Has something so soul shattering ever happened to you that made you realize that Lucifer is probably not just a myth? That the guy actually exists and is constantly coming up with ways to make our lives miserable? Or rather keep his life adventurous and shit? No? Probably not. Well it has for me. Got me thinking that devil probably keeps some diary of sorts where he plans out his shit. He probably goes like:
Dear diary,
Another day has come. Another long, torturous day around here(hehe… none of those things apply to me, I do both the torturing and lengthening of days around here, but still a man could get bored you know). So nothing much is happening other than the usual gnashing of teeth and screaming (god I hate how these humans have a low threshold for pain, you’d think a man who spent his life killing for sport, his name is Adolf just so you know, would be less of a pussy when faced with fire).
So today, I like came up with a some new burning technique, I plan to try it out later in the day. What’s that dear diary? Really? Do I have to? Okay since you insist I will tell you. So I have been working on this oven… I’ll not give myself all the credit though… I was walking along Tom Mboya the other day, and I saw this thing they do to chicken there. The humans labeled it “kuku sama” I think. What sort of name is that ? Really… is that all they could come up with. Sometimes I think it’s why I enjoy burning the shit out of them so much. Anyhoo… so they have this kuku sama and I have to say the whole idea is quite genius and so I thought… “How awesome would it be if we did this to them back home?”
And so I had my scientists whip something up. Nothing top of the range really … just your normal oven, burns at 68,777,899,677 degrees Celsius. Nothing much really as you can see (insert evil grin). The most lovely part is how it spins them around. Oh Diary, I wish you could see it. Enough about my new baby though. That isn’t why I came to you today. I have more burning matters (I have always wanted to say that… burning matters, cute.. right? No? Okay) to talk to you about.
So there’s this dude, name is Harun. Averagely tall guy, light ,dashing looks, has a beard… Yes Diary, he has a FREAKIN beard, and I don’t. Such an atrocity. We couldn’t let that go unpunished, now could we? Oh come on Diary, don’t look at me with those eyes, I know you would do that too if you were in my shoes. I couldn’t possibly let a man walk around with such ravishing beard. There is a reason the humans coined up the phrase “handsome devil”. And it certainly wasn’t so that I could allow some ninja to be more handsome than me. See, I could let him get away with being taller than me, I could also let the good looks slip. But no he didn’t stop there, he just had to get a beard. Who does that? No seriously Diary… WHO?? Now I know you get the reasons why I am so infuriated. I knew you would get it. I love you so much dear Diary. You just get me.
So I saw him the other day. Swaggering around with his smashing beard. I had just finished playing Grand Theft Auto 5. Awesome game btw. You can actually like go dear hunting and shit. They even let you go robbing banks and visiting strip clubs. And you can even get herpes, yes Dear Diary, herpes, in a freakin video game. How awesome is that!!. Humans, they never cease to amaze me. So where was I ? Oh yes, the ninja Harun. So I saw him, and suddenly my day was all messed up. And I thought, why not make him pay? After all, with such a beard, you you definitely do need to get your life shaken up once in a while. You just have to. At least to lower you from your high horse if at all for nothing else.
So what to do… what to do…..
And so I assume Lucifer went on and on with this crazy banter with his diary. Until he came up with something. And I have to admit he came at me good. That repartee certainly had him come up with something good. So this is what happens. And I swear I am not making any of this shit up.
It’s a Friday. I just left work in the evening and I am headed home. Feeling all self important and shit because as you heard, I have a smashing beard. Haha, I am kidding, I have just been paid and I am feeling stinking rich. So I get a call from Mungai (this is one short and weird ninja.Awesome guy, loves booze a bit too much though. I will tell you about him one day). ” Sema nigga...” I answer the phone and say. He goes on to tell me how thirsty he is and I hurl a string of insults only best friends are allowed to tell each other. But then I know I am going to get him the booze anyway. He knows that too and just laughs as I hang up.
So I head to Nakumatt City hall and get a six pack of Guiness. After which I head to the bus stop along Luthuli Avenue. I find a Kenya Mpya bus there just almost filled up and I am happy for not having to wait too much. I find a seat in the middle just where it is just perfect. Why you ask? Because at that point you get to not suffer the wrath of the bus’s shock absorbers. (Yes I have taken buses long enough to know this). Usually if you sit at the back it means the end of you. I once sat there and I swear my spleen and liver were permanently dislocated. You get thrown around so much you’ll think you are in Bangladesh and an earthquake, mudslide and hurricane just hit you simultaneously. Enough about that though. So as soon as I sit down. My troubles begin.
Some guy comes and sits next to me. Since I am seated at the window, he looks at me then looks at the window. Which basically means he wants me to close it since apparently it is too cold or something. I get the cue and reluctantly oblige. And then he does the unthinkable, he lifts one foot as if too scratch it and I watch in horror as he unties his shoe lases and removes his shoe. And then proceeds to do the same on the other foot. And I am right to have been horrified. Because barely 2 seconds later , a gush of foot smell hits me so hard, that it physically pushes me. It is the kind of smell that once it hits you, you immediately know you have seen it all (or rather smelt it all). There’s nothing worse the universe could throw at you after that. It changes you. You can never be the same again…. EVER!!
What amazes me even more than the smell is the fact the guy doesn’t seem to mind it all. I look at him and all he has is this look of bliss. Like all is well with the world now. And all I can do is just sit there wondering whether this guy even has a nose. Can he breath? Is that thing at the front of his face for aesthetic purposes only? I ask myself this questions as my eyes start to well up with tears from the smell. People as far as the front of the bus have started to complain. I have already opened my window and my head is literally out, and I am there seeming like a makanga to the outside world. Still the guy sits there, unperturbed by anything. The actual makanga is at the front, shouting “Kutoa viatu ni mia nane!!”. For he has no idea who has decided to unleash nuclear warfare on his bus and can only resort to threats. Still the guy is unmoved. And I am there, converging all willpower in order to not punch the guy in the throat.
Luckily the guy alights the bus at Roysambu. A few more meters and I swear I would have been wanted for murder. “Bearded man murders guy with smelly feet in cold blood” Newspapers the next day would read. And I would have to be a fugitive. Running for the rest of my life. For I can never let anyone arrest me for performing justice for the Universe. And I would hang out with the likes of Felicient Kabuga. And he would probably approach me and we would be best buddies. For our worlds would be more similar now. Being most wanted and shit. Wouldn’t that be awesome!! The only downside is that I would have to shave my beard. I know… sad… right??
So my day seems to go back to normal after the guy leaves. But it is anything but. I do not know that though. At least not yet. The rest of the journey is uneventful. I get to my place and leave the bus. As usual a battalion of boda boda guys flock around me, hoping I’ll give them a job. One of them even has the audacity to tell me… “Ni sok peke yake buda”. He seems to think I am a tourist or somethingAnd I once again successfully fight off the urge to hold him by the throat… squeeze his kneck real good, pull him close to my face and ask him “Do I look that dumb?“. Because I know I pay 50 bob.
So I see Sammy, my bike guy, the one who knows that I am not dumb. And I go to him and get on the bike and we leave, happily(I just felt like adding the word happily for no reason). Just when we get to my place, suddenly I realize something is amiss. My trouser feels weirdly light. And I close my eyes and say to myself, ” Lord please let not this be what I think it is.” But the Lord seems not to have heard me or something. For IT IS EXACTLY WHAT I THINK IT IS. I have lost my wallet. I feel weak at the knees. I can’t breath. I start checking my backpack (knowing full well it couldn’t be there), heck I even check my hands hoping to find the wallet stuck between the fingers.
But is isn’t. I must have dropped it in the bus or somewhere along the way. Sammy is still there. Waiting to be paid. But he can tell something’s up. I told you the guy is smart (hehe okay maybe anyone would have known something was up from the terrified look on my face). Maze wallet yangu imehepa,I tell him. And he says a lot of mumble jumble that I don’t catch because I am not even trying to listen. I get 50 bob from my shirt pocket and pay him.
And then I walk away thinking about all the things I have lost in the wallet. It being payday.. there was quite an amount in there. Obviously not in millions or hundreds of thousands because well… I am not the son of an Arab oil tycoon. But still whoever found that wallet definitely struck a small gold mine (small because I know it didn’t last them 2 weeks). I think about my ATMs decide to deactivate them immediately… less from the fear of being robbed and more from the fear of thinking someone might see my embarrassing bank balance. I couldn’t live with myself if that ever happened. So I head to my room, pass by Mungai’s place, hand him the booze and tell him I have lost my wallet. He looks sorry but I am not quite sure if he was genuinely sorry for me… or just sad that my mood will get between him and the booze. And I will probably never know. All I am sure of, is that the day has been the work of the devil. And he is in hell spinning on his flaming thorned seat. Having the time of his life. For he has handed it to his bearded nemesis good.
