Big Egos and Small Titles

A title is a very interesting thing to have, especially when you feel that the one you are given is not befitting of your grandeur stance in society and only serves to discredit your name. People are not designed to instinctively belittle themselves, it is our duty, nay, calling that we must bloat our ego where possible lest we are thought to be lesser than we believe we are.

I will start with the watchman AKA security consultant given that I have constant interactions with them at my school. These guys (some not all) never cease to surprise me. Given the "prestigious" nature of our school it our duty to flash our school id's before entering any building because for some absurd reason someone would , heavens forbid sneak into a lecturer to endure agonizing hours of endless lip movement with sounds that the brain refuses to fathom. But who knows, maybe these people exist so who am I to dismiss the idea so quickly. On any given day you can't miss to find that one "consultant" who presumes that you tried to avoid the sweep (flashing your ID to identify yourself ) and decides to pull you to the side. He will then throw you a dirty snare like you had stolen his last piece of meat. When you proceed to inquire as to why you were stopped ... well
"Unadhani utanionyesha madharau" (You think you will disrespect me)
All the while making sure to point a finger so no one mistakes that it's you he's talking to. Of course from here it can go many different ways but I guess that's for you to decide.

Next I will move to the waitress, also known as a model/actor in waiting. I mean you must see this whenever you eat out, and I don't mean in those ndondo joints with funny names like Mama Allan. Curious enough it's like fathers don't own any of these joints, why not have a place called Baba Mary or something, isn't this the age of gender equality? Anyway, I digress, I was speaking of the models. Unless its just me who sees those catwalk struts they make as they move and the fake smiles that couldn't save their lives if they were meant to. But in as much my attention was focused on body movements its the new acquired attitude that has me going. They seem to have acquired this Diva status because I usually feel like I should weigh my choice on the menu before blurting it out. Or maybe its the fact that I try to be down to earth by speaking the local dialect, my polished English might rub thrm the wrong way. I'll illustrate
"Sema, leo nini iko kwa special menu"
"Unaweza angalia menu wewe decide" punctuated with a sneer
*insert puzzled look*
"Ni sawa, nilitee..."
By this point the food has already lost some of its flavor and your next valid fear is will she spit in my food? I hope I never know the answer to that, ignorance in this case might just be bliss.

I will conclude with the receptionist better known as office administrator. We have all run into her and her neck twisting excuse me *insert cheeky smile*. Life at the office wouldn't be complete without her to put those new visitors in their place. I once tried to walk past one before I was hastily called back you would think I was a governor being summoned by the senate.
"Unaenda wapi, unadhani hapa ni nyumba yako"
Honestly I was speechless and I believe no choice of words could indeed saved me from that situation. Of course I was finally let in after the boss personally came to call me from the reception but it paints a picture of what kind of power they think they hold. Ego is a dangerous thing , especially when all you have to back it up is a small title. just sayinG.

Affairs

This one has been rattling in the recess of my minds for a while, how do we define our relationships either to ourselves or to the people around us? Does it matter what the world has to say about the one we term as our significant other? Where does us begin and them stop? A lot of questions, I know but at some point we must accept that our own little world has been invaded by people who made little or no contribution to help us stay together. That's just the way life goes I guess, maybe...

That poses my next question on a love affair and a relationship, what are the differences?
 I'll just site 3 simple examples, these can be contested.

1. A love affair is secret between the two of you with little to no third parties being informed of the same. A relationship is celebrated and advertised with the hopes that you don't crush and burn (no one appreciates those after breakup questions)
2. A love affair is hot and passionate, like a burning comet. A relationship, if I may borrow these words, is like hot tea you warm over time, it may occasionally get cold but it can always burn hot again.
3. A love affair is an escape from reality no matter how fleeting it may be. A relationship is vested in reality and thrives best when you approach it with that notion in mind.

 But the really scary ones are not the love affairs that require your manual input, its the emotional affair that takes you by surprise. Something you seemed to have thought to be so innocent and sweet starts to develop into something you had no intention of pursing and yet here you are smack in the middle of it. Really begs the question, can guys and gals be platonic friends especially when one is in a relationship? So many lines to cross and yet you don't even know you're crossing them. It kinda explains why your best friend should be your partner if you think about it, that way its easier to share yourself body and soul without feeling like you need an escape or that someone else gets you better. just sayinG

The Missing Minute

As a kid there were certain experiences you had to go through, whether it was being chased by a dog, hence my never ending phobia for the four legged canines or playing football which honestly wasn't my best sport, I was always the keeper cause it required less effort. There are numerous small happenings that make up our childhood each in a different way.

As a kid I used to love riding bikes, I mean what else was there to do outside in the evening than race those majestic devices with two wheels. I remember my first bicycle with the support wheels, gotta love those tricycles, there's just something about your first bike.We would go round the neighborhood clinking that annoying bell, all smiles and eager to show off. Of course mama nani wasn't in the least bit amused by our unwarranted jubilation so we would find ourselves quickly dismissed so that we could take our "kiereere" elsewhere.

Of course as we grew older , by that I mean a week later since boys want to become men, the support wheels came off and we sought to scour the lands in the name of exploration. This usually mean about a kilometer radius from home. In hind sight it was a short distance but when you are young the world seems like a vast space and we had been numerously warned about straying to far least we be abducted by the ever lurking stranger.

Now coupled with my love for bicycles was my love for books. Back then pages were filled with color and pamper so reading was an adventure of sorts as you made sense of word and picture. A library had opened up in the estate, a house had been converted in a world of wonder by way of words and I was all to eager to make my way there. So one sunny afternoon me and a pal, James and I, decide to ride a bike there. Now our conundrum was that we only had one bike so I offered to carry him on the support bar between the handle and the seat.

Things were going fine and we were a few meters away from the library when it happened. I have come to call it, the missing minute. The world in a split second turned upside down and I found myself flat on the ground with a mild headache. James was screaming his lungs out and there was blood gushing out of his mouth. As I later came to find out, he had dug his foot into the spokes of the bike which had caused it to suddenly break and hurdle us forward. Unfortunately the brake handle found its way into his mouth and caused a pretty nasty tear.

This did not kill my love for bicycles but it has been a while since last I took the liberty to offer someone a lift on my support bar. just SayinG

#MasenoDays: Punch to the face

I've never been a fighter, not that I can remember anyway. Or maybe I didn't call them fights because as a child it felt more like we were pushing each other and less like we were throwing punches, or maybe my childhood friends just had girly punches lol. That being said, I don't encourage fighting, I am a pacifist at heart and believe that we should strive our best to find other solutions before we resort to "proving we are men".

So it was during our games time which was normally around 4pm and me and a few other house members had decided to skip that ever dreaded compulsory games time. We had hauled ourselves up in the house and locked the door lest the games captain decided to make his rounds. Power in Maseno was sometimes a dangerous thing, it would turn friends to foes and no attempted interventions would persuade the lost soul to find his way back home.

During our haul up, a disagreement ensued between two of my house mates. At first I thought it was something that would pass but one of them seemed to be getting more agitated by the minute and the other wasn't letting up on making fun of him. The agitated housemate then started seeing red and he was baying for blood, he lunged forward and no attempt to hold him back seemed to work as the other housemate tried to make a quick escape. I set myself in between them and was about to open my mouth when I saw it flying towards my face. The punch hit me square on the jaw and I felt my teeth shift with the force, I spit out some blood and heeled over in agony. It made him stop long enough for the other housemate to get time to make a run for it.

He apologized but that didn't make the pain go away, his anger seemed to have subsided though. My squishy face seemed to have acted well as a punching bag that day and in as much as I don't advocate for violence, in that split second before his fist made contact with my face I wished the roles could have been reversed. It sure looked nice punching someone in the face, just sayinG. 

How to Save a Life

I don't know how this one skipped my mind but I'm sure its one of those things that will stay with me for life. Not sure if I've mentioned this before but I'm a big fan of swimming, been doing it for as long as I can remember. From the days of the infamous floaters (I don't see them these days) that branded you a swimmer in training to national competition level where I so graciously received my participation certificate, I won't say how many times.

But for the story I want to tell we have to go a little further back, to days of primary school when I was still learning the ropes. I was blessed to be in one of the few schools in town that had a pool within its compound so P.E for us would on one day entail immersing ourselves within the cool waters to avoid the ever  scorching sun. On one such day our class had made its way to the pool and as per the usual we were quick to jump into the pool. The swimming coach was already in the pool instructing guys from the deep end, me and a couple of friends were somewhere in the middle, story telling by the poolside.

That's when I saw .... let me call him Sam, diving as if t o pull something out. I watched for a few seconds before I decided to move closer and ask him what was wrong. He was frantic, he told me how a pal of ours was drowning and that on his attempt to save him he had almost pulled him under. I quickly dived down to see if I could be of help, I grabbed him by the armpit and pushed him towards the shallow end. The coach just got there in time to carry him out and perform CPR (this is a very important skill). Guy was a little shocked but didn't stop him from getting back into the pool. Just goes to show even experienced swimmers are at risk of drowning, just sayinG