Sworn affidavit to my enemies of progress.
Last week the evil one descended on my enemies of progress, inciting them against me. Lots of evil ideas were exchanged, damning episodes tabled, pictures excavated, plots hatched, implementation committees sworn in, secrecy oaths swallowed… all in efforts to put to shame my very long, musical and beautiful name. In response I have sworn an affidavit as follows;
THAT I, Waruguru Wa Kiai being a kenyan of above average sound mind do hereby swear that I am not the main character in this malicious tale aimed at maligning my good name,the story is folktale-stories of giants(cia marimu) and any relation to anyone(most probably alive) in particular is purely coincidental,YES!
“The story is told of a young female law student who was as humble as the the proverbial humble pie. She lived a non sparkly life, loved reading, eating fried cassavas and watching pirated Ghanian movies all night long. She was a strange breed who loved hanging out with rasta coloured people, listening to roots and culture, though she never even once burned any herb-holy or otherwise, people of bad intent had attempted to label her as a lover of frothy Nile products but such rumours were never proven, ever. One day, driven by the need to look just as fly as the other campus students, she embarked on an ambitious self improvement program that would see her shave her eyebrows to pave way for NIKE shaped drawings where eyebrows once sprouted. Further, she bought all shades of paints for her lips and nails and concluded by gifting herself with a pair of white hip suffocating pants and three -black, red, pink- heartshaped underwear to cover her African rear.
The story is told of how the narrators of this story struggled not to explode with bouts of laughter, to the suprise of many who were listening and trying to zero in on the funny aspect of the story.
Ehe, the lady waited for Monday to arrive, and when it did, she ironed her new white pants and fought for several minutes to hoist them up to the waist. She finally managed to chain the button to the button hole after promising herself not to exhale for the rest of the day. And off she went to fight illiteracy. She would spend her day prowling in and out of the lecture hall, busy doing nothing. How would they know she was feeling fine in her new white pants. She bought several pens at the school shops-a good place to exhibit what your mama gave her to the awe of the boys and the envy of all the girls, found herself at the accounts office idling with the rest despite having no fees balance, she drowned several sodas at the cafeteria as she sat, legs crossed for all to behold her brand new pants.
Things were good, she felt like the man, like the man, like the man!
It was not until evening, when she walking towards the school gate, amidst a crowd of tired students that one of her male friends approached her, smiled cheekly as he brushed past her and said
“Leo umesema ni mambo ya mapenzi”
This guy was an idiot, white is a symbol of peace and not love! She was not going to let him spoil her white coloured day. With her head held high, hips landing this way and that way, she sashayed past him, like he did not existed. He was not going to let her be
“Eh madam, leo naona umetuamulia ni maneno ya mapenzi, eh heart red heart shapes nini nini…”
She was going to turn around, weave first then followed by the ‘oh hell no’ finger, then it hit her, harder than a guarana induced hangover,
“Did he just mention heart shapes, red heart shapes, RED HEART SHAPES!!
She had worn, on that beautiful turned unfortunate day,her brand new bright red heart shaped underwear. The said underwear was sticking out against her white pants, like a sore thump. Every shape could be seen, even the bigger one plastered at the very centre of her rear. Her whole world suddenly turned black and she muttered a line from her award winning primary school composition “I wish the world would open up and swallow me alive”
She turned back to face him…him! Determined to save face, only to find her crush staring at her red hearts. He was not the only one. Everyone was on her rear end, including the salivating gate man who would not have missed a chance to poke at every hole, including heart shaped ones.
The story continued to recount of how she nervously plastered her school bag on her behind in desperate attempts to cover her protruding hearts. She crept lower than beenie man in his creeping videos and jumped on a moving boda boda, she did not look back, but she did not forget the laughter she left behind. Many years have since lapsed since the unfortunate incidence breeding forth different episodes of what might have transpired next, some even going as far as to insinuate that she threw herself in some river due to shame. However, one version hits close to the truth, it is said that she went home and stared at the mirror for several minutes, removed her white pants and fell on the bed like a log. She later ordered for greasy fries, a slice of avocado and several pieces of meat stuck on a tree before proceeding to watch again her favourite Ghanian Movie-The president’s daughter. She also took a sabbatical from school, preferring to visit rivers and small towns for weeks, while at it she prayed for the spirit of amnesia to attack all who had seen her and her red heart shaped underwear on that embarrassing day. At-least that is what I heard.
THAT I do not recall such an incident neither have I been summoned by the ‘Chifu’
Did I tell you of an episode in the early nineties that had me run like Asbel Kiprop, no? well, today is a good day. One day, our nursery school teacher announced that there would be no afternoon session because she had to attend to some personal business, it meant that we would have to go home early that day, I almost died with joy, so much so , I forgot to ‘excavate’ my underwear – yeah, I used to bury them every morning when I got to school, say no to colonial clothing was my drive, that and the fact that underwear heavily hindered my ‘munywe’ sessions, for my ‘yoyo’ friends , munywe was more than a game, it was a ritual, a calling…you would pour water on earth surface and slid either with your feet or behind, I was the queen of sliding with my behind, so you see why I had to bury the underwear. Anyway, back to my nursery school teacher, after she gave us permission to go home early, I decided to go sight seeing. My nursery school was opposite Ruringu stadium and the Police Band just happened to be practicing, I joined in and spectated for hours before enjoying a swimming session in one of the free government of kenya pools – potholes in the stadium. Hours later, my stomach signaled that I had to go home but first I had to pee. I could not find any facility to use and I was getting desperate. My eyes settled on two options; some bushes right next to the road or the chief’s office backyard( the Chief’s office situated at Ruringu near the CDF Offices, I hope He does not read this).
The bushes appeared favorable but my fear of snakes and other crawling insects could not allow me to conduct my business in peace, and by the rumble in my tummy, it was going to be big business – huge business – smoke billowing – mountain size business. The serene environs of the chief’s camp was quite inviting, confidently I marched towards the offices after plucking some over green leaves from the dismissed bushes. After a brief inspection of the President’s representative office, I was sure that the place was deserted. Without any ceremony, I landed on a spot right next to the main door and proceeded to ‘assist’ myself, while entertaining glorious thoughts, I do my best thinking while in the business of ‘Kujisaidia’ in fact, it was while I was at it that I decided that when I grew up, I would buy a Television set, break the screen just to eat the apples and boiled eggs always being displayed in various shows. Things were going on well that I did not hear the door open, how could I, when I was deep in labour…
I do not remember much from that incident but I do remember running as fast as my legs would carry me, away from my assailant who from the looks of it, was the chief. I remember him saying that he knew me and my mother and that he would arrest me for creating a steaming mountain in front of his office, all I did was run. I stopped right outside co-operative society building( that coffee building in ruring’u) convinced that the chief had given up, I took cover behind the offices and proceeded to employ the use of the leaves, several twigs went into the business of wiping my rear while the other twigs went into chasing the battalion of flies that hovered around me. Mama never learned of the story and I changed route.
Today, I will be in Ruringu at the very same chief’s camp, My plan is simple; I will keep my head bowed, and cross my fingers that no one remembers me, I will smile on the inside at the sight of my long gone man made mountain, or maybe I will go on my knees and dramatically confess like they do in those Nigerian movies…what do you think?
THAT at that time it was not illegal to suckle strangers cows at the river bank…
I had little hands,dirty and always sticky, then there was the running nose-my lips were always salty, the hem of my blue pullover was always wet from constant chewing.
I had a toy,a ‘piggy’ Bank elephant always urinating around the house, the pig had an opening to slot in the coins and it had a small hole at the rear end,in my wisdom I would seal the small hole with my finger urinate on the saving slot opening,set the elephant on the table and exclaim in sheer Happiness to my Mother’s shock, “the elephant has urinated”
I was also a grand chef experimenting with all sorts of pastries, take my Award Winning recipe for instance_ two cups of soil sourced from the finest soils across my Nyeri village-near the toilet,at the gate,near the road…mix in a bowl-an empty ‘Kasuku’ tin sourced from the finest shopping malls-the council garbage site,then add my secret Ingredient packed with all sorts of nutritious salts-warm urine,mix thoroughly and serve hot.
‘Cha mama na Cha Baba you ask?no sir!not for me. I was the Knife wielding village gangster,and yes I can recall an incident. It was on a cold evening,some village kids had come to pick up their litre of milk-my milk from our cow called ‘Njata’. Well to cut the story short, the story is still being narrated of how a bunch of kids were seen running and screaming in fright at a ‘neck breaking speed’ away from our compound.
And talking about the cow,I used to milk it,if i tell of that story I may grow old alone, I rest.
Finally, THAT I am nowhere present near the picture attached on this post! anyone who thinks otherwise will prompt my lawyers to call their lawyers.