LET OKOMBE SWALLOW A RAZOR BLADE IF SHE WANTS, I AM NOT BOARDING!



 

I have asked Okombe to stop inciting me to engage in seditious activities. We were watching news when I made up mind. First exhibit was Mike Sonko, a man whose first name I share. That is all we have in common. Then our ways part. In a huge way. While I have to work my ass off, I am still looking for better words to say it, my namesake just punches walls, screams and bites people. And somehow, he has tonnes of money.  I watched him looking like he had wet his pants with fear. Apparently now he is a terror suspect and has to be kept as a guest of the state.  This man has been a walking vault teaming with gold. Rings, “bling blings”, shoes, caps, and teeth: all Gold. At home he walks and sleeps on gold. If the man can suddenly be made to look as human as chang’aa brewers and weed peddlers, who am I? 

 

Going forward, no seditious word will proceed out of my mouth. I am told that things are so elephant that even the National Cohesion and Integration Commission (NCIC), exhibit number two, has suddenly found its teeth. But they say that the teeth are not strong enough to bite. They have therefore enlisted the support of some powerful committee in parliament, the National Assembly committee on Administration and National Security. Collectively they now say that some words that are otherwise thought mundane and public property, can no longer be uttered openly.  These words include hustler, dynasty, and wheelbarrow. Yes, I won’t say those words anymore no matter how much incitement Okombe piles on me. Even if she hits me below the belt by claiming I have no balls I will not give in. I am not boarding. Let her swallow a razor blade if she wants. Instead, I will send her to Sonko to find out of what use are his balls now while cooling his heels at Kamītī! Personally, am not doing gymnastics next to a lion, whether rained on or not. 

 

I know some of you will side with Okombe. You will tell me that our forefathers spent cold nights in the rainy Aberdare forests to fight for our freedom. I know. One of them was an uncle after whom I am named. He was detained at the Athi River camp near where Daystar University currently stands. He told me his experience. One day I will tell you how the Mau Mau staged a daring rescue at the camp and succeeded. He also told me of his near-death encounter with violent colonial home guards at a prison cell in Kahuro, Mūrang’a county. I therefore appreciate why you can’t understand how these warriors raised wimps and weasels such as I am. Men who coil their tails between their legs at the mere mention of the word crackdown. You just haven’t been to a Kenyan prison lately. I have never been to one and I don’t want to be adventurous. I am told the Kenyan is home to professionals and masters of indecency. They piss and shit and then invite you to lie on their crap just for fun. If you are man enough to enjoy such invitations then go ahead. Find a good spot near a police station or a DCI office and scream the words hustler, dynasty and or wheelbarrow. We shall be here waiting to be awed by the narratives of your heroic exploits. 

 

Instead, I am going to be like a child I heard in a story. It must have been a boy “shaold”, child for those of you not from the slopes of Mt Kenya. Boys are the ones who delight in being unconventional and breaking rules just for kicks. This particular one wanted to stand and dance on the table.  His rather strict cane wielding mama would not let him. With impunity and to test the waters, he got on the table and started gyrating offensively in the name of a dance. His mama was not one given to being challenged or disobeyed so she dispensed the cane with the fury of the devil himself (I am not sure why the devil is always a him. Story for another day). The boy screamed with pain as he changed from dancing to jumping up and down on the table. The mama whipped. The boy cried. The mama whipped. The boy screamed. The mama whipped till blood started flowing along the marks made by the lashes. Suddenly the boy fell silent. He came down and settled on the floor with an evil grin on his face. His mama could not understand it. The boy was silent like a lamb. After a few hours, mama could not bear it anymore, so she asked:

 

“What is the meaning of your insolent silence boy?”

 

“Well,” the boy said, “all this time that you see me lying down here? In my mind I am jumping up and down on that table”.

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