Friday, October 16, 2015

For Elaine, Happy Birthday.

October babes rock, that’s what many Facebook statuses, tweets, and Instagram and Pinterest edited photos said when the month started. An insignificant month to others perhaps, but to my hedonistic soul, the month I wake up one day and indulge myself to the point of bingeing. Every 13th of October. Margaret Thatcher was born today. The President Kenyattas, father and son, are October boys. Perhaps I will take the mantle of this country one day.

Luck and me are sworn enemies. If it’s not me yelling about how Lady Luck is such a bitch, it is her frowning on me and ruining my days, and the worst of all on my birthday.

First of all, I woke up late. I skipped breakfast because my boss bitch would vent all her menopausal mood swings resentment on me, which she did. Add the unfriendly working environment because it was NO BRA DAY in support of breast cancer. When the corporate hag didn’t expose her dentures during the morning staff meeting I knew I was not going to get the afternoon off to celebrate my birthday.

It was already late in the evening when I arrived at Railways Terminal 13, the Cable Car Services boarding platform. Good time for pickpockets. It was a plus for the Nairobi City County to implement the cable cars plan borne twenty years ago. However, all my caution was directed towards hijackers who were increasingly taking up the matatu and train services in Nairobi. I was avoiding taxis; there was an increase on missing persons’ reports almost everywhere. There were rumours of a serial killer on the prowl in the streets of Nairobi targeting taxi passengers, probably a taxi driver. So far a dozen people were missing, the majority of them women, their defiled and mutilated bodies found dumped in some grimy place while others were never found. The lateness had been caused by the unplanned, uncalled for overtime task that the bitchy boss had slapped me with for being late in the morning.

So, I got in the long queue for the cable car. The plan had worked to decongest the city. It was time I had my own car.   

Dusk turned to night while I was still waiting for the queue to move. I was at the same spot where I had stood an hour before. As I came to know later, one of the cars had malfunctioned and the engineer responsible for fixing such problems had had an emergency. It took him thirty minutes to arrive, thirty to fix the problem, and thirty more before I boarded.

And of all nuisances the car I got into had some electrical problem. It failed just after leaving the boarding platform only for electricity to go out leaving us suspended in the air like spiders. To make matters even worse, the backup generators short-circuited. Talk of sitting ducks. Well, I endured, cursing all through, till electricity was back on ten minutes later.

One hell of a day, I muttered as I alighted at Embakasi disembarkation terminal. I did not even feel like going to my empty house. I had cancelled any plans I had, broke a few hearts of friends whom I had invited, and I was bone-tired.

I wished life was voice activated and I would have said “Take me to my house” and mysteriously found myself in the house, “lights” and the whole house would burst into brightness, “dinner” and cooker and kitchenware would do as I commanded. Instead, I found myself doing what I was lethargic to do.

When I opened my apartment’s door and entered, I knew something was wrong. Some clever burglar had used a Master Key to access my house and made away with everything. I could feel it, smell the stench of his sweat in my dark house, but before I jumped into conclusions I decided to confirm. Seeing is believing.

I switched on the lights. The living room came to life immediately. There was the evidence of the break-in. How had the burglar circumvented the security? It was a gated community, under 24/7 CCTV surveillance.

It took long for the details of what I was witnessing to sink in. How had he managed all that? How did he know? How did he get my key? How…? How…? So many hows. But the burglar was there, waiting for me in style.

“Are you not gonna say anything?” the burglar said.

“What do you think?” I asked. I should have called the police, but not in a thousand years would I bring myself to unless he turned me to a human piñata.  

How foolish, I thought instantly, to stand here when the laugh of my life stands there, arms wide open for me? I crossed the distance between us in a matter of nanoseconds and threw myself into his arms. Like a heron he folded me in his embrace before seizing my lips and crushing them with his. I parted my teeth for his tongue to enter and receive the goodies that my mouth could offer, and at that very moment all my woes this day vanished.

We had the whole night for him to tell me how he got the spare key to my apartment, whom he hired to prepare my best meal and bake the cake, where he got the roses he spread everywhere on the floor to where I did not want to imagine, and why didn’t he tell me he was coming.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABE,” he whispered like an early morning bird.

Just those words and my knees grew weak. I felt myself fall into his arms, powerless, like a sacrifice, and I was no longer tired and hungry. I wanted to devour him.


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