DEAR KISII

Dear Kisii,

I hope this finds you well. I miss you. That may be hard to believe, considering I left without as much as a goodbye. Folks might be filling you with bullshit. That I left for the new girl, Nairobi, it’s not true. Though I must admit, she is an enticing prospect. And should you not behave, I will dump you at the drop of a hat. How does that sound? Who is tough now?

Anyway, how is life down there? Is it raining? Are bananas ripening? Or you changed your object of Godhead? Don’t get mad at me, it’s just that a few days away have been confusing. And the words I am spewing may not be mine. You know Nairobi is that rogue hooker who wants to rob me. Maybe she spiked my drink with ‘mchele’ and here we are. Me writing a missive in this carousel of confusion. Words rising from a sea of blackness. Good words. Bad words. We will never know for sure.

It’s early Sunday as I write this. I am staying at a relative’s place as I sort one or two things. Nobody has woken up. It’s me and dawn, typing away in this castaway hour. The sun is stirring, fighting the darkness. Darkness will meet his Waterloo. This is not his battle.

Speakers blare from a distance. People of God are setting up camp for the day. They will bludgeon our eardrums with talk of judgement day and stuff. Let’s reason, it has been two thousand years since the son of God said he will come soon. How soon is soon? We will never find out. In the meantime, all these questions and fears about religion find shelter in our souls. Maybe there is God, maybe he doesn’t exist. Come on! Even if he did, God wouldn’t mind if you believe in him or not. He doesn’t seem to be that kind of guy. God has more important things to worry about. Like folks who don’t like Denzel Washington, he should punish those. Light them up with fire and brimstone.

And speaking of Denzel Washington. That man is a legend. He is more than a man, he deserves to ride in the heavens. His movies are so profound. White men taught us acting. Guess what, we’ve made their art ours. All our ancestors did was dance around wildfires, but here we are, stealing the white man’s crown. Donald Trump must be pissed.

Denzel was honoured at the 47^th AFI. The tributes pouring in for the man were just something else. The millions of souls he’s touched. The young actors he’s helped to grow in the industry. Chadwick Boseman talked of him in a moving way.

Saying, “there’s no black panther without Denzel.” I felt that. 

With tears in his eyes, Denzel rose and led in giving Chadwick a standing ovation. 

Did those KPLC folks solve the stima problem? How they ignore our requests, ungrateful bastards! We should teach them a lesson. How can we make love in that ominous darkness? My dear Kisii, I need to see your breasts. I need to see the surrender in your face when I part your legs. And when you light up with love, I should see it. Lovemaking in darkness is akin to walking in Congo forest at night. Stuff I don’t fancy in any way. 

Why would any sane person go to Congo forest? With those folks slaughtering each other in the name of gold and diamond and coltan. Is it worth it? Destroying homes, separating families, picking off all the dignity left in another person because of wealth and power. Don’t get me wrong. Wealth is good. Power is even better. But does it have to involve all the bloodshed? Fathers shot in their heads. Women gang-raped. Children set ablaze. Villages wiped out. Communities are forgotten. What makes Congo, Congo, shipped away to European factories.

Funny thing, we will never know the truth. Everyone has their part of the story, their version of the truth. As such, we remain observers. We watch and engage in intellectual talk. How if they only could resolve their differences, Congo would be most prosperous. But what differences are there? Only metals of the earth.

It’s cold over here. Freezing cold. The kind that bursts through the window, straight into your body. It makes your blood recoil. That’s Ngong for you, the epicentre of this iciness. I fear my balls might freeze. How tragic will that be? Me returning to Kisii with a failed system. Will you accept me for who I am? It won’t happen anyway, not in the near future. I have my morning hard-ons. They rip through trousers, the hard-ons, like knives of fire. Sometimes I worry that they might tear my trouser. Tabloids and those Five hundred bob bloggers will have a field day.

‘A man spotted walking in the city with torn trousers. Trusted sources say that the man has this Mandingo erection which rips through his trousers. Such wonders of the world.’

Ha ha ha ha.

I was in the city the other day and Nairobi is just Nairobi. Skyscrapers have popped up. Roads have been expanded but you don’t feel the impact. Traffic jams, like years past, are the beauty of this city in the sun. More fancy cars hold court on the roads. I saw a Rolls Royce hum past Uhuru highway. That car is a car. You feel it’s primal energy. The power in its engine. The strong metal body. The Rolls Royce is a show of might and opulence. It’s a journey in itself.

What kind of man drives such a car? Does he sleep? What church does he go to? What kind of books does he read? Is he in a relationship? Who is this woman who manages to keep him grounded? Does he believe in love? But most importantly, where does he work? What does he do to earn so much money? Who are his friends? Where does he hang out? Does he believe in life after death?

Nairobi is in its eternal race. Everyone seems to be going somewhere. Everyone is chasing something. Nobody wants to be left behind. A man wants to sell you chewing gum. A tout wants you to board his bus. A pastor preaches to you on a bus, you either pay tithe or go to hell.

Safaricom posters. The blue-chip behemoth is rolling on with life. Bob Collymore is dead, nobody seems worried. Such is the tragedy of life. We are so fragile. One day you’re here making a difference, the next you’re on Wikipedia.

 The sky is blue.