,KK was distracted by a persistent old flame,and JavaGuy and I were left to our own devices. Needless to say,the sexual tension that I promptly blamed on the alcohol was fueled by said monster...and thus,we ended up forgetting that we were at a public bar. And then he said..."How about we just go back to my place?"
I was trying really hard to think of a reason not to go. I didn't want to? Definitely not it. I most definitely wanted to. Too early?...who cares? Um...um...
"I'm going to the ladies,then we can go." I got up. Finished my business and came back,ready and revved up to go...and there was JavaGuy,with KK-but the way their lips were locked,I couldn't tell who was who.
There come several times in every woman's life when she realizes that it has been forever since she was kissed. Or touched. Or held. It awakens a sleeping monster that whispers in her ear that she needs to make sure she's not completely undesirable to the opposite sex. Other than the needs that need to be met and the body parts clamoring for a little affection,a girl needs to get physical. Truth be told.
And so,every broad-shouldered well-toned smooth-talking specimen of pectoral perfection begins to look like a feasible option. If these needs are not catered to,the situation deteriorates to a point that the men they lust after do not necessarily have to fit the necessary criteria (average-looking,has a job,is single,is not my ex),which is detrimental for everyone involved.
KK and I sat at the bar for exactly 4 minutes before JavaGuy showed up. Chivalry,like punctuality,is a dying art,so I was suitably impressed with his attempt. This being the first time I'd studied him up close,my eyes were immediately drawn to his lips. *enter the monster* The banter began. Casual conversation,cocktails,loosened tongues...at some point,KK was distracted by a persistent old flame,and JavaGuy and I were left to our own devices. Needless to say,the sexual tension that I promptly blamed on the alcohol was fueled by said monster...and thus,we ended up forgetting that we were at a public bar. And then he said..."How about we just go back to my place?"
I was trying really hard to think of a reason not to go. I didn't want to? Definitely not it. I most definitely wanted to. Too early?...who cares? Um...um...
"I'm going to the ladies,then we can go." I got up. Finished my business and came back,ready and revved up to go...and there was JavaGuy,with KK-but the way their lips were locked,I couldn't tell who was who.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
The miracle of modernity
If you are Christian,you believe that about 6 thousand years ago,God,the almighty omniscient one,created man,in his own image. If you're atheist,you don't. Either way,man showed up. (the whole universe was in a ... Then nearly ... Expansion started-wait-math science history unravelling the mystery that all started with the Big Bang. But I digress.)
Man,being superior to all other created - or contrived - beings,was thus relegated to rulerdude status. He was presumed most intelligent,and most worthy-something present-day man seems to have lost-and therefore most capable of rule over the birds and the bees,among other species.
Man invented several incredibly useful things,such as the wheel,french fries and clothing that grew succesively smaller throughout the ages. He found which drugs worked best with which to cure melancholia,sobriety and tonsilitis (which I,unfortunately,have now. But I digress.). He made appliances such as barbecue grills,telescopes and planes. Among these wondrous inventions was the bathroom.
The bathroom consisted of a bathtub,or a shower (which proved to be very convenient for some adventurous women) and a toilet. There was also a sink,for brushing teeth,and washing hands. This magical room was conveniently located in the house. Very important,as before a certain time,outhouses were just that-outside.
But modern man began to regress. He felt the need to refuse to use the bathroom for the purposes it was intended for. (this turned out to be a problem as well for other aspects of his life. But I digress.) All of a sudden,modern man had the audacity to demand that modern woman carry a jug of water and a basin,come to where he was and wash his hands.
Modern woman was baffled. Surely the point of inventions and ingenuity was that she did not have to do such things? But modern man insisted on it. So much so,that it became a bone of contention- whether as a sign of submission or archaism,or the merging of tradition and modernity.
Some modern women caved to the pressures of modern man. However,some caved only because it was not their house and they could not refuse,as they were still under parental sustenance. Some remained stalwart in their convictions.
The moral of this rant is that please believe when you come to my house,you are using the damn bathroom. And say yes to drugs. :o)
Man,being superior to all other created - or contrived - beings,was thus relegated to rulerdude status. He was presumed most intelligent,and most worthy-something present-day man seems to have lost-and therefore most capable of rule over the birds and the bees,among other species.
Man invented several incredibly useful things,such as the wheel,french fries and clothing that grew succesively smaller throughout the ages. He found which drugs worked best with which to cure melancholia,sobriety and tonsilitis (which I,unfortunately,have now. But I digress.). He made appliances such as barbecue grills,telescopes and planes. Among these wondrous inventions was the bathroom.
The bathroom consisted of a bathtub,or a shower (which proved to be very convenient for some adventurous women) and a toilet. There was also a sink,for brushing teeth,and washing hands. This magical room was conveniently located in the house. Very important,as before a certain time,outhouses were just that-outside.
But modern man began to regress. He felt the need to refuse to use the bathroom for the purposes it was intended for. (this turned out to be a problem as well for other aspects of his life. But I digress.) All of a sudden,modern man had the audacity to demand that modern woman carry a jug of water and a basin,come to where he was and wash his hands.
Modern woman was baffled. Surely the point of inventions and ingenuity was that she did not have to do such things? But modern man insisted on it. So much so,that it became a bone of contention- whether as a sign of submission or archaism,or the merging of tradition and modernity.
Some modern women caved to the pressures of modern man. However,some caved only because it was not their house and they could not refuse,as they were still under parental sustenance. Some remained stalwart in their convictions.
The moral of this rant is that please believe when you come to my house,you are using the damn bathroom. And say yes to drugs. :o)
Monday, July 5, 2010
Good Hair...um...
Ok so the first time I ever thought Ice T was cool was when I saw him in the Chris Rock documentary, Good Hair. There’s a part they’re talking about how relaxer is creamy crack (lol) and Ice T goes ‘In high school, when I first got relaxer in my hair, it was a measure of how cool you were. In fact, those dudes who was real gangster came to class with rollers in their hair…the yellow ones were less cool coz they meant you had less hair, but the orange ones made you a god. I actually had one mug shot taken in rollers.’
There are quite a number of grown ass men talking about how they had relaxer in their hair, some of them main men of Black history. Reverend Al Sharpton. James Brown (he doesn’t talk about it, obviously, but we see pictures). Ice T (who wasn’t cool….till he admitted in public that he likes girly hair. I’m into truth. Hehe) .This hair shit has gotten to the guys too, right about the same time it got to women. But why the hell is everyone s obsessed with making black hair look – pardon me – white? Because that’s basically what relaxer does. Make it straight instead of nappy. Or kinky. In my world, kinky is a GOOD thing…isn’t it? :o)
I’m female, and even *I* don’t understand the fascination women have with hair. My hair has caused me nothing but pain since my conception. Ok, after the age of 3. I got my hair relaxed when I was 8. And it was in braids for most of the time till I was 12, something that resulted in constant waterworks. We had this vicious hairdresser who made house calls – or maybe I was just tenderheaded – called Zemzem. Doesn’t that just sound like the dude with the saw in a horror movie? Just playing. She was doing her job but DAMN. Years and years of trauma. I can’t even braid my hair anymore.
Women spend so many hours of their lives that they can never get back in a salon. I can’t comprehend it. Which is why when I was 17, I cut my hair. And again when I turned 21. At this rate it’s going to be this length for a while. I‘m thinking of channeling an afro. But I feel blessed that I don’t have to comb it, press it, relax it, treat it, roll it, cover it, dye it, braid it, style it, weave it, crimp it, curl it, flat iron it – in other words, pretty much idolize it – every damn morning. And guess what? I can dance in the rain because it won’t cost me 3k in damage control. Barber, anyone?
There are quite a number of grown ass men talking about how they had relaxer in their hair, some of them main men of Black history. Reverend Al Sharpton. James Brown (he doesn’t talk about it, obviously, but we see pictures). Ice T (who wasn’t cool….till he admitted in public that he likes girly hair. I’m into truth. Hehe) .This hair shit has gotten to the guys too, right about the same time it got to women. But why the hell is everyone s obsessed with making black hair look – pardon me – white? Because that’s basically what relaxer does. Make it straight instead of nappy. Or kinky. In my world, kinky is a GOOD thing…isn’t it? :o)
I’m female, and even *I* don’t understand the fascination women have with hair. My hair has caused me nothing but pain since my conception. Ok, after the age of 3. I got my hair relaxed when I was 8. And it was in braids for most of the time till I was 12, something that resulted in constant waterworks. We had this vicious hairdresser who made house calls – or maybe I was just tenderheaded – called Zemzem. Doesn’t that just sound like the dude with the saw in a horror movie? Just playing. She was doing her job but DAMN. Years and years of trauma. I can’t even braid my hair anymore.
Women spend so many hours of their lives that they can never get back in a salon. I can’t comprehend it. Which is why when I was 17, I cut my hair. And again when I turned 21. At this rate it’s going to be this length for a while. I‘m thinking of channeling an afro. But I feel blessed that I don’t have to comb it, press it, relax it, treat it, roll it, cover it, dye it, braid it, style it, weave it, crimp it, curl it, flat iron it – in other words, pretty much idolize it – every damn morning. And guess what? I can dance in the rain because it won’t cost me 3k in damage control. Barber, anyone?
Monday, June 14, 2010
.............
-yawn-
There’s something about the female body that makes me greedy. I lose myself in the curves of feminine anatomy; I gladly relinquish control to my so-called carnal desires and dive joyously into pleasure’s waters on a regular basis. I’m your atypical whore.
-stretch-
I say atypical because I’ve made it an art. Women themselves are masterpieces, and therefore bedding them is not a skill just anyone can acquire. (I suppose that rule doesn’t apply for women of certain professions) It fascinates me to find exactly which method of seduction a woman will respond to; what matters is not the time I take to chase, but what the chase will eventually end up as. I guess you could call that…the victory party.
-open one eye-
Speaking of women of certain professions, I’m all for legalizing it. Too much fuss over something that’s going to go on anyway. People need to get off their high horses and stop pretending that we’re a solely religious socialist nation. And besides…at least half of the women not doing it professionally do it for free anyway. Folks just need to WRAP IT UP.
-notice there’s someone next to me-
And it all comes back to me.
I had an agreeably blurry night…the kind that you can remember the good bits and still judge if the mama you’re going home with is actually hot, but tinged with an acceptable level of tipsy happiness. I know I wasn’t unruly – not really my style - and I know I didn’t come home with anyone…so who was this?
-she turns, still sleeping-
Ah. Yes. Fumbling with the key to my apartment at 3 in the morning. A hand helping me – the next door neighbour’s pretty wife who I’ve always thought is secretly a freak. I ask no questions as to why she’s in the hallway at 3 in the morning, because many questions get you expansive space for a bedfellow. Then…more fumbling. *disclaimer…blame it*
-****!-
The neighbour’s wife. Ok. Well. This is manageable. It’s not like it hasn’t happened before, it’s just that…it wasn’t usually the next door neighbour. Granted, I don’t like the fool, but still.
-she’s awake. She smiles and says “Morning.”-
She has a glint in her eye. I generally like glints. They’re a foreshadowing of good things to come. Maybe this whole next door neighbour thing could work out. There’s no denying the convenience…and the forbidden fruit appeal never, ever dies.
-my phone beeps. I climb out of bed to take it in the living room.-
I don’t necessarily remember which one the one who called is, but her voice on the phone holds great promise. Looks like I have a date this evening. I walk back into the bedroom. She’s propped up on her elbow and watches me walk in. “Are we going to use that?”
I smile.
-waste not,want not-
……………………………………………………………………………………….JavaGuy
There’s something about the female body that makes me greedy. I lose myself in the curves of feminine anatomy; I gladly relinquish control to my so-called carnal desires and dive joyously into pleasure’s waters on a regular basis. I’m your atypical whore.
-stretch-
I say atypical because I’ve made it an art. Women themselves are masterpieces, and therefore bedding them is not a skill just anyone can acquire. (I suppose that rule doesn’t apply for women of certain professions) It fascinates me to find exactly which method of seduction a woman will respond to; what matters is not the time I take to chase, but what the chase will eventually end up as. I guess you could call that…the victory party.
-open one eye-
Speaking of women of certain professions, I’m all for legalizing it. Too much fuss over something that’s going to go on anyway. People need to get off their high horses and stop pretending that we’re a solely religious socialist nation. And besides…at least half of the women not doing it professionally do it for free anyway. Folks just need to WRAP IT UP.
-notice there’s someone next to me-
And it all comes back to me.
I had an agreeably blurry night…the kind that you can remember the good bits and still judge if the mama you’re going home with is actually hot, but tinged with an acceptable level of tipsy happiness. I know I wasn’t unruly – not really my style - and I know I didn’t come home with anyone…so who was this?
-she turns, still sleeping-
Ah. Yes. Fumbling with the key to my apartment at 3 in the morning. A hand helping me – the next door neighbour’s pretty wife who I’ve always thought is secretly a freak. I ask no questions as to why she’s in the hallway at 3 in the morning, because many questions get you expansive space for a bedfellow. Then…more fumbling. *disclaimer…blame it*
-****!-
The neighbour’s wife. Ok. Well. This is manageable. It’s not like it hasn’t happened before, it’s just that…it wasn’t usually the next door neighbour. Granted, I don’t like the fool, but still.
-she’s awake. She smiles and says “Morning.”-
She has a glint in her eye. I generally like glints. They’re a foreshadowing of good things to come. Maybe this whole next door neighbour thing could work out. There’s no denying the convenience…and the forbidden fruit appeal never, ever dies.
-my phone beeps. I climb out of bed to take it in the living room.-
I don’t necessarily remember which one the one who called is, but her voice on the phone holds great promise. Looks like I have a date this evening. I walk back into the bedroom. She’s propped up on her elbow and watches me walk in. “Are we going to use that?”
I smile.
-waste not,want not-
……………………………………………………………………………………….JavaGuy
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
KARACHUONYO…KNOWS HOW TO PARTY…
The Travels, Part 2
Wow. You know things are serious when it takes longer to get to your shags than it does to get to Arusha. Note that your shags is in Kenya and Arusha is not.
I come from a place where waking up in the morning gives you an absolutely spectacular view of the sun rising over the lake. It stretches out before you, this beautiful blue (really long) jewel adorning the horizon…it’s glorious. I unfortunately, never woke up early enough to see this. I’m almost ashamed, but sleep is a very, very demanding mistress.
Finding network in shags resembles a séance. Very closely, I might add. There is much hand-waving (you holding your phone), strobe lighting (afore-mentioned phone), and chanting (you pleading with your subscriber to end this inhumane torture). I wondered why network seemed to never be where I was. The only spirits I managed to conjure up were those of dead mosquitoes, who resurrected to join the live ones, or so it seemed, and proceeded to form a choir. I tell you no lie. There were so many, there were four voices of buzzing: Soprano, Alto, Tenor, and I think what can qualify as a baritone. The basses were missing in action. I’ve never been so tearfully thankful for a mosquito net.
In shags, things that go bump in the night cannot be put down to random city sounds. Oh, no. Things that go bump in the night are huge, and are bumping. Make no mistake. They are rats, or bats (flying rats) or cats (who can’t do anything about the flying rats, unfortunately, but help with the ground ones), or hyenas, or the extra-large nameless things…that go bump in the night to terrorize little girls who stay up conducting séances late into the night. That, or the Mosquito Mixed Choir.
Speaking of mutants, all critters are extra-large. I reverted back to childhood games briefly, and played Peek-a-Boo with a gargantuan moth. Only, it was the adult instead of me. And in the daytime too! Whatever happened to sweet little daytime butterflies? Hmmm…or WAS it a butterfly and my eyes were too tightly closed to care to confirm? They are fearless, these brazen upcountry insects. What a scene it would have been had I actually seen something I’m afraid of…although me trying to stitch my eyes together with sheer will so as to not see the shadow of the wings coming my way may have been just such a scene. At least I didn’t scream. Small mercies.
Fortunately, we have indoor plumbing. It is similar to that in Lagos, where water may or may not be provided for the entire duration of the shower. Only in Lagos, these are forces of corruption, and in Karachuonyo, they are forces of nature. I hope. Or…the bugs?
Irrational cravings seized me frequently. Made even more so absurd by the complete incapability to fulfill these cravings. Simple thins were what I wanted; chocolate fudge cake. Traffic. Noise. Pollution. Working radio – or rather, to know what the radio stations even were…but the two TV channels did compensate enormously (although electricity was limited to 4 hours per night. Big mercies.). I was however much afeared that I would start watching those random Citizen Soaps (Paradise in your Storm, The Woman Who Cries A Lot, The Men who Join In, etc). What saved me was the library. Another reversion to the childhood habit of reading 3 – 5 books a day. Not too bad at all. :o)
I’ve never noticed that most women in Dala cover their hair a lot. The entire time I was there, I think my mother and I were the only ones walking about with our hair in view.
The trip back was assuaged with doubts. The bus strike had been just the day before, which insinuated that going back to the city may have been put off for another 4 days….days I could not stomach. Another séance was conducted – for transportation, this time, and it came through. Now, on the bus, I discovered that truly, African children are not being brought up the way they used to be. There were 2 babies on board. It was like they were in a band. They would alternate crying like they were singing background vocals, dude, I think there were harmonies. And there mothers would just shush them – to no effect, I might add. One tot burst into ululations. Such liberties! Before my time, the slaps would have been much, much more resounding then their wailing/crying. What’s that? Child abuse, you say?
Then there came the DVDs that they insist on showing…there was Ohangla with the girls dancing in what appeared to be a form of soft porn…for real…and the guys were fashion disasters from the 90s in off-shoulder tops. Shiver. There was a marked contrast when they put in the gospel DVDs. Which all kind of sound like the same tune. One that was particularly amusing started like a horror/thriller movie. I was momentarily piqued until I saw the characteristic matching uniforms and scenery.
Then came Nairobi. First sign? Being stuck in traffic on Waiyaki Way. Smog sweet smog. :o)
p.s. The Loop on KTN is hilarious. I love the humor. It’s unexpected but expected. Because. You know. It’s a sitcom. And the guy looks like Dr. Kelso from Scrubs. Wait, ISN’T it Dr. Kelso?
Wow. You know things are serious when it takes longer to get to your shags than it does to get to Arusha. Note that your shags is in Kenya and Arusha is not.
I come from a place where waking up in the morning gives you an absolutely spectacular view of the sun rising over the lake. It stretches out before you, this beautiful blue (really long) jewel adorning the horizon…it’s glorious. I unfortunately, never woke up early enough to see this. I’m almost ashamed, but sleep is a very, very demanding mistress.
Finding network in shags resembles a séance. Very closely, I might add. There is much hand-waving (you holding your phone), strobe lighting (afore-mentioned phone), and chanting (you pleading with your subscriber to end this inhumane torture). I wondered why network seemed to never be where I was. The only spirits I managed to conjure up were those of dead mosquitoes, who resurrected to join the live ones, or so it seemed, and proceeded to form a choir. I tell you no lie. There were so many, there were four voices of buzzing: Soprano, Alto, Tenor, and I think what can qualify as a baritone. The basses were missing in action. I’ve never been so tearfully thankful for a mosquito net.
In shags, things that go bump in the night cannot be put down to random city sounds. Oh, no. Things that go bump in the night are huge, and are bumping. Make no mistake. They are rats, or bats (flying rats) or cats (who can’t do anything about the flying rats, unfortunately, but help with the ground ones), or hyenas, or the extra-large nameless things…that go bump in the night to terrorize little girls who stay up conducting séances late into the night. That, or the Mosquito Mixed Choir.
Speaking of mutants, all critters are extra-large. I reverted back to childhood games briefly, and played Peek-a-Boo with a gargantuan moth. Only, it was the adult instead of me. And in the daytime too! Whatever happened to sweet little daytime butterflies? Hmmm…or WAS it a butterfly and my eyes were too tightly closed to care to confirm? They are fearless, these brazen upcountry insects. What a scene it would have been had I actually seen something I’m afraid of…although me trying to stitch my eyes together with sheer will so as to not see the shadow of the wings coming my way may have been just such a scene. At least I didn’t scream. Small mercies.
Fortunately, we have indoor plumbing. It is similar to that in Lagos, where water may or may not be provided for the entire duration of the shower. Only in Lagos, these are forces of corruption, and in Karachuonyo, they are forces of nature. I hope. Or…the bugs?
Irrational cravings seized me frequently. Made even more so absurd by the complete incapability to fulfill these cravings. Simple thins were what I wanted; chocolate fudge cake. Traffic. Noise. Pollution. Working radio – or rather, to know what the radio stations even were…but the two TV channels did compensate enormously (although electricity was limited to 4 hours per night. Big mercies.). I was however much afeared that I would start watching those random Citizen Soaps (Paradise in your Storm, The Woman Who Cries A Lot, The Men who Join In, etc). What saved me was the library. Another reversion to the childhood habit of reading 3 – 5 books a day. Not too bad at all. :o)
I’ve never noticed that most women in Dala cover their hair a lot. The entire time I was there, I think my mother and I were the only ones walking about with our hair in view.
The trip back was assuaged with doubts. The bus strike had been just the day before, which insinuated that going back to the city may have been put off for another 4 days….days I could not stomach. Another séance was conducted – for transportation, this time, and it came through. Now, on the bus, I discovered that truly, African children are not being brought up the way they used to be. There were 2 babies on board. It was like they were in a band. They would alternate crying like they were singing background vocals, dude, I think there were harmonies. And there mothers would just shush them – to no effect, I might add. One tot burst into ululations. Such liberties! Before my time, the slaps would have been much, much more resounding then their wailing/crying. What’s that? Child abuse, you say?
Then there came the DVDs that they insist on showing…there was Ohangla with the girls dancing in what appeared to be a form of soft porn…for real…and the guys were fashion disasters from the 90s in off-shoulder tops. Shiver. There was a marked contrast when they put in the gospel DVDs. Which all kind of sound like the same tune. One that was particularly amusing started like a horror/thriller movie. I was momentarily piqued until I saw the characteristic matching uniforms and scenery.
Then came Nairobi. First sign? Being stuck in traffic on Waiyaki Way. Smog sweet smog. :o)
p.s. The Loop on KTN is hilarious. I love the humor. It’s unexpected but expected. Because. You know. It’s a sitcom. And the guy looks like Dr. Kelso from Scrubs. Wait, ISN’T it Dr. Kelso?
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