[Just need to get this one out the way today. I’m tired of this bullsh*t.]
I’ve always heard comments about how, and I quote, strange and weird and complicated I am. It may not necessarily be a bad thing, but sometimes it’s perturbing even though I don’t give two sh*ts what people might think about me. My Dad’s like the only one who understands me, I think, especially since it’s so apparent to many that I’m such a chip off that old block. As Ma would say:
“Wee uhana o thoguo.” [I always take that as a compliment, though I can assure you she doesn’t administer it as such.]
So, indulge me as I break it down, somewhat, about my apparent strange, weird and complicated nature.
As bleak as life sometimes may seem I realize I’m fortunate, in more ways than I can probably imagine. I’ve had so much exposure to different ways of life, as have a good number of others, I’d imagine.
Like, I’ve experienced shags life to the fullest, from age zero till after high school - I’ve eaten gathirikari – the yellow UN relief corn - for a good while, woken up at 5:30 to take the cattle to the dip, been attacked by virtually every farm animal imaginable, and worked till I had blisters on my hands, then worked some more. As crazy as it may seem, I’m glad I went thru that coz like my Ma always reminds me, I should never forget where I’m from.
Yet I had been outside the country by age 7, was driving by age 10, [though sitting on pillows and looking through – rather than over – the steering wheel] had books to read to my heart’s content thanks to my older siblings and more importantly, my Dad’s National Geographic Magazine subscription which I ripped open and devoured every month when I made the run to Maragua Post Office. My 2nd eldest sister also has a voracious appetite for any reading material, so I probably picked that up from her.
All this international exposure, if you will, did not sit well with a lot of cats at school, and they’d call me names like rich boy and jump me in the playground, and I’d get back home all bloodied. Rich boy?! My parents were both schoolteachers for the longest, those dumbasses! Just because you have a moti in shags you’re branded rich?! I wish I would meet some of those buggers today. They always tried to get me in cliques, never singly. Cowards.
My older siblings were all music buffs, sang at church even, as did I, so I was always exposed to music. My eldest brother was real good at guitar-playing, still is, and was hired to play at all these gigs, like at some plays at National Theatre. I spent countless hours watching and listening to him play every evening like he did, as did other kids in the neighborhood who’d just gather up to listen. My other bro, the electronics buff whose nickname in school was Ka-wire, was directly responsible for my love for techno-wizardry and, of all things, my love for cars – and speed.
After high school I had a small job in Nai, and I did that for like 2 years, right before I came here. I scoured every inch of
Then I got here. I realized real quick that there were all these cliques around, and that everyone pretty much kept to themselves; as in Kenyans to themselves, Nigerians to themselves, the Chinese to themselves and so on. Not exclusively, of course, but more often than not. F*ck that, and I’ll tell you why.
My first ‘squeeze’ in the
But before I get my panties in a bunch, so to speak, I’ll just say that we’re inherently & irrevocably influenced by our environs & past experiences. If they can’t take it, let ‘em be gone. There’s no time for that kind of negative energy, nosir.