Of street preachers and migraines

16 Mar

Am typing this, coffee at hand, tongue in cheek, headphones on and spirits high. Yes, today i am that chirpy person in the office. And yes, i do realize it’s Monday. And no, nothing is putting me down today.
So, Fridays right? I live for Fridays. It sounds cliche but not for the normal hullabaloo…out with friends, drinking your ass to hell and dancing the night away. That used to be the case. In the good old days. *sigh* now i can’t wait for Fridays to high-tail out of the office and ultimately out of the city.
I love Nairobi. I do. Who am i kidding. I fucking hate this city with a passion. The moment i am out of it, i sigh with relief. So i leave work around 1.00 p.m and go grab my travel-bag*sounds fancy, right? It isn’t too fancy* and off i go to board a car to leave the bloody city.
I get in on time to find one seat left. Traffic is a female dog at this time of the day. It’s one of the charming aspects of this city. We are a merry band of travelers. There’s one Muslim who has an aversion to sitting next to women, and who is sitting right next to one thanks to fate.
He is old, with a glass eye. I don’t know if it’s glass but it’s the most striking feature about him. And i am almost afraid to look at him. He reminds me of the old woman in Drag Me To Hell, the freak horror movie. I remember screaming my lungs out all the while watching it. It’s the exact time i lost my balls too and stopped watching horrors. So i avoid looking at him all the way.
Then there is the woman seated next to him. She has on a wig, or is it a weave…i can’t tell. But any fool can tell that she needs to make her hair. It looks like a nest. Like a mice, lice and even reptiles can be hiding in there once you shake it carefully. Am grateful to be sitting at the back. I remember her because of the hair and the way she offensively calls me a kid. Honey, i don’t really carry the heaviest rack in town, but believe me…i am not a fucking kid.
Oh gee, how could i ever forget the pompous ass who was sited next to her? This guy was all you-should-know-me-i-work-in-tv-and-own-half=the-world. But guess what? I didn’t know him and that didn’t make my breathing become a problem since i am here typing this when i should be working. So he talks around all topics in the world, makes everyone in the car know that he works in tv, and that he has his own car, which i am wondering why he isn’t in it heading down a volcano right now…at which point i tune out and sleep.
Personally i was seated next to this respectable and very silent man in a suit. He looked hilarious in the suit with all the heat but heck, to each his own, right? Whatever tickles your fancy darling. He appeared really cool until he opened his mouth to comment on some silly discussion on how ladies nowadays dress, then i realized that he wasn’t cool. And since the mouse-trap-weave had called me a kid, the discussion really didn’t concern me.
Mr know-it-all then turns ever so considerably and in what i suppose is his most charming voice he goes…”how can you be reading a novel back there, it’s so dark” Gee thanks honey, i hadn’t noticed. You’d think I’m reading it inside his butt-hole. Sorry prudes. When we stop over to empty our bladders, he pulls out his card and hands it to me. I just shove it in my bag and leave him babbling some crap. I get back and he wants to know what i do and my name. When i do tell him, he makes to pat my back with his words…going, “i like seeing young people who take the initiative to find work” for the umpteenth time , i am not a kid!!! Well, screw that, i’ll be a kid for this ride.
So the weekend happens in all vivid colors. And i am gushing. Until i have to get back to the glorious city. Which i do, albeit grudgingly. Oh city life, i could easily swap you for a life at the beach, even though i can’t swim. Just for the breeze teasing my hair and the sun rays teasing my skin.just to feel the waves lap at my feet, yes dummy, i’ll take a walk down the shores to pick sea-shells then. *sigh*
I come back with another merry band of mature people who don’t call me a kid, so the ride is obviously better. I’m riding back in this car with Ugandan plates. I can’t describe the make because this kid is clueless when it comes to cars. But man, the engine purrs so softly it makes me feel things. It makes this humming sound that just makes me think..if this car was a woman, i’d ask her out to dinner in one of those fancy restaurabts overlooking the beach.
If it was cake, it would be one of those cakes that melt in your mouth and makes you taste colors. If it was whiskey, it would be heady yet calm. It would burn your throat deliciously and make your ears alert to sounds you didn’t know existed. Sigh, this car was manly yet sexy. It was beautiful yet dominant. If i ever buy a car, it will be an improved version of this car.
Then the seductive Nairobi lights beckon. The calm is deceptive. The trees lining the streets make you believe you are in some resort to relax. And then i alight and some street-kid pounces on me to beg for change. Well, that escalated fast.All my illusions of ever falling in love with the city just disappear on that very moment as a migraine begins to form.
It’s Monday and I’m back to work. Let me see how to survive the week in the glorious city under the sun. It’s a wonderful world. I forgot to mention the street preacher on my bus-stop with a sweaty mustache on my way coming to work. This is the highlight of the day so far.

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Posted by on March 16, 2015 in Uncategorized, Writing


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