Its been a while since i wrote. It’s a shame that i got sucked in by the politics of our nation, these have been unprecedented times. I thank God am back, with a bang (Ok, thats a bit stretched).
Thank you to all who kept coming back to read and am sorry you left disappointed. I wont let you down again.
Keep the faith and stay warm.
There are cold places and then there is Kijabe. You can tell you are in a different place right from when you step off the vehicle at that nondescript junction off Nairobi-Nakuru highway. Everyone here is heavily clothed and with a woolen cap, ( I guess those caps are stuffed with chicken feathers too). Their sense of fashion too is gory to say the least, here matching colors is for the rainbows only.
Fifty shillings later, you will most likely find yourself at AIC kijabe mission hospital, at least that’s where my fifty Bob took me. Interestingly, there ain’t many matatus on this route, instead there is a herd of old Toyota fielders, most of them thirsting for a mechanic and a good wash. If it’s your first time here like me, you can’t tell that the fifty bob fare is actually a rip-off. It is really given that the vehicle uses more of gravity than fuel to descend to the bowel of the earth where the famous hospital is located. My fielder driver engaged neutral almost immediately we had left Stage ya Baridi ( na mahindi choma).
If you are one of those environmental freaks who love lots of green and chirping birds, this is your place.
There is nothing much to write about the hospital except for the fact that they start their day with lots of prayers, I guess to encourage the sick and the dying. Plus the queues can be loooooooong!!!
Of interest is people here are a tad more slower than most other places, except Mombasa of course. I guess the chilly weather got into them. There isn’t much you can do in this weather except eat much and make babies.
As I await my admission or release, I must write about the staff, specifically the ladies because what is a long read without ass in it,right? These ladies are breathtakingly beautiful and their uniform hug them in all the right places. Come to think of it, this is a deliberate misery distraction policy employed on the patients by the hospital. Clever chaps these ones!! If am to be admitted, am sure one of these girls will be the night nurse.
Today I was scheduled for an operation and unlike many in my inner circle, I was excited. I was excited because it would have put an end to the undescribable pain I go through everytime the pancreas decided to act up. One of these days, I will tell you about pancreatitis.
Back to the operation, it never went through. The doctor cited things I didn’t care to know and told me, “My conscience cannot allow me to cut you open as I can’t guarantee that the operation will take away the pain”. I was deflated and pissed!! Who wanted a guarantee? Isn’t that the reason we sign to take away the burden of certainty from his hands?
I hate pills and capsules. I am like an addict now, too many injections.
Forty eight hours ago, he had been standing outside his cowshed, over his dying cow. It was the only animal he had remaining after the ravaging drought had scorched his crops forcing him to sell his goats and eat his chickens. He had cycled over hills ridges away to search for grass only to find rich men with heavy vehicles buying all the grass at the price of a kidney.
Now, all he could do was provide shade over his miserable cow as he awaited his son to bring the knife. He stared into the cow’s eyes and felt sorry for her but what was he to do? The cow, he hoped,understood, it had to.
Life had slowly but systematically dealt him a heavy blow.Now, sitting on the edge of his bed and his wife tossing in bed like waves, he remembered the 90s when 500 bob could buy him a sack of goods, when soils were fertile and agriculture could employ one. The weather was predictable and though Nyayo was sinking the economy, at least the grand old man from Sacho, didn’t touch the prices of basic commodities, at least not significantly. Moi and his thieves had sense to leave crumbs for the common mwananchi to scrum for. At least with mzee, grassroot people like Lotodo and kihika and mutisya had a place in the glasshouse.
He remembered his sister lying on that hospital bed, trying desperately to fight off cancer yet death stood by bidding its time. He felt a cruel lump fill his throat. Despite all the harambees, all the prayers, a trip to india for treatment, his sister was leaving him,her three kids with him because her husband had entered into a second marriage, with chan’gaa. Seated still as death, he saw the images of Kafura, that one who catwalked away with money enough to buy seven cancer machines, he saw Ruto of Bomet who despite being in charge of health, left for S.A to have his nose elastoplasted and his bruised ego massaged. How could the wicked, those dancing on his sisters grave be so comfortable and prosperous? The chief who was collecting bribes from changaa vendors was now building a mansion and had recently bought a car for one of his many mistresses while the noose was getting tighter for our man! Corruption had taken from him and placed a heavier burden of bringing up three more children. He was angry and shaking and sweating, he caught himself almost shouting his thoughts.
He felt stupid and used because earlier that day, he had participated in party nominations. The election season was here and at a meeting with one of the tens of candidates, him and others had eaten mandazis and tea! Even a hooker with missing teeth couldn’t be that cheap, he thought. As he remembered the tea, he realized he could no longer afford milk!! How did a litre of milk hit 60? Isn’t his preffered candidate for president the owner of everything creameries? What happened to the promise of investing in Agriculture and water, wasnt there a discovery of water in the godforsaken Turkana? If it weren’t for the massive stealing, his cow and his siater would have had a fighting chance!!
He saw his pastor, at his sister’s funeral, saying that it was going to be well. Now he remembered that the man of cloth was different from him. He drove a fuel guzzler, lived in a house that children reffered to as a castle due to its sheer size and luxuries therein. Infact, wasn’t the pastor on the cover of some magazine whose name he couldn’t recall, tofether with the wife, posing with their state of the art toys? Isn’t this his pastor who was in meetings with politicians, praying for them to win the coming elections? Whose side was he on? Who was this man anyways, was the shepherd not supposed to reflect his flock and vice versa? Surely,Something was wrong with that picture!!
What was he now to do with six children and a pregnant wife? The cow was gone and that evening, the heavens had opened with fury, was his cow the sacrifice to appease the rain gods? If it was, then things were also bad in the supernatural for the gods to accept such a miserable animal!!
His thoughts were interrupted by the constant beeping of the new elecricity token thing. The units were kicking their last. Tomorrow, there will be darkness in his house, darkness frightened his children and though this amused him, he hated the smoky tin lamp with a passion.
Something had to be done, amends made. He couldn’t live like this anymore. If his children were going to have a realistic shot at life, if he was going to have anyone respect him, he was going to earn it, one way or the other.
2:48 am, he unhung his old kabuti, picked an axe and a torch, walked over to where his children slept and covered them again. He stood over them for a while, emotions flooded him and a tear left his eye. He sighed and walked back to his bedroom, he pulled the only blanket over his wife and kissed her on the cheek. She looked so beautiful that blood rushed south, though tempted to make love to her, he held back, destiny was calling. He placed kshs 2000 on a stool, the proceeds from the meat for thats all he had. It was his and his family’s.
He walked out into the darkness with this one promise, “I go on your behalf to get our rightful share but i will be back, with respect and a better life, so help me God”
These awards are meant to recognize badass Kenyans who don’t give Fs because they got none.
CATEGORIES AND NOMINEES
POLITICS
Miguna Miguna
Moses Kuria
Millie odhiambo
Muthama Johnny
Social media politicos
Alai Robert
Wahome Thuku
Jerome Ogolla
Today there are two anniversaries in my calendar; three years of ‘good’ blogging (if you believe the WordPress people) and one year since i lost my second brother.
Happy Anniversary with WordPress.com!
You registered on WordPress.com 3 years ago.
Thanks for flying with us. Keep up the good blogging.
Today there are two anniversaries in my calendar; three years of ‘good’ blogging (if you believe the WordPress people) and one year since i lost my second brother.
Have you ever looked at your life and wondered whether the owner of the ostrich gave you
someone else’s life script? Or wondered whether you jumped into the wrong queue and got a Zimbabwean life graph and then you dropped right in Kenya.
These kinds of thoughts mostly occur when your life is worse than that of a Central African republic prisoner. These are the thoughts of a hoof eater, one who dreams of the liver and the fatty parts like the Most High’s sacrifice yet he/she lives on the knees and firestones of a cow.
Dear Nimmo, I hope you are well, I really do. It’s been a two weeks since I heard from you. Ever since thieves snatched your phone on your way from my place, you developed Anthropophobia. You wrote to me the longest letter I had ever received about the small incident. You couldn’t believe what an insecure neighborhood I lived in. In fact, you almost made me think I lived in Mogadishu. If that letter was sent to the government, they would have sent Recce to come save me (Ok, they would never come as I don’t pay taxes anyway).
Since it’s really
hard to nail down one thing and write about it especially when things in this country happen so fast and furious, let’s try to make nonsense of events making news, shall we?
Kaniaru' Son 