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Finally!

I’ve managed to buy my way out of the institution for a few days…okay, until next year. I paid a lot of money only to be informed by the maintenance guy that my couch was due for its annual service anyway. A normal couch is due for service after every 5000 thoughts or every one year, whichever comes first. But since mine are thoughts from beyond, service is due every two months.

Destination?

Uganda. (I’ve been told there’s a couch with an impressive thought mileage in Uganda). So all you bloggers in UG please stand up. I’m headed your way. Iwaya. Country boyi. Baz. Cherie L’amour. Minty, and the lot. Chungeni.

It would be great to meet y’all. Then later after the intros you can get down to showing me around that lovely place o’ yo’s. I wanna see everything.

YEEEHAH!

P.S. I’ll have to kill you guys after. My identity cannot be compromised. I’m in the OMSS (On Mathare’s Secret Service). I’ll be around scouting for potential ward mates in Ug. People like Iwaya have an undisputed visa and reservation. Countryboyi, I had to fight for you, they were giving you permanent status.

Song in head…John Denver’s

All my bags are packed
I’m ready to go
I'm standin here outside…

Okay from here it gets mushy and…er, yah!

Cause I’m leavin on Akamba
I know when I’ll be back again
Oh babe, I hate to go…ya right!

I’ll be in UG till next year, that’s if I manage to avoid deportation.

Suit me, not

I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind
There was something so crazy about that place
Even your emotions had an echo in so much space

I woke up feeling invisible. I wasn’t here. Yet here I am. I check in the mirror and I scream. There, staring back at me is, me! But why did I look so sad? I’m feeling happy. My heart is dancing with joy. But I can’t move my legs. I step into the shower and hope that the water will wash away the sadness away and leave instead in its place my happy inside.

And when you're out there - without care
Yeah I was out of touch
But it wasn't because I didn't know enough
I just knew too much

Bliss, I’m out. This is me. Happy. Happy to death. I’m walking on the road. Everyone’s hooting. Everyone’s staring. I wave. No one waves back. I heard this is a friendly society but no one seems friendly today. I try a different tactic. I raise a finger. The finger that signals that what you think is bothering no one but you. No one notices the finger. Everyone is busy looking elsewhere.

Does that make me Crazy?
Does that make me Crazy?
Does that make me Crazy?
Possibly

Everyone thinks I am because I don’t have my sadness on. Sadness bought from a stall in Nairobi. Sadness my girlfriend said makes her happy. I’m not happy. My happiness stands in the closet. More of my happiness is soaked in a basin. My best piece of happiness fell victim to the sharpest pair of scissors in the unforgiving fingers of she that I thought cared.

And I hope that you are havin' the time of your life
But think twice, that's my only advice

My moment of happiness is over. You caught me. Thanks to the cops and the well-wishers. You are now shouting at me. You are still shouting at me. You take a break when we get there. Enjoy the evening. Mingle. Parade me like a trophy. Your friends like what you’ve done. My friends don’t. Clock strikes twelve. No Cinderella-type antics. I look down. I’m still wearing your happiness. My sadness.

Come on now who do you, who do you, who do you, who do you
think you are, ha ha ha, bless your soul
you really think you're in control

We are on our way home. You continue with the shouting. I look at you and I smile. They told me you were the captain wherever you went. You said and it was done. You still say and I do. Will continue doing. Until the day I look below the sadness and see them there, hanging like lazy sacks. They also told you about me. They said I couldn’t be changed. But you proved them wrong. They also told you I was a pretender. They said he’d do what you want but he’d rebel. You laughed.

well
I think you're Crazy
I think you're Crazy
I think you're Crazy
Just like me

Yes you are. But I won’t clothe you in sadness. I won’t clothe you in my happiness. I don’t picture you walking around feeling sad and looking happy. I picture you looking and feeling sad. Coz you’re not like me. You can’t look one way and feel another.

My heroes had the heart to put their lives out on a limb
And all I remember is thinkin' I wanna be like them.

Levi and Lee worked hard. They laboured. They sweated. Until finally their break came. Rivets to hold it together. That was the day happiness was born. I’m now working hard. I’m now labouring. And finally I will get my break. My happiness will be reborn. And I’ll be wearing the happiness created by those two. I’ll be wearing my happiness.

But maybe I'm Crazy
Maybe you're Crazy
Maybe we're Crazy
Probably

Maybe I don’t like what I’m becoming. No, I know I don’t like what I’m becoming. What makes me sad makes you happy. Maybe you like what I’m becoming. No, you like what you think I’m becoming. When we’re both happy we are both sad. Is there a common ground? Yes, the abode with them padded walls. Let’s meet there. Though you do know there’s nothing to discuss. Can you leave me be with my jeans torn and unlaundered and I’ll leave you be with your suits pressed and dry-cleaned.

Probably. Probably not.

the best bond, james bond?

i'm in some serious blogger's bog. so while i was searching for inspiration i came across this...don't want to take couch 'tato's jobo lakini, who made the best bond? now time for my "shaken not stirred".

Worse than confucious...

Dear Couch,

Hi?

Can i sit here? Where no one can dsturb me or my thoughts? Can I let my thoughts wander off?

Fly thoughts, fly! Be free.

Here is the result of a wandering mind. A mind with no direction. A mind with 'clouded' judgement.

It's a short mystery story. A mystery that had me mystified too.

________

BANG!

Being so close to the highway one could not tell if it was a tyre burst or a gunshot. But if you were one of wisdom you could easily distinguish between the two. Only problem was, it was both. A tyre burst and a gunshot.

Coincidence? The shallow-minded would have thought so. But for Inspector Dick Jesse this was no coincidence. Because, in the middle of the road lay a notorious mobster. Knocked down by the speeding car that now lay in the bush having lost control after its tyre mysteriously burst. Or was he dead as a result of the bullet that went through his heart. Witnesses were split. Those who saw, say he was knocked down. Those who heard, insist he was shot.

To add to the mystery, the driver was a known assassin of notorious repute and he lay dead in the car. His death caused by the impact of the car, which after crashing through several saplings, finally rested snugly on the bough of the oak tree. Or did the bullet that had gone cleanly through his head cause his death? Again witnesses were confused. Those who saw, say he died on impact. Those who heard, insist he was shot.

Whoddunit? Or more intriguingly, howdtheydoit? One ‘bang’, three causes. A tyre burst and two gunshots. Two deaths. The assassin’s and the mobster’s. Four likely causes. Two bullets – one through the head, the other through the heart. And two accidents. One knockdown and one crash.

For a mere mortal it would have confused them shitless. But not for the legendary Dick Jesse. This was a simple case of observation.

In the middle of the road lay a nail. Apparently, it was put there by the mobster in the hope that should he miss his shot, the assassin would run over the nail, the tyre would burst and he’d lose control of the car and crash. The assassin’s intention on the other hand was to knock down the mobster. His would-be killer. If he was going to die, he was going to take him to hell too.

Both succeeded. Both lay dead. But who shot the mobster?

Most importantly, how did Dick Jesse know the mobster had placed the nail on the road? Was it because of the nails he found in the mobster’s coat pocket? How did Dick Jesse know of the nail’s purpose? Was it because Dick Jesse had a brilliant mind? Or was it because of the tip-off he got 30 minutes earlier?

One bush held the answer to the mystery. And only one person knew.

In a bush from whence the bullet that shot the mobster came from were prints that would have solved the missing part of the mystery. Now the owner of those prints was seated in a brand new Toyota.

And that was that. Dick Jesse declared it a dead case. Now he was seated comfortably in a new Toyota happily puffing on a Cuban cigar. He had managed to get rid of the two headaches in his career in one sitting. The notorious mobster and the merciless assassin. And without anyone knowing.

Except of course, for the one who financed the whole deal. The one who sat in the back seat of Dick Jesse’s car laughing. King Din. Dick Jesse was also laughing as he pulled off his face. Underneath was the face of King Din’s top hit man, Smiles.

So where was Dick Jesse?

Just before the accident, Dick Jesse had walked out of his precinct office in protest. He had tendered his resignation and was planning to retire to the mountains. Where no one would miss him. And they didn’t.

The car that crashed into the oak tree suddenly exploded. It would be weeks before another detective, as keen as the legendary Dick Jesse, would discover another charred skeleton in the trunk.

Case closed.

______

I'll accept the pulitzer now.

I laugh hysterically.

Later Couch ol pal, the weed levels have gone low.

Thanks.

Watching a movie, from behind ‘bars’…

Here I am at the theatre hall.

Popcorn in one hand, hotdog in other hand. Soda in soda-holder. And pissed-off chick in the next seat.

It’s not my fault I’m late. Come on!

Being a ‘kawa’ Kenyan I blame it on the jam, the mats, jobo, the rain, the cops, anything that’s blame-able, just not me.

And anyway, the movie hasn’t started yet. Get over it.

So here I am about to watch a movie I’ve never heard of. Never seen a poster of. Never read a synopsis of. For the second time (the first was when we watched “Rollerball” with the boys. Never forgiven that boy since), I’m about to watch a movie I have no inkling of a clue called an idea about.

Besides, it’s the chick who picked it so it can’t be that bad. She usually picks “pinky” movies. Yaani, girly girly, romantic movies about high school teens with supercharged hormones. (jeez, I need a new movie mate). Basically movies whose main colour scheme is pink. They are boring but bearable.

So I’m seated here prepared to get bored out of my wits by this movie. It’s called ‘Grudge 2”. Never even heard of or knew there was ‘1’. My popcorn-filled brain, with kidogo space left for thinking about my fly (pissed) ‘mama’, thinks it’s a movie about a teenie in some Ivy League campus who was dumped and now holds a grudge.

How wrong a synopsis.

The first logo appears on screen with some deep bassed soundtrack that has me thinking. But it’s the next logo that gets me REALLY thinking.

It’s opens on a keyhole. Camera peers into the keyhole and a skull jumps into view. Popcorn flies about. Then the name “Ghosthouse Production” appears. A chill runs up or down (who cares) my spine.

Ghost what?

I’m still drunk with popcorn, but not too drunk coz I look at my mate. I give her the what-crap-movie-is-this look.

She doesn’t answer. Instead she stares straight ahead.

Opening scene.

A ‘zombie-like’ lady is making burnt bacon (or something) for a bitching husband. She serves him the bacon. He continues bitching. She walks behind him. Looks at her pan. He bitches. She looks at her pan. He bitches. She looooooks at her pan. He bit__

She turns slowly. Pours the contents, which is hot ‘Elianto’, on the husband’s head and hits a ‘home run’.

TING!

Husband is on the floor giving his last kicks. Wife is seated enjoying the breakfast. Bila feelings.

It’s now that I really look at the chick. This time I voice my concern.

What’s this?

“I don’t know. Si you picked it.”

(In mother-tongue) I almost knock her senseless.

It’s then that I understand why the movie hall is empty. Everyone, except me, knew what “Grudge” is all about.

You can ask movie buff (?) or couch ‘tato to write the synopsis because I still can’t tell what else went on in that movie. I watched it safely from behind my fingers. Nusu nusu.

The only thing I heard throughout were mournful screams, shrill screams (a higher percentage from my companion) and a statement that made my evening.

“I have a headache.”

‘Mama’ kumbe is scared shitless too. Mpaka kichwa inauma.

Epilogue.
Movie ended but not my popcorns. There was nothing to enjoy. And I peed most of my soda.

I WANT MY MONEY BACK!

I don’t like horrors. Never have. Never will. I’m a wimp like that. I get scared like fifty tois. And since I have an active imagination my thoughts are very disturbing. Not to mention the dreams. And I will never ever, EVER, go watch a movie I don’t know about again. Ama one she has chosen.

ZIIII!

Man overboard!

“Captain that’s the second in one week.” I say sadly to the captain.

He puts his father-like hand on my shoulder. He has lost many men and since I have been with him all along he expects that I have gotten over it.

He then looks me straight in the eye, and just like all good captains, he says,

“Get the f**k back to your station. And by the way, when are you going “overboard” yourself? You’ve been here too damn long. Jeez!”

I am shocked. But truth be told I indeed have been here too long. A little too long.

I remember the day I “cast off”…

It’s a day like any other. The sun rises. The officious cock crows. The smell of breakfast wafts deliciously into my bedroom. I stretch. I rub my eyes…I’ve been doing this for the last 19 years.

And just as usual I expect to walk down to a table overflowing with breakfast. Black tea and toasted bread. We are a family of many, and we always expect to have a family breakfast on a dinner table that sits four. As always, he/she that wakes up last makes good use of his/her lap.

But today, it would be different.

The table is set for three and two are already seated.

“Good morning, son?”

That’s my mum. My dad, a man of few stinging words, just looks my way, nods his head, sinks his teeth into margarine-less toast and buries his head in the news-full newspaper.

But not for long.

Mum clears her throat. It must have been a threatening gesture because my dad without looking at her quickly puts away the paper.

Something's not right.

I cautiously take my seat wondering why the rest of the house isn’t coming down for breakfast. My mum walks to the door and locks it.

“(censored) modoathii (censored) (censored) (censored),”

When my parents call me by all my names I know things indeed are thick. Thicker than the porridge my mum used to make.

I begin to sweat. I shift in my seat. Do they know about the weed? Or maybe, the neighbour’s smashed car? Perhaps it’s the missing video deck? The missing thao? Or what I did to Ndirangu’s sister? Maybe what I did to Ndirangu himself when he caught me with his sister? The list is endless and so, it seems, would the pain.

“It’s time.”

Much to my relief, I discover the lecture isn’t for what I did but for what I am meant to do from now on.

In a nutshell, I’m told, informed rather, there would be a “ship” passing by our house loaded with many of my friends. Friends who have also gotten the same lecture from their parents. Friends who are in it for the same thing. Fishing. And it would be a good, great idea, if I got on it.

Our parents are sending us on a 'fishing' expedition. But get this, they don’t want nets filled with fish. No. They want us to bring back one fish.

Parents.

One fish!

What kind of fish, anyway?

(I’m beginning to sound like those Japanese movies/stories ama Samurai Jack where some Kumamoto kid is sent to hunt for the mysterious and magical Nokosodi that will set him free, etc)

Life on this ship proves to be fun from the word go. Parties upon parties. No worries. No duties. Plus, lots of fishing.

Some days the waters would be calm and all aboard would be merry. The other days we would be in turbulent waters.

Nothing extraordinary happened the first couple of years. But one day, we lost our first mate.

This day is a stormy one and we are drifting close to some “sirens”. To me these so called ‘sirens’ are just some bunch of noisy meddlesome creatures. But to my buddy Sam what they are singing is melody he has never heard before.

Shortly, before we can say “superkalifajalisticexpialidocioustrypanosomiasis” (sp)…

MAN OVERBOARD!

We try calling him back but to no avail. He swims like crazy to this one siren who ‘swallows’ him whole.

We on deck look across at him helplessly. He waves at us gleefully. We wave back and lift our champagne-filled glasses and give a toast. Then the party begins.

Before the party can really take off we hear…

MAN OVERBOARD!

Another. As we were celebrating no one noticed Denno eyeing the ‘siren’ next to Sam’s siren.

The party doesn’t stop. There’s no need to. It’s now a double celebration. Beers are flowing like we are being paid.

As the years and the journey wear on, we lose many good men. Johnny, Ero, Jere, Paul, Peter. Some try to get back to the ship but it’s not the same again. Once you’ve taste the ‘murky’ waters you never get to be treated the same. You get kitchen duty and you are never seen on deck or at any party again. Even if it’s a “man overboard” party, as we now call them.

But our “ship” is loosing men at a tremendous and worrying rate. Just last week, we lost Brian. This week, Sammy. Next week, I know I’ll lose two more.

I can see it in their eyes already. Once someone listens to the song of the ‘sirens’, something happens to him. And I can’t stop them. If anything, I’m helping them overboard. Yet, I am busy trying, unsuccessfully, to traumatize my captain into changing course.

I approach the captain. I ask him if he will ever go overboard.

“Dude,” he says, “I’m going down with this ship.”

Sure enough this ship will go down eventually. It’s old, worn down and with a skeletal staff. What he says next scares me.

“Kijana, listen. I tell this to you and anyone who dares listen. I’ll go overboard eight months after you go overboard.”

It’s then that I realize that this ‘ship for singles’ still has many cruising years ahead.