Gitau
tiga wana. When you hear that shout in a secluded beach in the North coast
then you have to start believing Pwani ni
Kenya. Gitau tiga uhii. Giki nikii
uretigira? (Gitau. don’t be a small boy, what is there to fear? My main man
who we will now call Muriuki is shouting. He is clearly not amused that
Gitau cannot swim even with an inflated tube around his waist. It is a most
hilarious scene. With all this shouting I am starting to doubt whether I woke
up in Ndakaini public beach or Bamburi beach in Mombasa.
I am sipping my soda pretending to be on holiday. My head has
refused to go on holiday though. I have been through a lot of stuff lately. Too
much work and too little rest. I have noticed that I am leaving complete words
out in my reports, it is taking longer to get the intros and my analysis
is not what it used to be. I am feeling like a soda bottle that has been shaken
and is about to be opened. I have said kama
mbaya mbaya.
I am taking leave. I am not the fulcrum upon which the world rotates. I am
for the first time beginning to appreciate the safety valve theory to stress
and this few days have allowed me to be human again. I can well appreciate
humanity again, the need to listen, to understand what am listening, to love life
again. I am appreciating the journey I have been on professionally and
personally. The destination is certainly
important but the planning, the execution and the pain and hills of the journey
are what make this life worth it.
Like many others before me (and perhaps after me) I have
struggled with purpose of life. What is my purpose in this earth and why
despite having an outwardly successful image I struggle with what is really my
calling. Successful NGO Director. Great father and role model. Faithful and
loving husband. A community leader. All of the above. Why do I feel overwhelmed
sometimes with all these expectations? Am I inadequately prepared for this life?
What is that I am really good at?
The tide is getting higher and Gitau and his Ndakaini dam crew
have left. Clearly not amount of kihii
baiting would convince Gitau that water beyond half a karai is good fun. They
remind me of the care free days when we swam in the river butt naked a local
bully, aptly named Saddam, would sneak upon us and take away our clothes
forcing us to spend the rest of the afternoons pleading with him and hiding
from the girls coming to collect water from the river. We had our revenge one
day and sneaked on him while he was swimming and took his clothes up a tree at
the local nursery school. It is a lesson
perhaps Gitau will need to take when he finally ditches the karai for the ocean.
To my right there is a guy wearing a purple hat front facing
backwards. I noticed the hat first because I have a purple t-shirt. Maybe he is
searching for meaning of life as I am doing. He is providing a one man
entertainment for the whole of Kenyatta beach. I like his choice of spot.
Just near where I am seating. There is a chick behind him. Dark glasses shield
her eyes but she occasionally steals glances my way. Perhaps she is wondering
what the middle aged guy in a purple t-shirt is doing tapping away at his phone
like a teenager. She has this sad face like she has been asked to negotiate teachers’
salaries. The guy dancing to non-existent song is breaking a sweat and he seems
to hear a song with different tempo. In his head. The change in tempo brings a
smile to the sad faced chick with huge sunglasses. She smiles at the solo performer.
I am looking at the guy, he has performed nonstop now for nearly 20 minutes. I am
wondering what is on his mind. Is he dancing while asking himself what is his
purpose in life? I certainly hope he feels appreciated by the girl with sunglasses. I
am tempted to call him over but I don’t know who ordered the performance. I
might have to deal with insurers for cancelled show. I take my eyes off the
dancer to respond to a rustling sound on my left.
The glasses guy is here. He approaches and despite my effort to
stare at my phone pretending to be busy he is adamant. Kaka ng’ara na moja. He is masking his Kikuyu accent pretty well but
I am son of Kirinyaga and I know my accent even when hidden under layers
of Russian caviar or Toronto goat cheese. I engage him and we immediately switch
to lugha ya biashara. Macicicio ni mbeca cigana?. 200. No way.
We haggle. Boss, mbona unanunua kama
Mmeru. That gets me interested and I ask why. “Because Meru are the worst bargainers, they
must have a big sunglasses factory in Igembe. You tell them 200 and they go 50
and convince you they bought them for such. I am enjoying this and we go to which
branch of Kuyu he is. From Gatanga. A place called Gatura. Not too far from my
shags. I agree to buy and I ask myself whether he is struggling with the same
questions as I am. Is he a good businessman, a good father. A good Son. A good
husband/boyfriend.
The crowds are getting bigger. I overhear it is Idd. I have been
lost in this self-introspection. The breeze is getting better and the chick
with big glasses has finally acquired company. A giant of a Caucasian man in
yellow unbuttoned shirt is interesting her. He has a moustache like a bicycle
handle bar. He is drinking a Tusker beer and eating groundnuts. He motions for her
to sit closer to him. She cracks a smile
and sadness has escaped her face. Maybe she will get her groove back. It is
time for me to take a walk again. Maybe I will fund the answers am looking for behind
the big glasses the guy from Gatanga sold me.
