On most days, I’m
like John Shaft a muhfuggin samurai on these mean-ass streets of Nairobi. I use every inch of my athletic 6’ft 2” build to slice through the sea of pedestrians and cars and I am extra cautious about anything that comes within a 1m radius of my physical presence. I dont mind walking around in Nairobi even when I’m carrying close to two hundred thousand shillings worth of equipment on my back and in my four pants pockets. The same applies to when I hop on mathrees or hoppas, I’m equally hawk-eyed and alert. You dont have to personally get robbed to realise that it could happen to anyone and know what precautions to take at all times.
On the one day I happen to drop the soap, so to speak, I get royally shafted courtesy of yours truly, Nairobbery.
So there I was, with my sweater-wearing, shirt-matching, sexxy-smelling self walking to the stage to catch a mat in between trying to duck mud-splashes from speed-crazed uncouth Kenyan drivers. All that evasive walking and defensive manoeuvring was all in vain. Mud splatters somehow managed to lodge themselves around the bottom half of my pants leg area. I wanted to stop right there, pull out a kleenex and wipe them out but I was running late and needed to find my mat and board it stat. So I did. A Nissan. Shot-gun ofcourse, because I neeed the extra leg-room plus there’s the occasional newspaper stashed in the dashboard to be keep me company during my long trip to Karen. But today I boarded the mat, a bit absent-minded seeing as my mind was totally fixated on the mud spots on my pants.
**Sidenote: As any Nairobian jamaa will tell you, our pants’ side pockets were not made for Kenyan transportation because the minute you sit down, objects contained therein either stick out or spill out depending on the object in question, the tightness or looseness of the pants you’re wearing in relation to the size of your thighs.
In case you’re wondering, I keep my cell in my left pocket and my wallet in my back pocket and my precious in my right pocket. My precious wasnt plugged in yet because I left the house in a half this morning and the headphones were still in my bag. So as I hunched over to wipe the mud stains from my pants, I guess my precious either slide out the pocket onto the chair or visibly protruded from my pocket. Next thing I know, the guy sitting next to infront frantically starts looking for the seatbelts and mumbling something about cops nearby and buckling up before they see us and we both get slapped with fines. At around that exact moment, the mathree stopped to pick up passengers at which point he said he wanted to alight, quickly hopped out and I got back in the front seat and we drove off. Instantly I gave myself the routine pat-down only to realise that my right pocket was empty. At that moment, the whole scene replayed in my mind and I realised exactly what had just happened.
And that is the story of how I donated my precious 120GB iPod to charity earlier today.
As iCon would say: Laugh now, but tomorrow, it could be you.