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.
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.
In some parts you sound "naughty, naughty boy! hahahhaa
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