THE WEEK THAT WAS (Part 3)

I knowingly decided to separate part 3 from 2 just to take care of the Kenyan readers. Kenyans are not that good in reading long stories. The very first thing they do is to scan the number of pages and procrastinate reading the whole thing altogether. 

It was Monday evening when I had to set off from my Kenya-Re, upperhill office for another tortuous journey back to my humble abode. The thought of train had already become a horrific idea that I avoided at whatever cost. I decided to join my trekking colleagues to town, ones again, but with a firm decision to Citi Hop through to the estate.

My first stop was 2M (Double M depending on which school you went to. I went to Ngere High) commuter buses. Unlike the iron snake and Citi Hopper, the 2M buses were very organized. One had to endure or enjoy the long queues for close to an hour before finding your way to the bus door. The queues looked like a very long snake – longer than the anaconda itself with the head directly opposite Kenya Cinema and the stomach in Tom Mboya Street going round ambassador Hotel. The tail of the queue was almost next to the head – yawa!! It would take around twenty 62 seater 2M buses to swallow half of that it. I’m never that patient but the human beings in the queue were so soberly patient as if they were majority shareholders in that transport company. I think there was something those guys were fitored with (afita). Afita is Latin word for “forcefully taking through the nose”. When I was a child my mom used to fito me for almost every disease. She could hold both my hands tight as Agneta, my aunt, held my mouth. This forced my nose to pull in whatever substance the two women wanted to dump into my innocent nostril. I would then sneeze uncontrollably for close to four hours thereby scaring all the bacteria, viruses and whatever demons occupied my pathetic body. Fitoring brings addition that can make one do unimaginable things including but not limited to standing in a queue for as long as it takes waiting for a bus which does not belong to your father.

I saw no need of lining up as if I’m a school boy waiting to be served with a conspicuously translucent piece of ugali. I decided to move on to the 1st lane (If you’ve never been America, a country where my cousin – Obama - is the presided, you’ll not understand the meaning of 1st lane and since you did not contribute to my air ticket, I have no reason giving you any further hints) On reaching Tusker (Currently Tuskys) stage, I found multitudes of well dressed men and women eagerly awaiting whatever means of transport available. This group was not as decent as the 2M ones but were far much better than those in part one of this story. They looked like people who were in a hurry to catch up with the Mexican Soaps. (Blessed are you when your wife is not interested in such soaps for you shall live a happy life. To be as perfect as Edwardo and the likes is very hard men!!! A Pastor friend of mine banned watching such soaps in his house. He’s very happy!! You want your wife to appreciate you more? Fito her with the Nigerian village movies where women are being loaded with heavy burdens – she will always thank God for giving her such a wonderful husband).

Was it me or it was just the Umoja buses which refused to come? Every bus, including the Citihopa I boarded in the morning, was heading to Buruburu – Mtindwa Mwisho. People were scrambling for chances like nobody’s business. It was like I was the only well mannered guy around. I never struggle when getting into my fully paid for car!! This was a survival for the fittest scenario! Ladies were being pushed left right and center by the married folks!! I knew the men were married because most of them looked pregnant. You can’t afford to have those overfed intestines if you are still single. At long last I said “Aih Sulu” and decided to do what the Romans do. “Buda!!! Budaa!!!” Someone shouted and I believed he was referring to me. The name “Buda” comes when you’re a proud owner of a matatu (taxi for Ugandans). I used to own one but sold it for reasons I will tell you later. When I looked yonder, I saw it was the Citi hopper driver beckoning me to go and board the bus through the driver’s door. I ran very fast and found myself in the co-driver’s seat while the common wananchi were still struggling at the common entrance. It felt good to be a “Buda”. I was very fortunate to, ones again, be sitting next to a lady. I knew the journey would be less boring anyway. You know, starting a story is easier when you’re talking to the opposite sex than when talking to a fellow man (unless ur gay). I never looked at the lady’s face but concentrated of fixing my laces which were untied during the commotion. I glanced at something - a vein running across her legs from the souls upwards. I didn’t want to imagine its destination. Remember I still wanted to make it to heaven. On her neck was another one – it couldn’t be the same vein obviously – conspicuously shouting. This was a fighter and she looked married making the journey even more interesting since we had something in common. She literally blamed her husband for every little thing under the sun. I knew I was in danger. Ciko (sp), a radio presenter, also helped her blame the man the more with her busted thing. That day busted went to the Kalenjin nation.

All this time our driver was behaving as if he is the owner of the road. We suddenly became liabilities soon after paying our fares. I do not know whom he was trying to please but he refused to follow Njogoo Road but went to Vichochoros. On reaching a place which looked like Jericho or Uhuru, the driver decided to behave funnily…. Pwap!! He kissed the behind of a new red CRV car. The owner must have been a Luo man judging from the way he walked out of his vehicle. He came out flashing his iphone “Hello Inspector, this stupid Citi Hoppa driver thinks that my car is a mkokoteni (handcart). He has hit me from behind” He spoke with authority while walking around his car as if it was in a show room. Soon, the rains started falling cats & dogs. I looked at myself and realized that I was not in a cheap suit. Crossing Mtindwa while raining or after the rain needs something from Gikomba not Sir Henry’s. Mtindwa was a muddy market and most of the people there were loaded with bad manners.

It took almost an hour of negotiation before issues were sorted out with the guy. Our driver was shivering due to the fact that he was being rained on as he was trying to plead with the other guy. All these while the human being was seated in the car with just a small section of the windo open to allow the drivers pleas to pass through. After sorting issues with the Luo man, we were dropped right at Mtindwa. It was still heavily raining!! “Mzee shuka chini haraka – uoga ya nini?” (Old man alight faster – why fear?) The conductor shouted at me. The last time I looked at myself in the mirror, I never saw any wrinkle on me. How could he….? Man, I was rained on thoroughly and you know at Mtindwa (the old one not the current tarmacked one) there was no where you could take shelter.

There were these guys carrying huge luggage that kept whistling and shouting at us!! They smeared me with the dirty luggage and splashed muddy water on me like nobody’s bizna. I had to walk on the rains upto the house. I looked like some scare crow before my queen and the Migingolets. “Daddy, you left your car because you are tired of driving – Yes?” Mike, the snr Migingolet asked. “Honey please don’t come to the house with those shoes” The queen said. “Kwani – no hugs today?” I asked and the whole house went into uncontrollable laughter!

Nairobi life is hard.

I realized that you should not ignore the blessings God has given you. If you have a car, please use it. The God who gave you the car is able to fuel it – sawa? Look at me, I saved Kes. 300 on fuel, that day, but lost my suit plus hugs.

I’m would have died of pneumonia.

The following day, Rav4 was fueled to capacity and I went back to my normal life.

I’m fully yours,

Migingo Awat

THE WEEK THAT WAS (Part 2)

I am a man who enjoys speaking in my mother toungue especially when I’m with the likes that understand the language; but the train was not a place to display my prowess in the village language especially then that we had one relative of Wanyonyi in the midst of us, the relatives of Obama wuod Alego. Wanyonyi, for those of you who are not familiar with him, is a Luhya guy claiming to be god. The human god has a strange way of blessing his followers. He climbs his favourite tree and urinates on the heads of the followers. It is claimed that the urine from this poor god has the [power to heal all diseases. How urine sprinkled on someones head can turn into a blessing is something a sober person can never understand.

In the train, we decided to capitalize on our English prowess to the amazement of the majority of the travelers. Due to the fact that all of my colleagues were accountants who went to class during the day and not in the wee hours of the night, we began analyzing topics ranging from the stock market to Inflation and measures the CBK governor should take to cab the drastic fall of the Kenya shilling. We talked about the challenges facing the Oil Marketing Companies (OMCs) and the frustrations which were tailor made at the Energy Ministry. We discussed how the the small OMCs were suffering in the hands of the multinationals and how, in our view, they could get out of that quagmire. All this time the Kasarani, Kariobangi & mathare valley guys were looking at us lugubriously, perhaps wondering how these well informed nively dressed pieces of art found themselves in their territory. I knew for certain that our emaciated wallets were at risk, having run our mouths without punctuations.

On Monday, the 15th day of August 2011, was a day with its own challenges. I woke up late due to the fact that KTN decided to bring my favourite Indian Program, Shree, very late in the night. (The only thing I liked about Shree was the fact that it reminded me of Gapco Kenya Ltd – a company that I worked for for close to eight yrs. The Indians there say “Yes” by shaking their heads in a very comical way. You won’t believe this; they do exactly the same when saying “No”). I took cold shower chap chap, dressed in my charcoal black designer suit, which I bought expensively at Sir Henry’s – Kimathi Street (not River road) and took off. On reaching the bus stage, there was this mandazi guy who I never thought would recognize me; he talked to me in Greek “Omera kawuono inyone mana gi tiendi. En ang’o ma otimoreni? Pashonel mangima nyono gi tiende yawa?” (Brother today you are just walking of foot – as if he wanted me to walk on hands – what happened to you? A whole personnel is walking on foot yawa!). You see, there was this friend and colleague of mine, Boniface Ogallo, who was very fond of eating lots of mandazis at that stage while waiting for a lift from me. I think he must have leaked to the mandazi guy that I’m a very important man in the society. He must have told him that I lived in Umoja not because I didn’t have money but because I prefer staying next to the common mwananchi just to understand the pains they go through.

That morning, I boarded a Citi hopper bus, which had to go round the whole of Umoja picking people and waiting for those who were still in the bathrooms. I’m told this is what people go through every day in Umoja. I did not know how much they charge because, you see, in my world, you do not ask such questions. I paid one hundred Kenya Shillings and was expecting some little change. The cartoon dilly dallied with my change until I almost forgot about it. I couldn’t think of anything while in that bus, my mind had to constantly ring “Change! Change!”. I could not even enjoy the soft country music, which I’m accustomed to. The journey took a whole one hour all alng thinking of the balance. Dealing with Kenyan conductors is not a joke!!! At least I sat next to a beautiful lady whom, from the look of things, was either a Luo or a Luhya. She was slim when coming to the bus but fat when seated. She ended up taking three quotas of the space allocated for both us. He siiting allowance was very voluminous. “Hi dear! How’s your morning?” That’s how I started the conversation. She scanned me through and never replied. That was to say, “I don’t want disturbance - you married man!!” I was just saying an innocent hello to an overly blessed woman yawa!!! Those are the kind of women who wake up when all men have paused (Menopause). I then felt like her overlapping rear wings were taking a toll on me – not in a very good way. The devil is a liar!

On reaching town, the makanga (conductor – for my foreign readers) gave both of us Eighty Shillings (50 bob note and 3 ten bob coins) to share nusus nusu (half half). The beauty queen refused to cooperate. “So you want me to walk around with this man asking some unknown people for change?” She shouted!! If she knew that I was a proud owner of a fully paid for 4 wheeler, maybe - just maybe, she could have behaved differently. She made me look at myself again. I’m not that easy to intimidate, anyway. For those of you who do not know me well, I’m that kind of a guy that many ladies would die for…lol .. and this one wanted to lower my ego!! The makanga ended up sorting us out.

I still had some distance to cover. I repeat; upper hill is not river road - I had either to board another hopper or walk to the office. This was where my economic teacher comes in. Walking to upperhill would mean taking tea with some snacks at 10 o’clock, thereby incurring an additional cost, while boarding a bus would mean taking dry tea. On the other hand walking and being tired & late to work are synonyms. Walking also meant no extra treadmill fees in the evening. Why board a bus then pay your hard earned money to walk on a treadmill at the gym?

I took a bus.

That evening, I understood the real meaning of disaster. I will tell you more in part three.

I remain yours

Migingo Awat

THE WEEK THAT WAS (Part 1)

The Iron Anaconda

I have to start by categorically start without mincing my words that I always cruise my own way to work but last week I had to join the animal farm.

Some High School Students, after me, studied a literature book known as “The Animal Farm”. I understand that in this book, there is a phrase “all animals are equal but some animals are more equal than others”.

The week ending yesterday, was more equal than others.
In the recent times, life has become more equal than before. Therefore, a serious person who went to Ngere High School, like me, had to device a method of dealing with the so called high cost of living. My Pastor said, “when the economy is going down, yours shall go up!!” and I remember not only shouting the biggest “Amen” but also standing up on my feet!!! In our church, when the pastor brings out a pregnant point that touches you – the least you can do is to shout a fat AMEN, raise your hand or stand on your feet and if you want the point to be part & parcel of you, you get into ua wallet, take an offering and walk straight to the altar, and place it right there where God can see it (The angels will pick it after the service). Indeed it is true that by faith your economy can never go down – Amen?

One day when I went back home, cruising my own fully paid 4-wheel automobile (I have to state what I cruise lest you say I drive a Fielder), my God given eyes scanned my house to figure out any excess liability that can be done away with. I placed the TV, Man with the Base (Sony Music System for those who are less equal than others), DVD Player, iron box as the parasites that inflate my electricity bill. I couldn’t figure out which one is more equal than the rest..so I decided to spare them all. I had earlier disconnected the major liability – the water heater. Nowadays everybody must pray and fast before getting into the washroom lest you shout at the top of your voice when the pathetically cold natural resource drives its way across your dirty back! This makes me remember one day a visitor, from the village, came knocking at my door without notice. On his first day we gave him a rare natural treatment – warm water. On the third day, the human being still showed no signs of vacating the premises..so? I asked the queen to give him very cold water just to make him know that this is not Kisumu Rural but Nairobi City. A city where everything, including water, is costly. A city where you don't just pop up, without notice, for a visit. The human being walked majestically into the bathroom with the anticipation of the usual natural liquid treatment. Needless to say what happened thereafter. “Uuuuuuwiiii!!!!!!!!! Woi!! Woi!!! Woi!!!” You’ve never heard a black uncircumcised Luo man shouting at the top of his voice. My neighbours thought the guy was being swallowed by something bigger than the great anaconda. The rest is history.

Back to my original story. Next, my eyes went to the private rooms (the washrooms – yawa). My dad used to tell us..”kaw oboke” (Take the plant leaves) [Note for the foreign readers: in the village, we sometimes used plant leaves in place of tissue papers...enough said]. I couldn’t subject my kingdom to such in this time and age. Other families have resorted to old newspapers for the same function – life is hard. Old newspapers is also not a very sweet thing to deal with. You have to learn its tricks lest you embarrass yourself. That is another story for another day.

The bathroom had all kinds of soaps and those things that make the queen beautiful. I couldn’t dare touch a thing there. If you want to be a good husband, don’t start reducing your expenses with those items that touch on your wife. Free advice. Your wife must do anything & everything possible to maintain her beauty.

To make the long story short, I decided to be selfless and reduce the expenses which touch on myself. I decided to be taking the bus in the morning and the train in the evening. This is where things became very elephant.

I work in Upperhill not River Road. That is to say to catch up with the 5:30pm train meant I had to leave the office at exactly 5pm. It also meant that I had to literally but majestically walk my way downhill to the Railways Station. “Climbing” a matatu would be a waste of time due to the heavy traffic at the NHSF junction. This is the junction where vehicles, matatus, automobiles and tuk tuks literally kiss each other. The worst part is that the automobile owners do always argue with the PSV guys hence always attracting the intervention of police officers (for those who do not know, in this part of the world there is a big difference between a car and an automobile).

On my very first day, I was motivated by my colleagues who have perfected the art of trekking. Brethren, trekking is an art not a science. This art requires prayers and fasting coupled with a lot of faith. Why? It combines a very delicate balancing issue both in the brain and the surrounding environment. Imagine walking downhill and somebody comes behind you “Excuse!!! Excuse!!!” with very heavy luggage!! As soon as you move for the guy another cartoon, who is stuck in traffic hoots at you mercilessly!! The moment you move sideways, a human being heading to Kibera on a manual bike rings those loud bicycle bells at you and when you try crossing the road to the other side you bump into another confused fellow trying to find his way to your side of the road. Confusion galore!!!!

We arrived on time at the station only to be surprised at guys in brown attire shouting at us “Boss! Boss! Boss!” At least somebody knew that I was a boss. I realized that these were “moving cashiers” who were interested in taxing my hard earned money in exchange for “climbing” their very ugly colonial snake! I gave one of them Sh. 100 and to my surprise, I was given a receipt together with Sh. 60 change!! Wau!!! Life must be cheap on this side of the world.

“Puuuuuuup” the train pilot was tired of waiting for me and was set to leave…. But I still had two gates to deal with. It had to take skill effort to struggle through the two gates. I was born in Kisumu Rural and there is no way I could have missed the iron anaconda. For those of you who have watched “Outsourced” you know what I'm talking about. Ooh noo!!! My executive coat was minus one button when I eventually got into the train!!

Life in the train is not very easy. You know some of us were heading to Umoja (main houses), others to Buru Buru (Extensions), the rest were heading to Mathare valley, Kasarani and those sides of ushagoo. So I expected those who were going far to stand from the seats so that some of us could have a chance to sit!! Bad mannered human beings refused to corporate! “Kawuono olimwa gi jotayi – omera piny kara tek ne ji tee)” (Today we’ve been visited by those in tires – this life is hard for everybody) One yet to be circumcised Luo man whispered rudely. I looked at my surrounding and I was the only one in a tie. I quickly removed it and put it my pocket.

Next came this malicious mama selling ground nuts. “Tano tano njuguuuuu..nani baaaaadooo” (Nuts going for five shilling...anyone not yet served?). She was saying it in a very irritating manner while looking straight at my eyes. I felt abused. My dad used to tell me “Son, if you want to live well with a woman, eat a lot of nuts”. Now you understand why I didn’t like her looking at me that way. The next woman also came selling the same stuff but in a different patented version “NJUGS!! NJUGS!! NJUGSS!!!” She was advertising in capital letters!! Why could she just say “Njugu”? I think she was hired, by my many enemies, to irritate me.

It is only in the train that those who sit and those who stand pay equal fare. I guess those who sat were more equal than those of us who were standing. Even in my standing position, I could see outside because of the multitude of people who thronged around me. I’m sure they were up to something sinister. At a point i felt some fingers moving through my pockets. I had to tightly "hug" myself.

I had been told that Mtindwa stage is the second stop from the railways station. After the first stop, I penetrated my way to the door so as to manage to see outside and also alight in time before the train behaves. As soon as I reached the door, I saw Mtindwa stage but this thing was still moving!!! I shouted, “tell him to stop!!!” The Mathare Valley guys looked at me as if I was from another planet. The thing moved with such speed as if it had no intention of stopping. I was rudely meant to realize that had climbed the wrong wagon which was next to the head of the snake. I was supposed to climb the one on the stomach. Imagine, while the stomach was at Mtindwa, the head was at Caltex (Now Total) and the tail way back at Donholm. This snake was like a kilometer long!

“Omera miya tikedno kata wadhiri piny” (Brother, give us that ticket of yours or we throw you down), one rude guy spoke to me in my native language.Since I’m a peace loving Kenyan, I obliged.
I had to do some walking, to the house, on the muddy black cotton soil. That day I saved a lot of cash which I eventually used to fix my button and wash my designer suit which begs the question – was it really necessary to board that pathetic python?

Tomorrow I will tell you how our Citihoppa buss kissed the behind of a CRV before the rains poured cats & dogs.

I remain yours

Migingo Awat

{Note: This real life experience took place in mid August, 2011}

My Journey to the slaughter house

Have you ever wondered why things happen to you the way they do?

Just a few years ago, I, a very handsome me, was very handsome. No spot no wrinkle no madoa-doa. Blessed with a very handsome face, stomach, sitting allowance plus a Demio KBG (mlika mwizi)V. It just happened that as I was driving I found it right for me to take the privilege of enjoying the AC. Little did I know that this course of action could bring in some side effects in the name of “soar throat”. Do I need to say that I got a soar throat?

As a keen observer of TV adverts, I went to the chemist for some amuonya. Amuonya are those things which ur given over the counter while evading consultation fees. My TV tells me never to go to the doc unless “maumivu yakizidi”. How could I pay a thao for consultation while amuonya could cost me far less. I did not just go to any school; I went to Ngere High School. (A school where people knew that quantity precedes quality when it comes to matters of the stomach). Amuonya brought some complications and in the process maumivu yalizidi… so I had to go to the hospital with the advice of one Romana Wanza, a face book friend & psychotherapist. Romana is a lady who has built her image around therapy. She claims she is very good in matters of the heart and can sort you out in whatever problem you may have. She is a doctor/ nurse/ therapist/ psychiatrist/ physiotherapist etc. In short I do not know what she actually does in hospital apart from inserting some sharp pointed stuff in people’s sitting allowances and releasing some liquid into their pathetic veins. Her job is to dispose of the liquid substance. By the way, to I have to explain the phrase "whatever problem"? Ok let me give you a clue, Wanza is a Kamba name.

After going to the hospital that the Romana (Not Roman Catholic) referred me to, I did not meet the particular doc but I managed to call him & he also did the obvious – referred me to another doctor who gave me very heavy antibiotics. Had I said that I developed a swelling after taking the amuonya? There are some things which you have to knowingly forget if you want to live long in this world. The swelling was interfering with the handiwork of God and I had to make sure that it disappeared irrespective of the price of the antibiotics. Why did the doc ask me for my occupation? He wanted to gauge the fees!!! As expected after spending money & time on the antibiotics (Allow me to call them “antics”), the swelling became worse. So? I was referred to another doc for biopsy. Before the biopsy I was advised to see the dentist.

The dentist identified the real problem: it was in my molar. How could that tooth just wake up one morning and decide to release bacteria to my lower jaw? Some things are left to the professionals. The dentist not only dealt with that molar but also the premolars, canines and the rest of the community. In fact my mouth received a rare treat courtesy of the syringe lady. What was that which was responsible for sucking stuff from my mouth? The total cost of the procedure plus the antics came to slightly over 35k. When I say 35K I mean Kenya Shillings, not Zimbabwe Dollars!

At the end of the day, the honorable man was not to go without a surprise. “Man, you still have to go to the operation table!” We’ve tried all the “antics” but wow. In short, the docs try and I bare the cost – this world!! I pay for someone’s mistakes. I pay for wrong diagnosis!!

Oh the day came, and I had an appointment with the butcher. A part of me had to be removed in the slaughter house. I decided to go there as a man (though I had made so much noise in advance). So many people asked me to pass their regards to Abraham, others St. Paul, a few sent their regards to Moses. I wonder why they forgot to give me greetings for the Most High. I must acknowledge that very few people gave me hope of coming back to my family. How could they write me off that easily? Dying in the surgeons hand is not my portion!! I shall live to declare the goodness of the Lord!

Let me tell you something about death. You should not just die aimlessly – die honourably. Ati “Omondi amekanyagwa na tractor” (Omondi has been knocked down by a tractor). What tractor? That is insane!! It should be “My brother Omondi alipelekwa kwa baba (was taked to the maker) on a limo!” You go in style!. If you want to die, die honorably not on a theater table.

Some things are funny; on arrival to the hospital (needless to say that I was driving myself there), I went straight to the theater but they asked me not to try that in the hospital. So – I was taken to the next block where I was supposed to “be prepared for the operation”. What entails preparation? I was not told in advance that I had to be in my birth suit!! We were only two in that preparation room – the beautiful nurse and I. At first I put on the gown on top of my suit. In fact I looked like something like a scare crow (Mikwete). The nurse asked me to remove everything including my most valuable underwear. I obliged to all except the under… I asked her “yours first” and I stuck to that. I didn’t remove it. I don’t display my assets to every Jane & Mary.

The human being who came to the hospital driving was now on a wheelchair to the slaughter house. They made me feel really sick.

A DATE WITH CARJACKERS

It was meant to be a joyful evening which never was.

On Monday, May 31, 2010, I left the office at 6:30p.m a happy man. “A happy man” because it was the Queen’s birth day and I had to make everything work out perfectly well to please the love of my life. What special gift would I bring her distinct from the others? The very first gift I gave her was on her 19th birth day almost 12yrs ago and every year from then I am compelled to invent something new.

I remember that gift as if it was yesterday. As a twenty three years old newly engaged born again penin, I had no idea of what gift to give a spiritual girl. (Why do we say a man is a virgin? I’ve decided to call it penin). As I was walking across the crowded Manyatta market in Kisumu, I came across various things but what struck me most were species of athochs / athoje /ang’uola / handa. Athoch is that small cloth that insists on covering your valuable God given asset. To my novice mind, romance was something about praising the apparatus and giving a gift that took care of the same was most honourable. To shorted the long story – I bought a zebraic athoch. It was rapped for me in a brown cement paper ready for delivery. I remember heading to the telephone booth to wait for 2pm. That was the exact time the queen would be in her estate booth in anticipation for my call. Things worked out well that day and I gave the beautiful one her gift in the middle of the market. She obviously unwrapped her gift right there and her reaction is now history.

It was now 12yrs after the athoch incident and I had to make sure that things were right. I went to my favorite gift shop in Buru Buru Estate (not Kariakor or Kariobangi South), got the right gifts for the moment coupled with a mixture of flowers etc and sped off to my humble abode.

On arrival, as I was still figuring out whether to call the queen to the parking lot so as to head straight for the date or to get the gift to her in the house, I had knocks at my car windows. Raising my eyes I saw two pistols pointed directly at the source of knowledge (my head yawa). Immediately there was a great confusion in all my faculties; blood started flowing in the opposite direction; red blood cells turns green and the white ones retained the status quo! It was a shocker!! I found myself in the back seat at the mercy of my assassins. I can’t remember when I handed over my phone and car keys. The only thing I can reconcile to is that the vehicle refused to cooperate and a few slaps did the trick – I flew to the cut-out and there we went!! The cartoons drove the vehicle at an alarming speed but the prevailing circumstances did not permit me to complain.

Within five minutes the carjackers had taken all my possession – wallet, ATMs and corresponding PINS. I was driven to Kariobangi where we dropped one of them as we proceeded to Huruma Estate; somewhere where sewerage flow without dispute. This is the place where I would be ruthlessly massacred should “things” fail to materialize. They informed me that the guy who alighted was the one whose phone call would determine my fate. In deed the place where I was taken to smelt death – it was horrific. Too dark to be part of Nairobi. One of the two pointed at the flowing sewer and told me “this is your last chance. If you gave the wrong PIN, please save your life by correcting it now – If the cards are swallowed, we will shoot you and throw you into the sewer. You will rot there never to be found”. This guy kept cocking his gun while pointing it at me. He kept removing the live bullets and telling me that he needed only one of them to make me part of history. This was horrifying!!! Beatings became the punctuation marks to every statement that came from their horrible lips.

The phone rung and the gun was cocked and pointed at my head again. “Hello boss! Tell us what to do?” A lot of thoughts crowded my mind with my eyes tightly closed. Any mistake would make that pullet push through my pathetic skull. My brain was boiling at this juncture since I did not know what “boss” would decide.

“Man, you are free to return to your family. Take your car and disappear!!!” Phew!!!! They drove me to an well lit place, took the flowers and the other gifts meant for the queen and bid me bye!! I was forced to give them a hearty bye too.

To God be the glory!!!

I thank God that I am alive today. My skull was not broken, the car was left intact and more so my apparatus went untouched. That means that I still have hopes of getting a 4th born – Amen?