I love palaces; the extensive residential things that kings, queens, and their spoilt brats dwell. The things that have numerous spacious rooms, huge corridors, hanging chandeliers, executive flower vases, and other advantages that the royal families enjoy. Not forgetting the aura of power and substance in the air. Despite my love for the palaces, I doubt I would fit in, considering my ease when maneuvering in Nairobi’s bedsitters. Hehe. Who knows, I might get lost or fail to locate a room at a critical. Let us assume I want to locate the ‘loo’ after a night out boozing exclusively on the ‘Made of black’ stuff (you all know the aftermath). So I am in the palace, walking like a kangaroo, legs strewn together as I search for the hideous washroom. I assume that there are no Google maps to help you find your way in the palace, are there? Well, I do not want to get myself in such a situation but I will continue harboring my love for the palaces.
One such palace is the one displayed in the just-ended Middle- Eastern drama Tyrant. I was following the drama and boy, was it intriguing. It makes me wonder why the American audiences have to be this cruel. They can spend all the time watching stupid series such as ‘Game of thrones’ just to deny audience to masterpieces like Tyrant. What do they see in such? Hey! American audiences, we need to talk! Anyway, let’s go back to the palace. It’s exotic, has big-ass swimming pool, marble wood floors, expensive paintings and carvings and hosts like a freaky million people in it. Damn, it also has a secret bedroom where the president (Bassam Al-Fayeed) can go for some world-stopping sessions with the side-dish while the wife is away at a mental asylum. Sick, ain’t it. I would want me a palace like this one. Albeit with introductory tours to help me make my way around the corridors. I could even contract Google ‘maps’ for easy navigation. I would be moneyed, right? So it would not be such a hustle.
Talking of palaces, today I destroyed one. It’s not that I am proud of it, but it just happened. Not intentional, neither pre-meditated,but in a blink of the eye the palace was gone. Let me tell you what happened.
I had an early day. For those of you who have tried freelancing, the day starts early AF. Actually, the day never ends nor starts. It is a continuous day with short intermittent bouts of shut-eyes. So, at around 6 AM I decide to take my morning run. I am feeling ambitious and so I take the long route despite the unfit self I have been feeling lately.
Well, I have the long and short routes in my morning jogs. There is no particular order doing the two. However, the heart is weak. I always find myself using the shorter route with a spirited promise that I will take the longer route the next time. Nevertheless, it is the same route and the destination is the same even though there is an intersection that demarcates the short to the long route.
So here I am doing my jog, wheezing like a mad pit bull. The secret to good and quality jogs is never stopping. Run when you can, jog whenever you can, slow down your pace to steps but do not do away with the running momentum. So after doing about ten kilometers, all soaked in sweat, I arrive at my destination. It’s a clearing where runners from all over meet and stretch (of course some floss) before heading back to their homes. Now this area is bushy, which is an advantage at this moment. My bladder is burning. I am feeling pressed but I had to wait till I got here as this is the only place in Nairobi where I can take a piss in peace. The last thing I want is those tall meaty kanjo guys cruelly dragging me to their van in the middle of my jog when I do not have a shilling on me or a phone to call for back-up. Hehe. The kanjos are the real terrorists (those who know what I mean).
Now, I see a bush, almost dried up beckoning for some irrigation. It does not take much to convince me. After all, I am in need too and so we could call it a Goal-Goal. I come to a halt, makes steps nearing the bush, unfasten the pants’ drawstrings and start my business. I do not look down until I am almost through. To my surprise, the jet finds an anthill, carefully created out of a dry maize comb. The sight is disheartening. White ants are scampering for safety. The poor souls are thinking that Hurricane Mathew found its way to Kasarani. Some of the guys are throwing up courtesy of the strong urea in the piss. I am speechless. The palace slowly disintegrates in the solution as the white ants swim away for safety. Some of them drown, others gives their colleagues mouth-to-mouth emergency treatment while others die trying to save their family members. I remorsefully count tens of them dead. Most likely the kids. The adults are looking up trying to size the danger. To them I am a giant but deep inside I am mourning with them. They think that I am an alien that has invaded their territory. Frustrations are high as the threat cannot be eliminated. Their weapons are way to inferior to kill me or even get close. They curse. I see them congregate as they go through their backup plan, probably readying to combat the alien invasion. I however do not give them the chance to regroup. I walk away, dejected.
The rest of the day has been gloomy. You do not destroy a palace, kill its inhabitants, and just walk around with stupid grins as if you did nothing. I can’t help but wonder how the young fellows are doing. Are they holding a wake for the loved ones? Is it prudent if I appear for the wake? What should I do to compensate them? Should I take a bucket of humus-rich loam soil and pour it near the scene so that they can built a thousand other palaces. I know it won’t be enough but I will do something. If I sleep on it probably I will dream up a solution.
So dearly beloved, if you see me walking around town looking sad, please let me be. I am paying my price for committing mass murder and worse still destroying a palace.