I am a dreamer.
I know so little of real life that I just can’t help re-relieving such moments as these in my dreams,
For such moments are something I have very rarely experienced.
I am going to dream about you the whole night,
The whole week, the whole year.
#Np The Agonist – The Escape
They say when you remember a memory, you’re actually remembering the last time you remembered that memory and perhaps they were right.
I really don’t like rain; or rather I abhor the fact that water has to fall for it to be called rain. Gloomy the heavens are quite different a tale, I rather enjoy the relative calm to it all. Although in retrospect it’s nothing but calm, the wind almost always blowing sporadically from one cardinal to the other, you have to admire how silent it gets just before the skies open and the rain falls. Every bird gone, having silently retired to its humble aboard. The skies more beautiful then, spared the normalcy of a shining sun and an endless stream of fluffy white clouds. How alike the sky springs to an impression of a painter’s canvas on a rainy day. Every couple of seconds, ever changing, a quota of it a little darker and another different a hue almost like it all graced by a newfangled brush stroke of color. Mother Nature completely adamant on wiping away the representative insignia of her skies. To normal an eye missing the blue of the skies, the white of the clouds and the yellow of the shining sun it’s almost too easy to miss the beauty behind the simplicity of color. A crazy retro photographer too seems to pop ever so often in the form of lightning, I am not sure I enjoy the loud clap of the crowd he entertains, the thunderclaps. They did almost seem to scare me as a child. Perhaps a little too many an architect of art in a room.
It’s exactly a minute twenty five past two o’clock, according to my wrist watch. I am partly certain that’s what it should say, not that I checked it. It’s say always proven easier to reach for my phone. Foolish but long did my watch regress to fashionable an article of dress. Someone avers it makes me look neat. I am not about to challenge that fact.
As far as qualms go with rain, mud has to be my biggest; it’s something I can never seem to get my head around. Well then again these brown boots did rather serve beautifully, I might be biased about black but I doubt it could hold its own when facing the tussle that is red volcanic soil. I will have to admit it would be better if I was as biologically adapted like a cat, you have to admire how she dances and hops around the puddles. They really hate water. My apologies, I am watching a cat grace around trying to avoid getting wet, as for myself let’s just say I found it better to sit on the floor to my door and wrestle my boots off. I certainly have lost to the cat my hands already wet. It reminds me of a moment past, perhaps a mental journey would suffice but I would insist you follow me close behind; I would hate if you wandered off in parts unknown and see something you might exceptionally never unsee.
So it was an exceptionally strange day, the trademarks of a Monday but perhaps given the weather, everyday did look a lot like a Monday lately. Inside the vast expanse that was the Nairobi CBD the weather hadn’t been so kind. Now our friend was wet, compared I was like a lily met by the gentle spray of a florist’s hose while he’d ragged screaming through the canals of the Nile. For sentimentality perhaps semi wet would serve, I theorize it sounds more supple given he was drying off; no longer dripping water – laughs – the madness. Given the current conditions hypothermia seemed a lot like a possibility; it was after all fairly too easy to score down on the two degrees. Then again we are talking about dying here so perhaps it’s was more favorable to undertone the pessimism, he stood a chance.
“Hell I picked one hell of a day to leave the house without my gloves. So apparently freezing to death is a thing now. Three mugs of down in the past couple of hours, coffee don’t fail me now. So Kencom is a bust, I’ll just catch a ride from Railways and connect from there. It’s exceptional how dead Moi Avenue is dead today, bearing in mind that I am next to the August 7th Memorial Park, there is almost always a happy couple or group of friends chatting away in there. I bet they miss the sun. Side note, is that place like super haunted in the night?
Now to add insult to injury, my body suddenly has the audacity to feign hunger, not so much feign but still, absurd considering I always skip day meals. I find them a little too monotonous for my taste; given my light hours they just seem to be on a collision course. Still I had to cross the road and probably find a place to eat. Hey there is Nakumatt, it’s almost impossible to miss to blue streak that is its insignia on Anasuya Lane. Although I am abundantly insane to walk in and walk out with a bag of salty snacks, bad idea, Mwandu Chips and something, nay, totally not in the mood for fries. Perhaps I am plentifully overdue on a ritual. Fetch me my knife. Laughs – Just kidding. Worry not, no blood and guts shall be involved, perhaps milk is the closest animal product demanded by the gods. I am dying for pastries or at least anything not in the bread family with a lot of sugar. Let’s call it cake, a whole lot of cake. Plus I just happen to know the best of places – un momento de silencio [a moment of silence] – plus they just happen to have these weird prices so I always have tones of coins to spare for candy. Mibisco Limited. I have never really got the whole limited part but I have to admit whoever came up with “Mibisco” was super creative, it’s kind of cute, whatever it means that is. Did I mention its super small so it’s like super cozy? Well inside anyway outside I can’t seem to fight the touts fast enough not to drag me into their matatus. I only wish I knew why they were so determined to take me to this place called “Sivo.” Seriously what is there and more specifically where is there?
So Mibisco Limited it is then, well I considering I am still on Haile Selassie Avenue, somewhere between Karibu Hotel and Jade Collections if only blowing my hands warm actually sufficed to create warming a difference. Worried about the givens of detail, don’t be I just checked the walls, I know exactly where I am because I am pretty sure I am about to be robbed. Sixth sense perhaps or probably because this stinky weird-looking “chokora” looks like trouble, second look, no, anybody but him, argh we have history. By the way if my mom asks I called him street kid or in this case street man. I am not about to take chances getting smacked dead if she heard me use that word, see she’s a little critical about certain ways people brand people. Bastard (that too) although I should probably take no offence to the father, for all I know he might actually have stuck around no need to turn stereotypical aye? Although he’s a bastard by means of annunciation he still stole my phone, well like – counts – five years ago?
This guy nicked my phone while I was on a date. Like seriously on a date, I speculate that’s what they mean when they say romance is dead. On the third date, with this super pretty girl, total understatement by the way, I’d say cute but I reserve that for my pets and beautiful just sounds lame. It’s just lacks the sizzle of proper describing an adjective. I have the faintest memory of how I used to joke that I saw twin stars when I was around her. Am not sure she got what I meant, then come to think of it perhaps my description was flawed, it does sound a lot like what you see when you have your head knocked really hard. I just loved relating her eyes to stars. If you were really close, like a kiss close they were blue, alike to the Witch Head reflection nebula. I only wish I knew to which side the Orion constellation was hidden. Impossible a venture considering she wasn’t big on eye contact, something about an effect on her. Not that I bought it, that girl didn’t have a bone of shy in her, still it was quite the buzz for my ego. Few were the times I actually got away with it. Still who’s to say the said kisses weren’t proper a consolation – giggles.
Numbness wrenches the cavity that is my chest,
For different a second I am cut out of breath,
Her love lingering at the canopy of my thoughts,
Her eyes a hue of blue graze my love lit iris,
My heart in drowns the in the embrace of her lips,
Matched to watching the sun sink in the ocean at day’s end,
Is the dismay I feel missing the sight that is her eyes,
Although a kiss at such a moment serving a setting suns bliss,
A moment granted a wish would last forever,
Now as for everything else about her, from the curls in her hair to the curves on her body, it was a sense of perfection. A creamy chocolate complexion didn’t hurt either with supple a smile and a damsel of a face. A hint of a sly vixen when she cracked a smile plus it didn’t help that she had infectious a personality, one of those happy people. The kind you bask in the sound of their laughter and the warmth of their being.
Memory does fail me about her attire, almost certainly since I’ve been known to tinkle with certain details of my memories. I tend to entertain the habit of redressing everybody in alternative clothing; something between some Gothic embodiments, band tees and Victorian dresses. Reality does seem a lot like a sham compared. Think of it like a bad vampire movie where some vampires are stuck out of time enjoying the dress of the 1800’s while others have deeply flawed a taste for leather. It seems like rather grim a place, assuming cows are endangered a species with all the leather going on. Plus black seems like the only color under the sun, the dominant one nonetheless. Don’t get me started on the boot fetish. As for the Victorian dress frontier I just can’t seem to get over the love of pattern, how the dresses of age intertwined lace and fabric. Call it an ample tear-jerking bliss. As for the actual designs, they were purely magnificent, perhaps stolen from the tailor’s court in heaven.
I do remember an article of her dress though, their significance a wager, a pair of brown wedges she clad, given any shoe she owned to choose the longest heeled, she would try to beat my height. I won.
So walk to Odeon we did. Supposedly we were to catch a ride to Kileleshwa, en-route alight at the Arboretum. For a girl who didn’t look like she did the outdoors much she rather enjoyed the idea of having a date under the sun. She didn’t strike me as someone who enjoyed the grimy, gross, not fun dirty aspect that was the definition of outdoors. I like it plenty; I just don’t enjoy the idea of people. Conceivably peg her wrong I did, a princess on a certainty but not hang on some pedestal.
So we are walking and our “friend” directly puts his hand in my pocket and links our arms. Appalling was definitely my state of mind considering the various contemplations about pathogens. Imaginably a little overstated was my love for grim and gross. I would assume by end of tale I still should have you believing in fairy-tales and happy endings so I’ll spare you the gruesome minutiae. I will tell you this though, I proudly recoil at the sight of roaches, perhaps a few many particulars about the constituents of their underbelly according to a column I read so given the “ammo” our so-called friend was wielding, I was say a willing victim. I should mention I can easily take this guy out but I seriously want to skip the hospital and recovery time. My reluctance to comply was somewhat extinguished when said threat extended to my date. So that’s how I lost my phone or rather in the next couple of minutes while the fool left me outside the Bata shop in Kai Plaza on Tom Mboya Street. Pretty sure he disappeared on Timboroa Lane on that tiny road on Latema Street. I have to wonder if I could get away being called a hero on this one – laughs – tough luck, equated it’s like calling a monkey a sapien.
Did I mention my date actually found it hilarious? Sure in bad taste, I’d just lost my phone but seriously that girl’s laugh was infections. Momentarily mad to a pulp, a second later I was leaning at some wall trying not to breath from all the laughing. I did consider calling the date off, more like vocally suggested it. After all I sort of had enough of my fair share of hostage situations that day and I no longer trusted the day not to pop any other unpleasant surprises. My optimism for a day has been known to wane because I couldn’t seem to find the damned toothpaste cap after unscrewing it. It was however a given she in no way was about to quit on half lived a day and she had a rather compelling number of reasons about how the day would light up.
How wrong she was, between getting rained on, losing her umbrella and catching a cold, then there was the mud issue, ultimate foe, at one point I would have believed the smile faked. Or maybe it was just stuck on her face. By the way I have to mention getting rained on is like a me and a female thing. Sorry, female whack, I mean like if we are friends and you happen to be in the female subcategory, of the human species anyway, ever so often Mother Nature will pull out her rain antics. I’ve found it easier to think of it like a complementary, a creed of some sort and a say sanctification of our friendship. I duly apologize in advance for the hair. As for girlfriend’s too, oh God, those sort of have it worse. The mugging thing was a one of though, sure it might have happened say one more time, too particulars cannot entirely be considered as sufficient data but she was rather adorable, our tiny mugger that is. That’s my personal favourite a tiny kid. Laughs – Well that’s a story for another day.
So between all stated reasons I was pretty sure I would never hear from her again. Well either she was good at being crazy or I just didn’t get tired of being wrong because I did hear from her again, like a couple more years hear from her. Oh and she’s was not crazy, apparently from it all, the highlights of the day did outweigh all the sour points, who knew?
So friend on Haile Selassie Avenue, I loathe you yes? Pretty sure it has a lot to do with my playlist. Those things are sort of sacred. Like tiny babies you just watch grow up, song after song. Nicking the phone that was her cradle doesn’t really help your case you know – Is it weird that I think of my playlist as a girl? Wait, don’t answer that. They say eyes are the windows to the soul but I am sure he saw the windows to hell in mine. Maybe it didn’t help when I asked for my phone when he tried to mug me again. I have to admit watching him speed off did make for a splendid view, a certain exploit to it. Call me heartless but I really didn’t hold my breath when a few steps wrong he almost ended atop some random car bonnet. Conceivably ghosts of his past had too deep a claw in his soul. I never did give chase given although I ought to have, under press of morbid humor of course. Still drunk I’d be on power if I caught him, a little too much for fear. Heavens, I watch too many horror movies. Perhaps the rapid heave of his breathe escaping was enough a consolation. Or perhaps I owed him a thank you for the memory. “Well thank you little speck of man running away, “sadly my eyesight s tank I could hardly see him. Gone but somehow rambling into Tom Mboya Street I couldn’t help watch a hooting bus inside Oil Libya behind the green brick building. There once, two a step left where it rest I stood, her reincarnation a gaze away;
”Sometimes from her eyes I did receive fair speechless messages”
(The Merchant of Venice)
I could swear it’s a little bit warmer now, a subconscious thought but still a little warmer. Now cake awaits.”
Well he did get home anyway but not before he passed by home, poor soul was freezing half to death. On the bright-side he did carry cake with him so. . .
Finally damn buggers are off. I seriously could swear someone pored glue down my shoes in the morning. Or maybe am growing fat, God forbid, then again am not sure there’s a fat for feet. Mental note, remind me to google that.
“Sweet home Alabama
Where the skies are so blue
Sweet Home Alabama
Lord, I’m coming home to you
In Birmingham they love the gov’ nor (boo, boo, boo)
Now we all did what we could do”
And so my ringtone goes, am not much for classic rock but that cropped chorus of the song makes for one hell of a ringtone to sing along. Surprise, surprise, just dammed the soul I was thinking about.