Jaw Drops; A Curtailed Festival & Little Fates...

C.D.R Quote of the Week

“There is no flag large enough to cover the shame of killing innocent people.” ― Howard Zinn

A beam of rays penetrates across the thin window with curtains made out of Maasai fabric, making me wake up. I look at the time and notice it’s 10 a.m. The strange man next to me is still having forty winks. I met him at the Theater last evening. It was a very wet evening and for those of you who live in Nairobi and definitely appreciate we are solar powered know how getting around can be a handful in such weather. He offered a quick fast food excuse of dinner and a place to crash. Please don’t look at me like that, I just never sleep outside my house. Stripping me naked was an effort and there were those few agonizing attempts at making out. Hormones may be in cloud nine but he wasn’t going to park in my boner garage.

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Behind The Scenes

1. Last week I visited the Nairobi Trade Fair after almost 17 years. I did have an opportunity to be among the adjudicators in a dance contest. So this 12 year old little girl in very tight grey pants joins the other competitors (mostly high school kids) at the dais and in a short time jaws were dropping, men were drooling and some women had bowed their heads in shame. The things the little thing was doing with her waist and undersized ass? Lord Have Mercy! *Does the catholic Trinity sign* Can you imagine she even did a 180 and heavily shook her small bumps against the floor! I Know Right? The DJ had to stop the music briefly and one of the lady adjudicators summoned her to our table. She couldn’t win because that would mean we encourage girls to be the next Miley Cyruses by twerking their undersized junks around. I asked her what she wants to be when she grows up. She opined she wants to be a model. She even said that her parents know her ‘talent’. That is sure going to be a fine burlesque artiste in the future methinks. Miley, see what you do to our girls? Kamal has since advised me to get with the program and accept we are raising an MTV generation. I looked at that girl strutting her stuff and thought of my future daughter Taitu. If these are the things she’ll be doing in future then we have a problem. She just has to live up to the standards of the butch she’ll be named after. No two ways about it! 

2. Sh*t just got real. I’m turning 25 next month, yikes! My age will soon be embargoed and efforts will be initiated to locate the Sages of Sivana. I’m concerned I’m aging. I make a decent and honest living; I have opportunities to mingle with authorities on various areas, my weight is now constant with a body that lacks a beer gut, I don’t mean to blow my own dic trumpet but I’m not exactly bad looking. All these MINUS a husband! The few men I was so optimistic about either turned up for a dinner date in an Arsenal T- shirt or while trying to slice a piece of sausage asked me what’s the size of my d*ck! I think I need to buy a heifer and try my hand at farming. Speak the tongue of dam, sire, calving date, hay, and Napier grass…the works. Honestly, what does one do from 25 or as Chaje corrects me, a quarter century? 

3. Please get your dic…oops lexicon. I was reading a decision last night on a case that a UK Court ruled upon in the early nineties on a bunch of gay homosexual men who willingly and enthusiastically participated in the commission of acts of violence against each other for the sexual pleasure it engendered in the giving or receiving of pain. They were convicted for sadomasochistic acts. It made me remember something. Speaking of peculiar perversions, since when did peeing on someone become a turn on? I am still reeling from that dreadful radio phone call I went through while on a bus heading home a fortnight or so ago. This lady calls and apparently wants his ex to be busted by the radio host for going MIA. The nefarious details coming from the speakers in a very quiet bus where everybody’s head was hanging either in guilty pleasure or shame! At some point the driver even switched channels upon a prompt from some lady passenger. Thankfully, I had my headphones. I just couldn’t afford to miss details. Don’t they say information is empowerment? Let me just say that in as much as I love men, there are some things I’ll never do with them. I shall not be responsible for any injury caused to your person just because you thought pee works for me. *Flicks hair* I’m still doing further research though. I’m sure there are some very resourceful acts people have to spice up the bedroom. Whatever happened to positions! The lady has since moved to being a cougar and confessed that the young men she goes down with love the peeing thing??

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After my Master class moderated by Bikozulu on Friday at the Hay Festival, I decided to get back to the office to drop my season pass and the brochure. I would pick them the following day as I would anyway be heading for day two of the festival. The problem with sleeping in a man’s crib is that your entire schedule tends to get altered. If it’s a one night stand it’s a different story as you just need to wake up very early when the sun is still rising to avoid the walk of shame. Drama only happens when you run into a colleague who saw you the previous day as you’ll still have the same clothes on. Woe unto you if you meet a fellow zega man who saw you the previous day considering ours is a community where fashionable clothes are a basic need! I make my way to the kitchen to boil me some black coffee. He soon joins me in his boxers probably after sensing my problem getting the shower running. I notice his chest hair running down the length of his sternum but soon get my eyes off that trip. I never saw these last night. Well it was dark bitch! My conscience castigates. Who among you switches off their lights during sex? It’s really intriguing that one can still have sex during the day without drawing the curtains. I don’t think it’s really about light. I think it goes deeper. 

Moving on swiftly; Soon after the shower and a rushed bye I give him a hug and excuse myself. He’s not really impressed and thanks me for making him miss a meeting. Men! He has since asked me to move in with him (after one date). I’m still processing the offer. The Fuck! Once I’m in the vehicle, I look at the time and realize banks close at midday and I need to urgently get some paper but I’m already late. An idea soon strikes me that the Westgate branch is always open until late afternoon on Saturdays. I decide to postpone the bank duty to 2P.M which according to the Hay Festival’s program conveniently fell after Teju Cole in conversation with John Sibi Okumu and Chief Nyamweya’s Comics Take over the World (He signed my copy of Roba comic) session so the one hour between them would be sufficient for me to go banking and still catch Chief’s session. I make it to the city centre to pick my pass and program so as to make it to the festival at the National Museum. As John Sibi winds up his session with a very engaging Q & A session, a lady poses a question citing ‘what has just happened…’ The Caucasian lady seated next to me confirms that there is an incident at the mall. We are accordingly advised to avoid the area as it’s not safe. 

As soon as the session was over and I’d stepped out of Louis Leakey Auditorium the number of helicopters flying the airspace was quite a sight! My wingman Jamleck soon sends me a text to confirm my safety. I engage him further as I can’t immediately locate a TV screen. 

Of course we all know how the story ends. The Hay Festival was cancelled in the evening. I hope the one day we season ticket holders had is considered in next year’s event. No regrets though. After taking a walk at the museum’s lush woods to mentally absorb the unfolding events and asking myself a series of What if’s I decide to get some coffee from the Dorman’s coffee stand at the festival where I run into a sublime prolific blogger and poet who’s more than excited to meet me in person. Pleasure meeting you too Eudiah; will definitely give you a ring before this week ends! 

While making my way to Discovery Hall to catch the screening of Wanjiru Kairu’s New Year’s Eve, I also run into the usually boisterous writer Binyavanga Wainaina. I smile back at him. He probably does that to everyone. Wonder where he’s hurrying to. I’m soon distracted by sexologist Ms. Gertrude Mungai (Her of the Mombasa Raha fame - she taught us sex positions on Live TV!) and almost collide with a very tired Lucie, one of the organizers of the event who I’d been in touch with and appreciate her efforts. She’s charmed.

After the screening I decide to excuse myself from the festival besides all subsequent activities have been cancelled. The mood is somber. It’s getting dark and I have to catch a dinner tryst with JK and his beau and retire home to pack my clothes as I have a work trip out of town the following day. I can still hear the helicopters. I have never yearned for a TV screen that much. ‘Collins!’ I hear a familiar voice calling me as soon as I get to the city centre. I notice it’s the gentleman I was with earlier. He’s all dressed to marry the night. ‘‘I’ve been trying to reach you the whole afternoon.” He says as he tips my chin from side to side. I don’t even feel embarrassed. I explain to him my communication predicament and how I nearly visited the ill fated mall. He breaths a sign of relief and tells me he’s waiting for one of the friend’s we’d talked about last night to take to a strip club in a dingy downtown part of the city centre. He releases me to go for my dinner with friends and promises to call me later in the evening.

My phone only had only one bar of power before I'd switched it off. I switch it on and it buzzes with all manner of messages finally getting through. I call back the senior of the Mutahi brothers and inform him I’m safe. He’s a chatter box so I was sure he’d inform everyone else I was okay until I could get sufficient power to call them back. But their worries and concern were apparent. The moment I got to a TV screen and saw the unfolding events, my heart was disturbed. Very perturbed. The gory images were not pleasing and when I finally got home after a rather tiring and/or equally disturbing day, I honestly couldn't get any sleep until it was over. Indeed it was a very dark day for my country. 

Little Fates

Fate  /fāt/

Noun: The development of events outside a person's control, regarded as determined by a supernatural power.

Verb: Be destined to happen, turn out, or act in a particular way: "it was fated to end badly

Synonyms:

noun.  Destiny - lot - doom - fortune - kismet - portion

verb. Destine - preordain - ordain

While packing my suitcase I thought of how short life is. How cruel acts of violence rob us of loved ones, friends and foes alike. Then I thought of little fates. Fates don’t pay attention to who we are. Whether you are as popular as fuck, your religion,creed or belief system, age, race, nationality, sexual orientation, title et al notwithstanding, when fate seals, the rest of us have to warm up to it. C’est la vie. 

The guns have stopped firing; the thick billows of smoke have faded into the sky beyond; the first roses in the wreath we placed in our loved ones, friends’ and even heroes’ last resting places have withered. Jacaranda trees are blooming; brave new heroes like the gorgeous Abdul have been installed. In the same breath you hear of administration of a gubernatorial slap, a senator uttering profanities to a radio host on national radio and the county’s women representative nude pictures surfacing online making you start questioning the quality of our leaders. I haven’t seen the pictures and hope not to see them. It's like seeing my mother naked. The thought is just abominable. How are her sons and family handling it? We may be talking of looting of the mall by the security forces, we may be challenging competence of our security bosses but my Aha moment is still that Sunday morning when I passed by the Kencom bust station and just the number of Kenyans (from diverse backgrounds) who'd turned up to donate blood that chilly morning was enough to for my wounded soul! Never have I felt such a vestige of patriotism despite my not being able to participate in that arduous national calling. That’s what little fates are about. 

 When turbulence rocks you over thirty thousand feet as you enter the Kenyan airspace, you survey the craters and dry land below with the rays of sunshine lighting up your face then you know that you are at a better place as compared to anyone down there. When you ‘accidentally’ end up at a brothel off Bole Medhane Alem Road on your first day in a country that boasts of fine folk, then you realize that home probably has a more palatable definition of fine folk. Fate is standing on my bedroom window watching the spectacular fireworks in the sky above the trade fair on a Tuesday night; when the road bike becomes a burden taking out for a ride due to the arduous task of taking it up the flight of stairs in a five storey building; when a man you haven’t talked to for two years calls just to confirm you are fine. Fate has a way of upsetting the status quo and unifying us all.

Next week on C.D.R

A first time curious Kenyan zega in the Washington District of Columbia…

Cole while penning an open letter to his Habesha friends (in the beginning of a two - part series on Addis Ababa), takes the rest of you to ‘Red Terror’ memorial Museum. If you have a weak stomach, you may need kerchiefs.

Cole