September 21, 2011
It’s been for ever, really, since the mourning episode I went subversive. I never hid, I just couldn’t post. I wasn’t sick, no. Nor was I out of town, I had a topic for the week, yes, but I just couldn’t post. I didn’t change my writing style or shift to word press.com, no. I didn’t get tired of writing as ideas shamelessly cascaded my mind, nor did I become a poet, I just couldn’t…..crap! This sure sounds like poetry to me!!
So I know you didn’t even notice that I was inevitably missing, or maybe you did. I’m braced for wounding comments after I post this one, well if you enjoy my reading that is, and if I appease your wry Wednesdays. Apart from the heart-rending fact that I will have failed you, though not intentionally, this will help me gauge the effect this blog has on you. Risky? Yes, I think so too. Once, a blogger missed a day of writing I had to literary hide my head as I read the comments that followed his next post. I almost thought I heard a gunshot in one of them.
Truth? I was off line; I won’t feed you with soothing sweet nothings. Do those lies still work by the way? So by the time I had my laptop fixed, it was late Friday afternoon. I know, I should have checked into the nearest cyber and punched my wordy post into the blog, but no. It’s not that easy. Not when you leave work at 5pm and spend a miserable 2 hours watching bicycles and pedestrians by-pass you at a speed of what, 2km per hour? These are the times I daydream of being the owner of a scrambler. So by the time I get home, play with Pesh and make my ‘after supper tea’, it’s a little too late to type much. I decided against posting that Friday as it would spoil the pattern. My pattern and I decided to go missing rather than be late.
I was trying to be gutful. I believed I had the balls to go a week without a post. It felt funny, yes it did. I was idle and felt a little unimportant. Yes, you guys make me feel very significant when you let me chat you up. You give me a pedestal to sit my brave ass on and pin your ears back to me. That always feels great! I had the moral fibre to go mum and I didn’t like it so it will not happen again and if it does, please look for me as I could be in a snag or something.
Talk of guts and my mind goes to two interesting happenings. We’d gone out for a five minute walk with my colleague, Wa… crap!…she made me swear not to mention her name on this blog lest I become her tea girl for the next six months. So we walked sluggishly back to the office enjoying the coveted sun. Lunch passed and just as we were ready to hit part B of the day, a man stomped into the office.
He was about 5’ 5”, dark and plump with a noteworthy pot belly. I liked his shirt, it looked expensive and he paired it with a pair of black cotton trousers…and good shoes. His good looks ended drastically at his smile which revealed a gold-like coating on his incisor. This he marched perfectly with similar coloured bands on his index and middle finger on his right hand. At first we all thought he was our boss’ guest as he admirably gazed around our well designed office. “So what do you consult here?” he roared, proving my already chary note that he clearly had no clue where he had just landed and was trying too hard to show off his valour, probably.
My colleague hadn’t seen what I’d seen, which was a swank that had enough money to rule the world, or thought he could. My colleague went ahead to explain what we consult on. She managed four words and this stranger lifted his hand as if to stop her. His raised hand then turned into a pointing finger. ‘You have very beautiful hair’, he drooled, eyeballing her. There was a sudden pin-drop dead air full of pure discomfort, and then suddenly we were all talking in obvious dismissal of this malnourished complement. “How may we help you, today?”I was struggling to look serious, but I couldn’t wait to burst out laughing at this stranger’s guts.
Going further down memory lane, Pesh and I were going back home from a friend’s visit. As usual in a crowded matatu, the insane tout kept shoving more people in, squeezing Pesh and I into an almost folded position. When I couldn’t take it any longer, I ordered the tout to give me back my money to alight so he can stack up the matatu to his satisfaction. He apologised profusely and moved his extras. I didn’t keep quiet. I went on to rumble at how he couldn’t reason and that I had to complain to get my rights. At that time, there was stillness. The only noise you could hear was the roar of an old timeworn engine. Slowly, passenger began to whisper in an assumed attempt to diffuse the otherwise aggravated air when another young lad dared to jump in and asked me to slide over. Hell broke lose again as I shrieked him out. I soon alighted and another man jumped out with me. “Excuse me Ma’am” I turned. It was 7pm, a little too early for an armed thug. “Yes?”
“Sorry for budging in on you but…” my eyes enlarged in disbelief. After the drama I just displayed back in the car, I was obviously unapproachable. “I noticed you have an Ideos phone with a black cover. Would you kindly exchange with me? I bought mine with a pink cover and I’ve never answered it in public…” I couldn’t believe it. This man actually approached me for a favour! Impressive! He made me smile and earned himself a blue cover I had as spare.
Sometimes, we just got to have ‘em balls!