On this day that
was eagerly awaited by every being in the whole location including myself, I
woke up early even before the early risers who happen to be the birds of prey.
The supernatural being who baptized himself God, had done his part because I
could feel my body had the desired stamina to encounter the day’s challenges
that could cross my path. The supernatural had blessed me with good health on
this great day. It was a great day because the country’s top C.E.O was passing
through our location. Considering where I come from, one can understand that
every man, woman and their products hardly had a wink of sleep the entire night,
not when a man they perceive to be a god would be visiting their neighborhood.
Ignoring the breakfast,
not minding that the only means of transport available was my ‘number eleven’ aka walking by foot, to get me through
twenty kilometers of a journey, I set out to seek a handshake from the C.E.O.
The whole village followed behind me with great anticipation that they too will
get a handshake. On the way I was telling them how it would be a piece of cake
to greet this man if someone who spoke some English sought audience from him.
Since I happened to be the only one who spoke this foreign language that I
learnt in my primary education, they had every reason to believe that I was the
only one capable of convincing the C.E.O to shake hands with the whole
community.
After trekking
for three hours and the whole village behind my tail, we eventually reached the
main road where we had to wait for the grand arrival. By this time, I was
feeling that my stomach needed some company. Since I was short of notes and
coins in my pocket as usual, it had to remain lonely for a little bit longer.
We stood along the road for hours until our bodies became darker than usual and
our faces wore wrinkles as a result of the scorching sun in collaboration with
the lonely stomachs. It was 2 ‘o’clock in the afternoon and signs of hope were
not eminent yet. To give my crowd some hope, I convinced them that the C.E.O
was about to reach us, only that he was to take longer shaking hands with every
citizen along the way.
In case you
possess a handful piece of brain similar to mine and wondering who the C.E.O I
speak of is, please lend me the ears and pay attention. First, let me say being
a village C.E.O, in that everything I say to my fellow mates is correct, I
happen to know fellow C.E.Os. The villagers therefore believed that I must know
this particular C.E.O and I could convince him to shake hands with my loyal
subjects. What they didn’t know was that this C.E.O never travels on his feet
like we do neither does he use a bicycle as an advanced mode of transport like
we village C.E.Os do. We do not require a battalion of armed men to protect us
but he does. At least I was informed that this C.E.O was way above our caliber.
In place of bicycles, he uses limousines. In these locomotives are men who wear
ugly faces and don in camouflaged suits and uniforms such that sighting them
became terrifying to onlookers. In short I am talking about the president and
his convoy.
It was four in
the evening that the long awaited moment was born. Signs of the president being
around the environs were eminent when vehicles and motorbikes driven by kiganjo products producing loud screams
emanating from the top of their roofs and tails respectively zoomed past us at
the top of their speed. Questions came in multiples from loyal subjects with amazement
and puzzled by this unfolding event with strange creatures. They were curious
to know whether those cages that spent past us contained people in them and not
aliens. They were also keen to know why the surface they trod on was not
similar to the one they walk on. I was fast to apply my much needed
intelligence and produce answers. I told them the cages were cars manufactured
in another planet and were being driven by people called drivers. I also told
them that the surface in question is called a tarmac and it does not produce
the kind of dust they were used to. Since they found my terminologies a bit
Greek according to the look on their faces, we simply settled that the surface
was ballast fixed with glue, mixed with color for it to appear black. They
bought it.
To stop further questioning,
I warned them that they risked forfeiting the golden handshake if they did not
conduct a choir for the president. Since they happen to be church goers, gospel
songs came in surplus accompanied by ululations from the old ‘cucus’{grand mothers}. I was quick to counter them by intimating that the
man they wanted to shake hands with was not the regular church elder and they
risked spoiling the experience by singing gospel songs. Instead, I convinced
them to repeat the words ‘KANU yajenga
nchi’ {KANU builds the nation}
several times in a desired rhythm and to flash the index finger in the air. I
also told them that, in case they noticed that the man was trying to ignore them,
they should stand in the middle of his passage and prompt him to reward them
with some money as the KANU tradition demanded. However, my instincts
told me that things might turn ugly if they tried to prompt this man for a
golden handshake at a time he was running late to his destination. I ignored
the malicious instincts!!
Singing they sung,
flashing fingers they did but ignored they were. Being the loyal subjects they
are and acting on their C.E.O's advice, they proceeded to block the passage of
the highest C.E.O. It is at this moment that I sensed a smelling rat around the
neighborhood. My instincts were about to proof themselves right. Slowly I drew
from the surging crowd towards the opposite direction. My adrenaline level was
rising insightful to my bladder that it was time to answer an emergency call. Armpits
began oozing sweat to spell fear. In a fraction of seconds, doors flung open
and men heavily loaded with their tools of trade were on the attack. Sounds of
screams and cries filled the air. It was time to flee. The faster your legs,
the safer you were. I could feel artificial rain over my head emanating from
billiards harder than steel being propelled by these kiganjo products. Children who rarely had any pants on them, felt
they had sat on hot charcoal in their mother’s kitchens. Their screams could be
heard miles away but they had to learn to evacuate by themselves since their
mothers were nowhere to be seen. Their feeble legs were doing a tremendous job.
Their mothers could be seen vanishing into the nearby shrubs at the speed of
lightening and at the expense of their little ones, their skirts halfway about
the neighborhood of their waists.
Although I had
withdrawn from the crowd earlier, forsaking my loyalists, the wrath did not
miss me either. Billiards rained heavily on my shaved head and I could feel
that justice was at its peak on my back and the entire circumference of my
bottoms. I had to accelerate farther and seek refuge somewhere away from these Talibans.
I was running out of fuel though, prompting me to take a shortcut. I grabbed a
certain plant in an effort to climb to the top imagining that it was a huge ‘mugumo’ tree, for asylum. You should be
aware that not every plant with leaves and branches qualifies to be a tree, at least
not when you need one to climb it. The plant that I climbed did not therefore
qualify to be a tree but in my imagination, it was. The unqualified tree did me
a brief favor to reach its peak. I grabbed one of its branches by clinging on
it for a rest. I took a deep breath as a sigh of relief and to spend some time
in my asylum nursing wounds sustained on the process of evacuation. It is on
the verge of nursing the wound that the plant decided to communicate a message
to me that it was a unqualified tree and that it would have loved to assist me
but could not hold any extra weight except that of its branches. Simply, it
couldn’t take it anymore.
It was
immediately after the message was put across that the unqualified tree acted on
its favor and decided to shed me off. Since the branch I was sitting on had
betrayed its master, it had to accompany me down to where I belonged. The war
zone!! I fell right at the feet of the commandos who have received extra
training compared to their kiganjo
counterparts and they were more than happy to receive me. I had no time to even
feel how many broken ribs needed repairing because no sooner had I been
received by these commandos at their feet than they geared themselves to enjoy
fresh meat. I was in hot soup considering that the number of knuckles, kicks
and billiards that raided me were countless. By the time these men called a
truce I was immobile and writhing in pain. It took almost an entire day to wait
for the country’s C.E.O but three minutes at most to become dented all over.
It is after
their departure that my loyal subjects started emerging from nearby bushes
looking extremely worn-out and terrified. With my little visibility I could see
children coming down from better trees that are obviously qualified to be
referred as such only that their uncovered bottoms seemed quiet blistered and
swelled as a result of brief visitation by men in black. Everybody’s head was
highly populated with noodles creating a bumpy look. One could be forgiven to
think that a colony of bees had attacked them angrily for snatching their honey
from their hives. I was not an exception. My injury resume was however a bit
advanced since I could feel that in addition to a bumpy head, a torn skin at my
back as well as bottoms, several broken ribs needed repair and I was immobile.
My loyal subjects had to carry me on their shoulders at the expense of nursing
their own wounds to a local hospital to seek attention from the modern
herbalist. It took me a week to gain semi mobility but spent several weeks on
my bed to regain hundred percent mobility.
After regaining
my health thinking all was well with my loyal subjects and that they had
forgotten about the golden handshake incidence, I got a rude shock. I was all
to blame for telling them that a golden handshake from the country’s C.E.O
comes with goodies and them being followers of ‘baba na mama’ party{father
and mother party KANU},they stood a better chance to receive a huge amount
of money that could feed the entire village for a month. The handshake however
came with golden knuckles, kicks and billiards amounting to golden noodles on
their heads and blistered behinds for their children. They fumed! They
denounced me as their top C.E.O and as I speak, I no longer feature in the list
of location’s top chief executive officers {C.E.Os}.They have appointed a elder
instead. I am now thinking of suing the top C.E.O who is now retired for
costing me my job. A little advice to Kogelo residents is; not to seek a
golden handshake from President Obama in case he visits, at least not against
his wish. Try and find out why darkness is an enemy of daylight. As for me, I
have had an opportunity to shake the President’s hand not long ago, without
breaking a sweat. Pleasure was mine UK!
(I remember
those days of single party state, KANU,
as we celebrate Kenya @50)
Compiled by the tickler
Son of the unquenched
Kevin Murungi
murungikevin@yahoo.com
@Rights Reserved
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