trust the village

Last week I took a trip down to my shags which for some reason made my august feel like December. Well, no Santa came down that chimney…errr unfortunately (fortunately) I’m from Africa and the word santa doesn’t really ring a bell unless it’s some knock off Chinese balloon or the pioneer spaghetti in kenya. Also, especially from where I come from, any lame attempt to Santa the villagers and you’ll be begging for your dear life trying to prove you ain’t a night runner. And anyway even if santa existed I could bet my danki he’d be a villain. Thing is, homesteads there are thatched (no chimney there). And what does santa use???think?? Riiight.a reindeer. This creatures would make a meal out of them huts and oh buoy oh buoy!

Its more like an unwritten rule that we/I have to buy roasted maize at kedowa or londiani, whichever finds me awake. But I can’t sleep through both of those towns. Even my hormones know that. They have this very soft maize that gives me such crazy fantasies about pioneering a maize cake..owkey that’s about as much as you’ll get to know of my myotelemoemaizeophia  (I made that up).

Finally we arrived at nightfall and made our way to some hotel which we’ve so frequented that I could smell meself in them sheets. One tinny bit problem is that the place is a haven for mosquitoes. They are one and the same. You can’t mention one without the other. Even sleeping in a net is such a small deal that mosquitoes just stare thinking your high on cheap busaa. They find it funny. I once saw a mosquito laughing at me. I can confidently say that I still have a tattoo of its morsel etched on my palm. Boy did I feel like Rambo.

There I was putting up my net. The least I could was let them do was beat me mentally. So I faked a grim and rubbed my hands..just soo they would know who they are about to mess with. I could tell they didn’t budge but I bet they squeezed their tiny posteriors they peed a little. I actually overheard some big shot mosquito whisper ‘boys I think we have a smart ass in town’. Ill not diverge into what transpired that night as this post has a +80 PG rating. So technically only guys like Moi can see me kando for a cup of tea (I like that line!)

Its always in the village you’ll great everyone and anyone. And I mean anyone. Yes. Even that fisherman whose just from the deep waters and stinks every bit like a fish. Guy stinks so baed you could think he has some gills beneath his netted Fubu 05 vests. From my end all this pleasantries would receive a plastic smile and a repeated ‘vizuri sana’. Coz honestly whenever they tried to engage dialogue in the local tongue, words would go through my left ear and come out the right ear at a higher velocity. Basically I was in a world of my own. Floating like a dead fish in lake naivasha. I visited some of my folks and I couldn’t be surer what was for supper. Immediately I arrived I saw chickens scattering in every direction, apart from the thatched kitchen. Poor chickens. No wonder I overheard them sing a rendition to nelly furtado’s i’ m like a bird.