It has been long. I apologize for leaving you behind when I left for my rather boring journey around the world. By world, I mean the famous Kisii land. You see, I was there for only three months but the area is bigger than the diaspora considering its poor infrastructure that kept incapacitating my car. Do you know that every now and again I had to enlist the services of a motorbike? You see, it was a hard choice; to use the 1900 model cars that still bear the colonialist registration numbers and which are too old to be named as cars (I think walking scrape metals is much more like it) or to risk enlisting the services of a motorcyclist. I chose the latter. So I lived each day with the fear of returning to Nairobi in a poorly made low cost box that looks like a coffin or worse in an ambulance with the risk of never knowing who I am ever again! Thanks to the good spirits, I am back safe and sound without a long dragging process with the ugly, mean insurance guy. Back to you, I hope you have been well. I know you know how to look after yourself and so you did not choke on the fat dust that had its annual conferencing at the kitchen counter! So we cook as I tell you the tale of this idiot I met on my way back.

 My car finally collapsed after a long fight against bad roads so to get home, I used a bus called ‘otange’ (sorry, I forgot to ask what that means but it’s a very ugly bus that flies from Homabay to Nairobi). I sat on seat number 18 at the middle. To my right was a very fat woman who snored the hell out of the dark ozone and to my left was a thick image of a man who thought that darkness means having sex with every skirt he sees. That is not enough, he thought that I was too beautiful to let go and so we could meet again and discuss the escapades of that disgusting journey. He did not even pause to think that I spent an entire six hours trying to avoid his filthy hands or that I deliberately gave him a PK menthol as a synonym of ‘please engage a toothbrush for a few minutes each day before you leave your house’. Needless to say, the guy had rotten grammar encased in some English that sounded more like Ekegusii than English. And boy did the tone of his voice sting? It almost made the parasites IDPing in my body to flee in search of a better shelter without awful baritones!

It’s a miracle I slept. When I woke up, it was 0500 at Machakos bus terminus. The haste in which I left that bus probably made him think he has leprosy but one thing is for sure, I am never using night travel again. Even if the night travel ban is revoked, I have a life travel ban to myself imposed by myself.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “Dear journal,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s