The sun sits nicely as if hanging from a pouch. Radiating gold streaks, grey clouds hanging scattered just below and on the sides, as if pledging allegiance to it, adding aesthetic effect to the gold. I squint my eyes, holding my palm against my forehead to take in the breathtaking site. The acacia trees look profounding against the golden horizon, fog emanating from the grass , making it look like it is covered in a thin layer of diluted white, massaging the sensuality of the grass in the morning, feeling entitled and taking all the credit. And that, that was a good site, to start a day. Gives off the feel of some powerful, emotion wrecking painting that will for sure have you gasping, begging you to have it placed on your favourite wall.
Too bad that i didn’t manage to capture the magnificent look. But i guess that is why words are important. So it’s a 50/50 for me.
6:14 am and i am sitting on the recliner by the door. The sitting room looks lifeless, pillows strewn all over and just left there by the kids as they played the night before. I place one leg on the stool in front of me and sigh deeply as i sink into it. I can hear the rain outside heavily pouring and i think of all the times it has been raining almost every night, but today? It started around 5am like a joke, but it has been raining ever since.
My big hand bag that i carry, full of unnecessarily necessary stuff is between my right leg and the sofa, a remote just beside it. I look at the portrait on one side of the wall, but i can’t see it well, because the bulb’s light is directly shining on it. But i know what and who is on it. I don’t have an umbrella, so i have to wait for the rain to stop. Meanwhile i open Jackson Biko’s blog. I have saved several of his pieces on offline mode, so that i get to read whenever i can manage. I don’t know about you, but i love how words talk to me, how nicely done stories get my heart melting like butter and i love the feeling. I think if i would ever get a chance to meet Biko. I love how well he does what it is, that he does. I don’t know if i would fumble in his presence as we stare at each other in a knowingly unknowing awkward manner, each battered by feelings neither of us want while the smell of the boulangerie patisserie molest us, separating us from everything in the name of words and art of good story telling. He would be thinking of how i can never be invited to English tea parties because i never finish tea in my cup and how i don’t like my tea hot, but who even drinks their tea that hot? Must be psychos!
Telling himself that what i really need is to pour myself a cup of aristocracy at the very least. Maybe he would just stare at me, taking in description of what he would later put down in his writings wondering what right i have to disrupt his day to day self imposed schedule and i prolly would do the same, stare, just stare as i fiddle with my fingers under the table. Maybe i would need a bottle of rum, try as much as possible to traject short meaningful sentences, in case he doesn’t talk much and doesn’t like anyone who talks lengthily. (Okay, that is a lie, cause i don’t drink, but it does fit really well, so yea, i went by it.) You know, just to play the part. I would be trying to take in his features and everything around us to have some good angle to a piece that i would perhaps later scribble down. Giving a face to the story! His pieces transport me to some other place. As i read this particular piece of his, waiting for the rain to give up and dry off, i get goosebumps and almost shed a tear at one point or another. You don’t get a story that touches your soul like this just anyhow. And i think of how i would love to yield the power of his pen, his keen eye for detail, and generally possess his body, just to feel how it feels being Biko, just for a day, know what perspective he sees things from and maybe then, i will tap into what it really takes to weave words as surreptitiously as he does.
By the time i decide to leave the house, that is after 6 minutes, I’m ready to risk it all, by getting rained on. I loathe mud, i frown as i jump, leap and dodge muddy pools. On the way to the bus stop, i think of the soda in my bag and i want to drink it so bad. A voice tries to tell me that is too early for a rainy morning to be drinking cold soda. It goes ahead to do me a list of the things that could prolly go wrong. “You could get tonsilitis young lady! ” but the thing is i don’t recall the last time i even had them. “You could trip and fall in the muddy waters while digging in your bag for the soda, imagine the shame!” Hey! You have a valid point, but c’mon! It is just a soda! I decide to cut the tirade off, and no i didn’t take the soda, though i could feel how cold it felt on my thigh as it rested at the bottom of my bag.
By the time i was telling myself that this is just a meme, i had not known about the guns galore until i saw it yesterday. The irony! It’s funny that “all I’m going to do is take out my gun on the table” is not funny anymore cause it is true! Obtaining a gun has been as easy as calling an Uber eats guy, ordering some sausages or a pack of your favorite dish, same way you are a phone call away from ordering a gun or ammunition of your choice as long as you have money. This is about connections, it is about having money, being rogue enough to do it and you will be walking around swinging and balancing pistols on your hips like some low budget Desperado.
It is so sad to see that the same police officers meant to protect us, are the same people on the front line of aiding criminals in obtaining guns for as low as One Thousand Kenyan Shillings. This has to be the lowest of all lows. I’m not going to ask how did we even ever get here, because from the looks of things, we’ve always been there! Yes! This looks like something that has always been here with us, only that we are not connected enough to know of the under life, circles that these deals are in.
It is scary enough to know, that as long as anyone feels that your existence irritates them, or a deal goes sour, all they have to do is a make a call and boom! They are feeding you bullets and the next thing you know, you are a goner, just like that. We are literally living in a country that is described by Francis Imbuga in his book, “Betrayal in the City” A country that fits well into the “Animal Farm” where dictatorship is the order of the day, throwing orders around and having thousands of Kenyans stuck at the Thika SuperHighway, the cold biting into them, ambulances stuck there, mothers with sick kids, people only wanting to get home to their loved ones, but they couldn’t do that, all because roadblocks manned by police officers made it impossible, all in the name of having not beat the 8pm curfew time. Times are already hard, people are trying the best to put food on the table, keep the stone rolling to make ends meet, we don’t need any more contradictions along and around that path! I read on Twitter, someone saying, “The scenes on the Highway were horrific, the type we see in movies” and i agree with her, because it makes me think of an apocalyptic world where everything is just wrong.
Police men lighting bonfires to “warm up the motorists” what the hell is that?? Lighting bonfires on the road, to help ease the horrors of the night, camping there like they are on a camping trip? Noooo, it all feels like sarcasm, rubbing it in the faces of the helpless Kenyans, that there is nothing much they can do, that the police call the shots. I am so mesmerized that Purity Mwambia, an investigative journalist, took a whole year packaging this story for us. A gripping story that prolly had her risking her life and everything in her way, to actually show us what happens and wherever she is! That lady did as a solid one! Pulled us from the darkness and into the light of the type of rotten society we are living in.
I believe that the day we decide to unanimously murder the execution of criminal injustices, is the same day, we will resurrect and re-emerge as a society worth of being proud of, with better systems that we can actually rely on. Until then, we will wholesomely feel like damaged goods, like the system will never measure up, into being what we need and want. When Chinua Achebe in his book, “Things Fall Apart” mentions that things fall apart when it won’t hold at the centre and thinking of it, it is as if these great African writers had foreseen the chaotic state of the nations that we are now in. Crazy enough, when i was a newly fresh attachee at my previous work place, i made a good friend who works in the same building, but in the Administration Police Sector or some post along those lines, I’m not quite sure. I remember jokingly asking him that if i wanted to, if he would lend me a gun or get me one. Of course i expected us to get down to negotiations and all that, but looking forward, i am grateful that he was ardent in saying no and no matter what i said, he did not bulge. He kept on laughing, shutting me down nicely. I had gone to the extra mile of telling him, that I’m up for classes on how to handle the gun, just for the sake of it, you know, just to have the knowledge at the tip of my fingers. If i was disappointed? Hell yes i was. I was so close to feeling like some cartel or mafia, but it never really materialized.
Remember i mentioned Mr. Mutiso to you all? I actually think this would have been a good time to hear his sentiments and the knowledge he has on these issues. He always does! To hear him break down and share more information. This is the point where there is no chosing the lesser of two evils. Some wrongs are just wrong. Police out to terrorize citizens, criminals out to get citizens, so for the math to math, police and criminals come on the same ship and sail together to an ever after of terrorizing common citizens. We are all getting itchy and longing for something new, something new to quench the thirstiness of all these social injustices, hungry for a new pace, since the novelty of the old routines is wearing off and withering. The ways of the system have us plopped into a new awakening mentality and reality, that which, if not addressed and actions taken, we will be feeling and experiencing the vicious aftermath, in the years to come.
Guys, kindly engage me on the thoughts you have about police collaborating with criminals, hiring police gears to them, and just how curfews imposed have negatively or positively affected you. Let us all stay safe❤❤❤
There’s this newly opened Text Book Centre just down the block. I think of how they had a grand entrance , with loud music and that tall colorful balloon man that swings in the wind, and i just smile. The bright colors and lighting is something you actually notice from afar. Most times, i pass by there, actually not most times, all the times and i marvel at the books displayed.
So the other day, i decided to pass by Text Book Centre from work and get a closer glance. Thing is, i just love books, their sight calms my soul. Not to forget, that day had been sullen for me, so i needed to forget about it, so what would the sight of books not cure?
Before i delve, i want to mention that this place where the textbook centre is now at, used to be a Cafe Deli. I once went here and was bought a blueberry cake that i went to eat from the comfort of the office. I don’t recall much about it, but one thing i can’t forget is the bright chandelier that hang at the centre of the room, stealing the show. That must be the only thing i remember about it. So, see? There is just something about good lighting that does a number on someone. You are more likely to remember bright colored stuff, more than anything else in a room.
So, back to my story. I sanitized, had my bag checked by the guard and i went in, feeling all giddy and excited. Books will be the end of me. *Oh, if you want to ever get me a present, be assured that a book will be the best* you know, followed by crocs. Anyway all i did was touch the books and all other stationeries in there. Admiring and all that, the usual, nothing out of the ordinary.
And that is the end of my story😂 yea i know, not much. Just wanted to share with you this new place, and some good nice phone photos i took, for the occasion. I call it being in character 😂, you know, playing the part!
I love the views from up here. Makes me feel like I’m up on a pedestal, watching things go on below. The fresh air from the open window is so soothing. This is the director’s office. When the secretary called me, ” Hi Joy, could you please go in the director’s place and hold it up for me before i come ?” I had not thought about it twice. I quickly unplug my phone from charging, take my handkerchief and head there. The door to his office has always felt so heavy for me to push and i have always held a grudge against it.* Nothing serious though*. I was expecting to walk into the usual executive office, sit behind his orthopaedic chair, behind the well arranged table, and behind me, iconic views. My jaw almost dropped when i walked in, there was no table, no orthopaedic chair that i wanted to so swing around from. Books were huddled up on the black sofa just by the door, at the other corner, was a small brown table with his laptop, laptop bag, and two luminarc used tea cups. They must be doing some renovation in here. I put my jaw back in place and i smile knowingly when my eyes land on the hour glass.
It has always fascinated me and i usually take the opportunity of holding it in my hands just to see the white sand-ish stuff fall through. It must be my favourite feature in this office. I pull a chair by the window, plug my phone to charge, place the hour glass by the window and i lie on the wooden surface, marvelling at it, like a kid watching you unwrap their favorite candy and my inside warms up instantly. At that moment, it flashes in my mind of how I’ve been growing into this place and how hard it will be when i leave. I think of the good times i have had, and i tell myself that the memories are what i will take with me. I think of how the director had faith in me, enough to recommend me to some other organization that he thinks will give me room for growth, and it makes me understand that he prolly knows all too well, the concept of not staying for too long, where you don’t belong.
I think of how Mr. Mutiso knows so much history and generally almost everything. Makes me think that even if you haven’t met him, he could still know so much about you, gives me the feels of a Sherlock Holmes. I think of Mr. Okidi and how he says “Joyce, just by looking at you, you are a soft and polite person who can’t hurt a fly, but the memes you post are so brutal and savage” as we both laugh. I laugh cause i know i hold and run the entertainment department of memes for my contacts. They deserve some good laughter. I think of how Leah is never worried about anything, she doesn’t give two shits about stuff, living her own life, doing things at her own pace. I think of Madam Oyuwa and how she rarely talks, she’s always so silent that you can’t tell if she is in the office or not. I think of how everyone got used to calling me Joy, that when they hear about my name being Joyce, they ask which is which. But these guys have played quite a good deal in my career development, the whole lot of even those i haven’t had a chance of mentioning.
I can tell you that trusting the process and being ferocious and rooted in achieving your goals, being disciplined while at it, really opens doors for you. Times will be there when you get in that comfort zone, become complacent, knowing very well that you need to keep on moving, but you feel like you don’t have the energy nor motivation. You will doubt yourself, feel like giving up, complain of how things seem not to be adding up as you would want them to, but i can openly tell you like I’ve always done, that when the universe conspires and the stars align for you, you will feel it deep down in your bones and you will definitely see how things are taking a different route in your life. Just remember, don’t be long, where you don’t belong!