It is finally raining. It is all we wanted, right? The earth was hungry for the rains. We were angry at the clouds stuck in Tanzania, clouds carrying our rains. Now that Magufuli has unlocked those chains that he tied around the necks of our clouds, we can finally ‘ejaculate’ with joy. Now we can finally go out and play in the rains. We can shower effortlessly.
Nothing beats the joy of playing in the rain. Many might consider this a child’s play; I say it is not, it is the joy of growing up- being able to do childish things because they make you happy, worrying less of what the world thinks. Maturity has no formula. There is no manual to guide us to be men and women, people who are considered mature.
Joy, happiness and living fully involves letting that small child in you out into play; allowing it to raise hell, wash its face with flour, skid on wet grass, play football in the rain, run after another shirtless while shouting, pee from 10th floor and see how far it can go before it disappears from your eyes, watch cartoons, play hide and seek and dance to songs with no tunes.
To behave maturely, surely, has no particular parameter to be measured against. So long as you’re doing what makes you happy, even if it turns people off, is the epitome of personal freedom. You should do it in a way that doesn’t injure or shit others. The threshold of personal happiness is recognizing who you’re as a person and owning your shit, using it to run your world the way you want regardless of what others think.
I reached home the other day, burdened by mud. I had been rained on heavily and my body was emitting this warmth that almost burnt my eyes. My shoes looked as if they’d been swallowed by mud.
It’s around two when I got home because my boss had me work till late. Before that job, I’d been deeply stressed with the kind of debts I had, debts that I needed to pay. Debts that had so much to do with my ignorance. Debts I brought unto myself due to negligence. I had hustled all week to offload some. When I did, I felt like a champ. At least one person was off my back. How I got to owe her money is a long story, a story I might never tell anyone because that’s how we agreed, to keep quiet about it because we were dumb when we go into the mess.
My boss called a few days later. He flew me out to the neighboring country, Tanzania. It was my first time to be in Tanzania. A lot happened while there. The most memorable moment being when I slipped and fell into a deep hole head first, while running from an insurgent. My gun had run out of bullets and the man I was after realized so. That is how we ended up in a helter-skelter situation, with me ducking bullets and him shooting at my ass.
If you’ve never fallen head first perhaps you need to try it out. There is no way to explain the feeling. Especially when your gun goes first and you hit your head on it. I dug into the bottom of the pit. I have never experienced such terrible pain in my life, the kind of pain that makes you angry.
The pit saved me. My enemy could not trace me. I stayed in there for a while trying to nurse my pain as well as dusting myself, figuring out how to get out. What was even worrying was what would happen if a local policeman caught me, a bloody foreigner, with a gun. A muddy gun.
Perhaps you might ask why the man was running after me. The answer to this is difficult to explain. But I had something he needed, something belonging to him, something extremely precious. I had the obligation of protecting it with my life as I risked it.
When I came out of the hole, I was looking horrible and ghoulish. I headed to my room and asked my boss to airlift me immediately before things could get worse. In that room, I spent time nursing my head. I was nervous. I stayed by the window, being watchful if any suspicious character was coming towards the hotel I was staying in because it only takes a second to shatter the progress to pieces.
Once something is out of your hands, getting it back is costly. You pay with your life and many others. It is risky having something worth millions under your custody. You get restless. And in that moment of fear, mistakes are bound to happen. Fear is a stage for mistakes because you never think clearly at that moment.
I finally arrived in Nairobi, exhausted and sleepy. I was driven directly to the hospital for a checkup. In there I felt dizzy. My doctor examined me carefully and told me “you’ll live.” He uses this statement when things aren’t bad as I thought. My vitals were healthy though an xray revealed a little crack on my skull, a crack he said would heal soon.
“Don’t go rolling into walls again because you risk losing your sanity,” he suggested. I said to myself, “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
I went into my crib with heavy shoes. I left them at the door, as I didn’t want the mud in the house. I was wiped out to start thinking of cleaning the house the following day. When I switched my phone on, my new girlfriend had tried reaching me for three days. There were almost a hundred missed calls and numerous messages. Seeing those calls and messages made me feel special, that she cares.
After my girlfriend walked away in January, I talked to God in my own language. I told Him that I had not done anything to warrant the breakup. I told Him that my girlfriend had left without saying anything, and refused to talk to me. I asked Him to give me strength to move on because I had started falling in love with her. I also asked Him to give me a humble and forgiving heart, a heart that forgets, a heart that does not hold grudges. I told Him to give me peace.
The God of Abrahama, Meshack, Enock, David and father of Jesus heard of my tribulations. He knows I am a good man, a faithful and hardworking person who only wants to love. A man who can never hurt a woman, or cheat on her. He knows I am a good provider. He knows I am respectful, a man of his word, mature and honest.
With this kind of resume’, he sent a fine ghel to my path. When our paths crossed, it was love on first sight. Our eyes talked with each other. It was as if we had known each other for centuries. We were made for each other. That is how God can be- hearing the cries of those who call upon His name. He answers when you ask, opens when you knock.
He sent me a girl who understands me, someone caring and loving. He knew I wanted this after the numerous heartbreaks. He knew that I needed someone to see my scars and still think they’re beautiful. We met in a matatu, a matatu I boarded because fate pushed me there. It was the wrong one, but God had pushed me into using it so that our paths can cross.
I greeted her as I sat next to her. People hardly greet each other nowadays, and it is rather abnormal for people to greet you in the bus and ask if they can have the seat next to you.
“Hi, is it okay if I seat next with you?” I asked her.
“Hey,” she said. She said yes by shaking her head, and putting on a faint smile.
I sat next to her and stretched out my hand to greet her. She stretched out hers and it felt soft and warm in mine.
“You’re gorgeous,” I flirted. I meant it.
“Thank you.” She said as another smile arose from the left lip, spreading wide to the entire length of her lips. “I am Diana.”
“Pleasure to meet you Diana, call me Justine.”
The conversation picked up steadily, each of us contributing effectively to it. We alighted at the same stage because I was going the wrong direction. I needed to go back. She was the only reason why I had decided to go along, with a mission that God wanted me to finish.
We exchanged contacts. I didn’t follow up for a while because I was busy chasing people my boss wanted me to chase, getting things he wanted me to get and putting people into hospitals and comas. Then one day, out of nowhere, she asked me if we could go out for dinner. I must confess that I was thoroughly thrilled. I can only count four or five women who have asked me out. But the way she asked me beat them all.
I called her and we had a long chat. I told her I was down for the dinner. Who was I to say no? There is nothing that makes me happy as going out with someone I am attracted to. It beats everything. She took me to a small Java along Ngong Road. She was dazzling. I have never seen anything beautiful like she looked that night. Elsie’s mother is hot but not as my date.
She looked admirable. She made my emotions get confused. There is some kind of happiness that attacks a person when they’re with someone attractive.
I got to know her that night. We shared intimate conversations, of things that matter. We travelled back and forth. We went into jungles and countries. I told her of my intrigues and my dangerous job. I told her that one day I might leave and come back in a bag. I told her it was risky being with me. I told her what scares me, what makes me happy and where my happy buttons are. I told her of my deadly patience, my extreme confidence and my tattered spirit.
She looked at me and said, “If you’re looking for excuses not to be in this friendship then it is too late.” I was lost of words. I wanted to hold her right there and tell her, “You’re the best.” At that point, I knew that God has sent the right person to me. He truly cared for me and wanted me to be happy. He knew I really wanted this.
My days have been a lot better by knowing that there is someone by my side, someone who doesn’t care about my darkness, or my past or my risky job. She boosts my confidence and gives me hope of a better future.
I love keeping my personal affairs under the rug. I can talk about them but not to the point that you feel you know them well enough to know me. The reason why I share my stories is because my therapist said I should learn to channel my secrets and darkness through writing. She said I need to let people in, as it will improve my relations with people.
For a while, therefore, I’ll be going back to chasing vanity and spreading the gospel of profanity. I have a line of potential interviewees who I think can make great stories. I have paused that journey for a while until I finish some mission for my boss.
Now that winter is here, I hope we are ready for this weather. Let’s all stay safe.
Let’s meet next week God-willing for our usual.
Where shall we go, we who wander in this wastelands in search of better selves?