‘UNBLOGGABLE’

It’s probably not customary for a blogger to reveal too much about themselves. I haven’t seen any blog yet that divulges a decent amount of information about the author, which is completely understandable. In this day and age of rampant phishing and pharming it is necessary to protect oneself from people out there that make a living off identity theft and stuff. Besides, in blogville anonymity is what makes the whole experience interesting, receiving comments from complete strangers and perusing other people’s sites at will. Due to these reasons and more, my name will remain >d for all intents and purposes. Everyone knows me as >d anyway so it’s not my alter-ego writing all this $hit. I’m always gonna keep it real here, hate it or love it. I hope you love it though, I can’t lie!

I feel good tonight coz the weekend’s here already so I’ll tell you what, imma tell a little about myself now coz it may never happen again. All my friends complain they don’t know anything about what’s going on with me and stuff so you are one of the lucky few to get to know a little about yours truly. [Not that I think I’m that interesting, no. Shoot, if my life was a book I might not even wanna read it!] Alright, here we go:

I already said I’m Kenyan, right? I am, just for the record. I’m Kikuyu and I’m twenty-something years old. [Hey, I very well can’t tell it all now, can I?!] I was born and raised in shags; I’m a true country boy. As in back in the day when I was a young’n I used to get up early, feed the cows/goats/chickens/pigs etc. before I even had breakfast. Breakfast, if that’s what that was, consisted of scalding tea in a tin mug – the ones that had a tendency to get a little rusty at the lip. [You know what I’m saying, shags people?] That was it for breakfast. That’s all I needed though. Lunch and dinner was, for the most part, githeri. That was OK too.

When I was in Standard one through four I attended this local school which, luckily, was only a mile or so away from home. I’d leave the crib, take my shoes off and leave them by the gate behind some bush then proceed to school. Back then 98% of all the students at that school didn’t wear shoes – they just didn’t have them. I was fortunate to have a pair or two but I like being inconspicuous so I too went to class barefooted. [My Ma doesn’t even know this, I don’t think. I sometimes went home with cuts and bruises on my feet and I’d be hiding the contusions from her coz she’d know I’d been walking around barefooted. Aha, I got you with that one, didn’t I, Mum?]

The classroom, if that’s what that was, was nothing but walls and roof. There were gaps in the walls though and these served as entrances and exits, either or. To this day I still don’t know which was the door; they all looked the same. The desks were the type that you’d share with 2 other people, the wooden joints. The floor was earthen - no cement, no nothing. When it rained the floor was all mud and when it was dry it was all dust. Wow.

The main thing that made the classroom experience unbearable for me had nothing to do with the way the classroom was built or the absence of the simple comforts of a regular classroom, no. It was the presence of some near-microscopic creatures called jiggers/Tungum penetrans. See, I even remember the little buggers’ genus and species names, that’s how much they terrorized me! They were everywhere in the classroom and seemed to love my toes – some of the other kids never suffered from them. After they burrowed under the skin and strategically positioned themselves right under the toenail they opened up shop and got comfortable there, engorging themselves on my much-needed blood. My body would, fortunately or unfortunately, recognize the alien presence and reject it, making the toe infested by the varmint swell up, throb and itch unbearably. The only way to find relief was to literally dig ‘em out with one of my Ma’s safety pins or something of the sort and, after attempting to disinfect it with methylated spirit or GV [remember GV, the purple stuff?], I would begin the surgery. It hurt like hell, needless to say. When I finally dug through the layers of skin, stabbed right through the mofo and pulled it out there sometimes would be a virtual crater left where it had been – I kid you not. This is the fun part – I’d then glare at the critter that caused me so much pain and curse at it. And even though it was skewered by the pin and probably dead I’d light a match and hold the flame under the bugger and watch it vaporize into nothingness.

I apologize for the momentary flashback. I’ll try and stay focused.

Oh, I didn’t mention I’m from Murang’a, did I? Or is it Mulang’a? I still don’t know why I elicit surprise every time with that confession. Most people say I don’t seem to be from there, go figure. Murang’a people seem to have this infamous repertoire for shrubbing – especially with the ‘R’s and the ‘L’s which for them are interchangeable – and for an abundance of discolored teeth from the Fluorine that they say flows freely in Murang’a water. I’ve also heard the wisecracks about Murang’a guys being shao and all. Now, I’m not supporting nor refuting those allegations but that’s where I’m from so hey, all that could be me! I don’t think I shrub though and I guess I didn’t drink enough Murang’a water to tarnish my teeth, but what do I know.

Another thing – I was taught to read and write in Kikuyu Std. 1 through 3. I’m dead serious. I was even tested and graded in the subject, for real. For some reason that stuck with me to this day and I can still read and write in Kikuyu. Ninjui mureciria niguthaka ndirathaka ngimuhe ng’ano ici. Maundu maya mothe ndiramuira ni ma. There. Convinced now? Could you even read it? lol

I’ll try and summarize the rest of it – I can perpetuate tales sometimes. Std. 5 found me in a new school though, a boarding school. I was in boarding schools from then on till 4^th form. Came to the U.S. of A a year and a half later and I’m still here – sometimes I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. All good though coz the U.S. has a way of turning boys to men, girls to women. Feels good to be grown up too. Here I am now, working and studying and getting locked up in the good old USA! I’m now fully convinced anything can happen, for real.

Let me be out before I divulge any additional info I might be kicking myself for later. Now you know me a little better – hope that little bit helps. Keep on blogging!