As I continue eating salt in this world, I continue discovering that I live in a world where things don’t mean what they are.
I live in a world where people don’t mean what they say and they will continue saying what they don’t mean.
In this very world, it is hard to draw the line between the honourable and the not so honourable members of the society.
It is even more cumbersome in this world to remain level headed and admit that I am wrong and you are right. The reverse is true.
I mean to say that in this world, if the person who is carrying my brain in his bag and I am carrying his instructions in my head tells me to jump, I don’t ask why but how high.
You see in this world, there is nothing special and there is nothing not special.
It is only yesterday I sat in Nyagenke Group of Hotels with the intention of making the emptiness of my stomach a thing of the past.
I have big ears and I have not masked them from eavesdropping.
I also have four eyes; two from my maker and two more which rest on the nose.
You already know that eyes don’t have curtains and however special they are, they at times let me down and I end up seeing things which take me closer to hell.
Basically I am saying in this world, ‘special’ things may not really be ‘special’.
At Nyagenke Group of Hotels, I heard it loud and clear when the guy at the next table ordered for sukuma special, something that made my eyes which don’t have curtains to wait and see what sukuma special looks like.
It was very clear from what I was seeing that the man was yawning more than it was necessary during the many minutes he waited for sukuma special.
I imagined that sukuma special was likely to come in a plate dressed in a wedding gown or a necktie.
“Hawa watu waliendea sukuma kwa shamba?” the guy who was alone said.
I saw signs and symptoms of a man who wanted to draw me into his problems and I pretended to be busier doing nothing.
When the sukuma finally came, I didn’t see anything special.
I lowered my extra pair of eyes because there are times we glass wearers see better with the original set of eyes.
“Kwani mnatengeneza jumvi hapa?” the gentleman asked again.
I did not need to be a rocket scientist to tell that the customer had gotten a low deal; there was nothing like sukuma special after all.
Just then, I looked on the screen that was bringing me pictures from the house of suit and necktie wearers, also called Parliament.
The graphics on the screen told me it was a special sitting, having been convened after the honourable members who in the long run did not behave so honourably were recalled from holiday.
It did not take long before some started throwing words while others stood up, threw kicks, blows and bottles.
Others cheered, jeered and chanted tired slogans.
It is unfortunate that my eyes are not microscopic and I cannot tell at what time the claws of one fierce member interacted ruthlessly with the face of his colleague.
What I can confirm is that in the pandemonium, one member caught the eye of the session chair.
He was in pain and was perhaps fighting tears back or he had already cried, dusted the tears and marshalled the energy to speak.
There was a red liquid flowing in the face, and it was clear that the liquid was not an eye cleaner.
Next to him was a tall colleague whose facial expressions would have confused me that although the red liquid was flowing in the face of his colleague, he is actually the one who had been worked on by the suit wearing tiger.
Online, I looked at the feedback from fellow Kinyans, and excitement subdued reason.
You can sure my not so honourable parliamentarians collected sitting allowance, standing allowance, shouting allowance, cheering allowance, jeering allowance, punching allowance, throwing allowance, breathing allowance, biting allowance, crying allowance, bleeding allowance, name them!
I am looking for watching and wondering allowance too.
It was a special session indeed!
– TheIdlerIsBack!/NyagenkeThings
Related: IDLER’S CORNER: The Untold Story
