Fire away; Ricochet is Life!

Ricochet is life!

A man can only stand so much. There is that kapoint at which all guys will break. It matter not if they are at the ‘mama-I-made-it’ level or the ‘started-at-the-bottom-and-now-just-a-little-bit-from-the-bottom’ level. They all break. Shouldn’t I be saying we? Yeah, there is the point at which we all break. This is a point where a tailspin ensues. Its odds of happening are low but just like hitting your toe against the table where you’re barefoot, it does. I have seen it happen to many even those that claim to be lion-hearted nsht.

A rent-money bet goes south because Arsenal is lame and a bitter Arsenal fan snaps. A loan-car is overturns during one of those wild nights and someone sobers up and snaps. A dream-job is lost and someone yells at their boss then snaps. A small toe is hit against the table and someone snaps (Okay ignore that one). A fiancé walks away and someone swears they’re okay then they snap. Well I think it’ll get boring if I write any more ‘snaps’ so I’ll just hope you get the point.

I think you could feel his fingers trembling. Like hear the little microbaroms as they race through the air past your ear. He was awfully nervous. From watching too many CSI episodes I could tell his pupils were dilated. *Hey Felly dilated pupils just mean the nervous system is beginning to suck at being a nervous system. Seems unbelievable much, yes? Well, this is a true story. I actually used my phone’s screen to get a reflection of the guy seated behind me and I could see his eyes. And this was kedo one month ago when I was *cues in Nameless, I’m coming hoooome! Home where I beloooong! Narudi Nyumbani! Nyumbani! Yeeeah!, Get it? C’mmon I was going home. I was pretty excited to go see my folks after bursting my butt in the city for couple of weeks without showing up home. My cue for going home is when mum calls ‘just to say’ "Umetutupa sana”.

I was using one of those Northrift Shuttles. Just so you know these are the next best travel alternative to owning a moti if you’re going to my Ushago. If word gets to the village that you use them then you’ll be classified in the same ‘whos n whos’ list as the Chief, the MCA, the priest, the one guy with more than 10 cows and the corky guy at the water pump who decides when everyone gets their water. Those Shuttles (I know this is a strong word for a mathree but hey we’re in Kenya) carry only 11 of you at a time and don’t stop there at sijui Giciengo for people to pee only for all of you to get pick pocketed. They stop at fancy places and some smoky places with heavenly roast meat – Kikopey that is. Well not that Kikopey is fancy and all but at least no one will ‘beat you’ Ngeta there. Then they have this mouth-watering Choma that you should only eat in manageable quantities and with pilipili or else have to make too many ‘very urgent’ stops afterwards. I don’t want to say that you’ll have to be constantly looking for bushes where you can do some ‘quick business’ and that people will see you and that one of those people will be a blogger and that the blogger will fail to resist the urge to not write about it in their blog and that you will be embarrassed when the story finally comes out about the guy in a suit doing it in the bush there near Gilgil.

Who knows, you may even get chased by those Zebras idling around the Delamere farm. And just be aware that if we see you being chased by a Zebra from a bush where you went to do it with your pants down we will take the pictures and use them to educate our kids about places not to do it. Alright! Enough of that.

So this guy was fidgeting a lot with his phone. He started calling. He called Lenard who I think was his client. Then he called another dude and I know this because Infinix (and Tecno) phones have no privacy. A heartfelt apology to the Tecno-Infinix gang I mean well you knowJ. And the dude I kinda figured out was a loan guy. He called more people for what seemed like an hour. Then viola he snapped. He was all over the place. He sounded bitterer than the barefoot guy who has hit his toe against the edge of the table. You could feel the tension strangling the air in the mathree as he fiddled with the phone, cursed slowly, then loudly, then said a lot of f's! He forced conversation with those two chaps seated beside him. 

“Maisha ni ngumu nanii…” he said at one point. “Yaani mimi sijui ata ni kisirani gani hii….” 

Nobody talked. 

Then this guy on the right says “vitu hukua hivo” and I think that was the cue for our guy. He profusely protested about his business sucking at being a good business, his lorry being tied to a loan and him wanting to sell it secretly and the loan agency discovering this and refusing with it and him being broke and everything crumbling on top of him. At least that is the much I got from his rant which is impressive since I was also listening to Gilad and akina Zidi the Band through earphones. And either way I am not a particularly nosy person.

I should also let you know that shuttles have an unspoken code of conduct. Like the part where you mind your own business and not disturb your neighbor by humming or singing or coughing suggestively or smelling bad (this one mostly) or staring or making loud phone calls and pretending to be really important. The exception is if you’re humming the Game of Thrones’ theme song, that or the national anthem. These are very important codes since shuttle people pay kedo 200 bob above those regular mathree fares. They pay for such luxuries. So see how the snapping dude was violating all of them? I mean who gives a hoot if you’re broke and having a breakdown in a public vehicle and shouting out fucks? Shady right? A big boo to you if you thought of yes. Why you ask? Well because he is a guy who has seen the naked wrath of the evil breaking point for guys! Ladies you may not understand this but just picture your equivalent of a man’s sweatiness, agility and ruggedness which are supposed to help you withstand such primal tides being trodden upon like they don’t exist.  

And talking of smelling bad I beseech ye brothers of mine to wear cologne. I honestly don’t know why you’d be comfortable smelling like you were the one getting goats into Noah’s ark whereas you have a white collar job The exception is the beloved Kenyans that work in the mjengo industry.

So that feeling of powerlessness foaming up after these tailspin moments twists guys and renders them insanely unstable. Here, I found a better example for you ladies – just imagine what happens in the few seconds of sleep paralysis happen to you for a day – a year – a decade. It is scary as hell. More like spending your whole life rigor-mortised. That’s how men feel when they cannot influence anything.

I don’t know how things turned out for our nameless guy but I am sure he’s somewhere savoring life right now. Unlike the guy who hit his toe against the edge of the table.

Okay allow me to say this first. I hit my toe against the edge of my table. The pain was excruciating yaani hadi I had to take a nap. So I am repeating the phrase all over as part of the psychological path to recovery. (*Kay this is the part where I stand in that ka-therapy room and say “My name is Wesh” | Audience: slow wave – Hey Wesh! | “and I am afraid of my table:)”).

Haya moving on.

You know what happens when people snap? They get their head back in line. I know some give in but most of us finally apply those breath-in-breath-out P.E. lessons and get our composures back. Trust me I have been at that point where I wanted to pack my bags and go back to the slopes of Menengai and become a farmer who lives alone in a ramshackle hut in a very big farm that I’ll till until kingdom come. But here I am still in the city.

Reason? Well, it’s simply because (I) we’re hopeful of better days. We become resilient after our breaking points. I can imagine that nameless guy who was ranting in the shuttle updating his twitter feed with “I survived #Teamthickskin #Unbroken #LionHeart” and a couple of emojis. I am also not sure if he knows that Titanium song but he’d be jamming to it all night long and being a not very good singer murder it when he screams “I am titaniuuuuuum!” from beneath his shower because having lost his income-generating lorry he can’t surely afford to be in a Jaccuzi ama?

Why also do you think Lunjes move a lot? Like move with their furniture nsht upcountry but then realize life sucks even more over there and so come back with their beloved furniture again? It is because of resilience. Refusing to be bowed by life. Being thick skinned.

It is because for me, for them and all the resilient gang out there ricochet is life.

Church: Because I am Broken

Are you broken too?

Courtesy of Klear

Picture me in church. The guy wearing a checked shirt with Khaki pants. Of course they’re matching or are they? Let’s settle on I think they are matching. And I have loafers on. Let’s talk about loafers kidogo. I have come to adore loafers recently. See with loafers you can simply slide them on without socks and it is still a kickass, probably outdated, fashion statement. And besides if you wear socks with loafers it looks weird unless you have Larry Madowo’s happy socks. Donning loafers with socks is how people in ‘Nyairofi’ tell you grew up in ‘Karima Mutiume’. And this is so because people in shagz dress in the look-at-me-I-don't-live-in-the-city way and I know this because I was brought up in ushago and I am different because the ways of the city accepted me. I became one of the city people. I changed my ways. I was turned. Does that sound like a script in an alien movie? Anywho, when I go back to ushago greet mzee and maitu heads turn my friend. Women murmur low-key about me – the kamwana who went to the big city all slim and naive and now has chubby cheeks and confidence from here to Timbuktu. I don’t know how they feel about that. Girls stare at me too. To them I am an icon of fashion and  progressive lifestyle. They tell their boyfriends to be like me. Should I vie for a political seat? Yes?

Hyperbole aside, on a normal weekday in karima mutiume you can easily get away with wearing boxers over your pants, Spiderman style. Nobody really cares. And in karima mutiume once they get wind of a ‘new’ fashion – which probably will be a year later – everyone rocks the same attire. There’s this Y person I was reminding of the karima mutiume guy starter pack; a red cap probably written ‘Chicago bulls’ (replace that with the De Matthew cowboy hat for the case of village elites), a SAVCO or equally branded jeans trouser, a pair of fake brown timberland boots, a big belt with Chuck Norris embedded on the buckle, jacket ya pumzi (what are those called in English?) and a shirt. The shirt part is hard to describe but there are usually those shirts that come in batches of a million and so every other guy has one. Yes those ones. That’s the starter pack.

Of course there are alternatives. You can choose to wear a suit. But village suits are different. They are shiny and baggy. Everyone seems to have a suit two sizes larger. Its how it has been from ancestral times. A well kept tradition. Only city-coined 'renagades' run away from it. The trousers are especially very large - the kind that can be used to make two pairs for Nairobi people. "Filthy children!", a church elder would say, "Wearing pants that barely fit them". Which is true to some extent. Now because there are not that many people over there, when Kimotho, the tailor buys a huge piece of sewing material, it means that at least 10 people will end up with the same kind of suit, with only the size being different. But they won’t care. Matching suits somehow tickle their happiness.

Ok, I am diverging too much. Back to loafers.

So on those mornings – which happen to be very frequent – when I’m late and don’t have time to get the wardrobe together I just slip them on and off I go. Just like that. Loafers are life man. PS: Putting my wardrobe together means finding a clean pair of socks.

Now back to the church story

I am standing there – sixth seat from the right and the fourth row from the front. One hand is up in the air – upper than usual. This is after I have lifted both for some time and I have to take one down to avoid severe exhaustion. And also to conserve energy just in case Pastor Ken wants us to lift them up again. He does that a lot. One hand up takes half the energy. You also need to know that I did not eat a full breakfast and so I am a little famished and drained too. Why? Because it’s Sunday. What happens on Sunday you ask? Hold that thought right there, we’ll come back to that.

So I am there, closing my eyes, its dark, and tears are edging at the corner of my eyes. I am not the teary type. Okay hold on, I know I am adding too much stuff in between but I have to let you know the only other time I tear is when cutting damn onions! But I am getting me a helmet for that which I’ll dispose off as soon as I get a bae to cut onions for me. So I am not tearing over damn onions or lost Sportpesa bets or a cold heartless dimwit that walked out of my life. No, I am soaking in worship. It’s that segment in church for kutendereza - I like the word tendereza by the way - sounds solemn and all. I am praying. Deep stuff. I even say ‘shabalabala canter njeru’ somewhere inside that prayer. It feels good. I am alilo in the spirit if you know wharamean. 

Courtesy or Relevant Church

Today I am seated next to Pastor Sang – he’s a prayerful guy. A really loud prayerful guy. And he is very straight with God. He says stuff to Him aggressively and punches his palm to make points. So when I sit next to Sang, I also get tempted to be loud. I say amen to some of his points so that God will answer to both of us. Let’s call that prayer diversification. I am not sure if Sang listens to what I pray about. I sure hope he doesn’t because I do pray about girls and last I checked Sang has a wife. Well we don’t want him polygamous do we? Not with all these prayers at stake!

Maybe God likes his zeal. Maybe He looks forward to listening to Sang’s prayers on Sunday mornings. I can imagine the conversations that take place on Sunday mornings in heaven.

Gabriel: (to God) Sang is here. He’s really praying.

God: Sang my guy! I like him. What does he want?

Gabriel: (gets a list) He is praying for peace in Kenya. They fear that Alshabab will do something crazy again. For a car, for rent money, for the CJ, for Duale, for Moses Kuria, for Duale again and rent again.

God: Not the lame Alshabab guys again. Ebu confuse them. Alafu give Sang rent money too and sober up Duale and Moses Kuria! Jeez those two need to get their acts together! Everyone is praying about them!

Gabriel: And Wesh is here too.

God: Oh, I like Wesh. Is he wearing those cool khaki pants again? Of course he is. He’s slaying much nowadays. So what does Wesh want?

Gabriel: (After listening to me for 10 minutes). He’s praying over girls again! He says he wants a bae.

God: But we gave him a bae last week and the week before that. What happened?

Gabriel: (Rolls eyes) I know. He has been curving them. The one for last week he says she talks too much.

God: Smh. Does he even need a bae now? (Checks my heart for the truth). Lol….see here Gabriel (pointing at my open heart), Wesh just wants someone to help him cut onions!

Gabriel: (Indignant look) Do we give him a bae?

God: No. Give him money for a helmet.

Gabriel: No bae? He’s your son!

God: Duh! I know he is and I know him better than anyone. No bae for now. Just a helmet.

Lets back up to why I am doing this.

“Na usisahau kuomba”. That’s how regular conversations with my mum over the phone end. She’s sweet. Never shouts over the phone. Never grumbles too. So it’s hard to ignore her request. When she asks me to pray I really have to. She says it’s for my sake and I believe her. God knows I am the chief of sinners. I am broken. Under heavenly receivership. That’s why I show up to church on Sundays. Why I care to pray every other day. Why I read the bible even when its talking about cubits length and more cubits in width. Even when it talks of people who begot other people who begot other people.

Wait, there’s the part where I don’t eat breakfast on Sunday. That is mostly because I trade it for 30 more minutes of sleep. You can never sleep enough man. So I am always on a rush on Sunday mornings to get up, shower in like zero time, slide in those cool khaki pants that God likes and loafers and to get to church. So I show up to church to talk to God and hear from Him and get unbroken, become His masterpiece and not be under receivership here (read Chase bank manenos) and there in heaven. It’s also sorta cool that God likes me and you know we have had this thing going on for some time and I cannot like let Him down. And I love being in church on Sundays. It just feels right.

Why do you go to church?