When it cannot get any worse, it actually (more often than not) does.
After watching someone dial *DIEGOFORLAN# and all Vuvuzelas silenced as BA-FALA BA-FALA were humiliated by Uruguay, (FYI, Show me a World Cup in which atleast one African team was not beaten by atleast 3-0 and I will show you a World Cup in which no African team participated in) I wake up at 3.30AM the following morning-Just four hours of sleep! My eyes are still heavy but I am used to it by now. I have not slept longer than five hours for the last two weeks due to some issht thing I am dealing with at the office. On this day, I have a very early meeting before I get to the office. I arrive at the CBD a few minutes to 6AM and head to my indirect employee, a shoe shinner. Ever since I discovered sitting while reading the day’s daily as someone else brushed my shoes was not only cool, but also indirectly employing someone, I cannot find my shoe brush in the house. Moreover, my Kshs. 30 is helping feed a family somewhere, without which, my now shoe shinner could easily G4S my phone or wallet at gun point.
I arrive at Ambassedeur Hotel, the venue for the meeting, 45 minutes late and order for tea. I suspect they filled 9/10 of the cup with water, just 1/20 with milk and about 1/40 with tea leaves. (yes, I am aware 9/8 guys have problems with fractions). The tea is bad and in any other hotel, it will cost not more than Kshs. 5 but since this is a five star hotel, I will readily part with ten times that (so that it does not go under and before I know it, it is being sold to the Libyans a la Grand Regency). The bill shocks all of us (apart from the waiter). $2 for a cup of bad tea! And it is USD not Zims $. Just when my adrenalin spills, I remember how heavy my wallet is, how well it would do with a reduction of USD2 (but in Kenyan currency) and I gladly pay. No tip, they must have included a huge one in the bill, I reason.
I get to the office and finally complete (for the umpteenth time) what I have been doing for the last two weeks just before lunch time. Umpteenth because every time I have completed, some complications have arisen and the work deemed as incomplete. I hope there will be no such complications this time round. My nostrils are hit by the strong smell of garlic as I warm the delivered lunch. I have a brother who hates chocolates, chicken, meat and yoghurt. He does not get why I love these four things so much. In the same way, I do not get why people love garlic. The office T.V happens to be in the hall where we eat so we (me and fellow employees) eat slowly so as to get the starting line up of the Alehandro/Messi vs the undemocratic Korea which votes. (The other one to the North is the Democratic Republic of Korea which does not vote).
No sooner do I get to my desk than my stomach pulls all sorts of tantrums. “Aha,” my brain tells me. “It is the bloody garlic!” to which I chip in, “or the bad tea!” even though I am convinced it is the garlic. USD2 bad tea should hardly cause any health problems. Before I know it (just when news start filling the airwaves that Alehandro are 2-1 up) I am nauseated and the nearby organs to the stomach are sending messenger after messenger to my brain telling him “Mr. Stomach is in his death bed. Unless something is done, we will lose him!” Some of the messengers get lost along the way but the message gets home. S. Korea (who should just concentrate on their war with N. Korea, sunk ship and now missing aircraft) are beaten in the same way my stomach is getting a beating from unknown forces.
When the news of the boss leaving the building finally break, we all run (except me, as my condition now can only allow me to almost crawl) to watch Nigeria (who are 1-0 up) The problem with having a Head of State called Goodluck is that he takes all the luck away from everything else in the country. With the Nigerian loss disappointment, I head home, now seriously sick and needing to puke. Today of all World Cup days, there is traffic from Upper Hill, and I now send God a text with two words, “Why today?” Must be a punishment for all the evil thoughts I have had on how I will…….. At the terminus, I meet shiro, who always looks good and different every time I see her….or maybe I see her after a long period of time. (I think there are probably 100,000 Shiros in Kenya alone. The others are in Japan-Shirosima, U.S-Shelocks while others are just simple heroes in their respective countries) At that time, I am so sick (not of love songs, ye Neyo fans) and almost puking any time in the nearer than near future. I am now dizzy and the world is rotating, revolving or both (Ok, it always does that, right?) all the same trying to hide this from her. I do not recall what we talked about (if we did that is) but I hop to the next mat that hits the bus stop and conveniently sit next to the window just incase.
When the only thing I want is to close my eyes and find myself on my bed when I open them, I find that the mat is tuned onto Citizen fm! That is the time I start repenting of all the sins I have committed since Sunday as I am now convinced this is a punishment. (I know I am clean as from Sunday going back). I take out my earphones and listen to Avril Lavigne make all the noises. Unfortunately for me, twitter is down and I notice most of the people I follow are using mobile or dabr. I close down snaptu and concentrate on the music. I then recall my nephew and two nieces were to come spend the weekend with their uncle whom they adore (ME) and grandmother and I have not bought them gifts. I plan on doing that immediately I alight.
What happens when I alight? The shops are closed because Kenya Paraffin Light & Candles (KPLC) just pulled of what they do best: Not providing electricity when it is needed most! I am also annoyed at the shops for not using a mpango wa candle! The three angels are so eager to see me except I have nothing for them. These angels are just fun to be with, but I have to sleep. No appetite, infact, the last thing I want to see is food. And I am probably going through what women go through during morning sickness. Lights, I notice are back so I watch the first half of the Drug Dealers vs Perfume makers match (and I hope the scores do not change at full time) before my body decides I cannot handle this any longer. I go to bed without food in my stomach that is now peer pressuring the other neighbouring organs to start PMS-ing on me.
I wake up today with mild symptoms of yesterday. Snaptu is working and I discover the Drug Dealers beat France because of the Arsenal spirit in the French team What annoys me is that (this early) my time line is full of basketball, for the seventh time now. I am pleased that that is the final episode of Lakers and Celtics. I make sure I buy Yoghurt on my way to the office as I am not touching that garlic food again. Being a Friday, I intend on leaving the office at 4pm unless someone puts a loaded genuine gun on my head. In this case, my corpse will be taken out at about 4.56pm, after police visiting the scene of the crime.
Quote: Just when you think your dipissht of a son cannot disappoint you any longer, he misspells the words ‘worthless’ and ‘iq’ on his suicide note.