Pants Down!
The saving grace about being Kenyan is that we forget and move on
quickly. We move on from one scandal to the next just as quickly as another one
emerges. Woe unto you if you are caught in a scandal in the
middle of a scandal-dry spell. Well, that is what happened to me. It has been
two months now and I am still as hot a topic as can be. I am big topic in my
work place (operative word being "big”... *wink*wink*). It was simply an
accident but was made worse by the fact that that day I had failed to buy Guru
and Kababa lunch at Mama Oti’s Kibanda across the road. Guru and Kababa are two
of my " unbelievable” friends...(story of another day). I believe these
two had something to do with my mishap. They had looked jealously at the crisp
notes with which I paid for my meal. Call me superstitious but still…Hear me
out then be the judge.
At
the workplace everyone knows that Wednesday’s are Mama Oti’s specialty lunch
treats: ugali, omena-avocado and teargas. This is a meal unlike any other. Call
it the mid-week remedy for hunger and being broke. Mama Oti outdoes herself
every Wednesday. Generous helpings invite us, my workmates and me, to have
lunch in her kibanda. The downside to this sumptuous meal is that you are bound
to have your belly full of gas. The good news is that it does not go beyond two
or three fiery salvos - say after one, two or three fiery gaseous releases -
you're good to go.
It
is for this reason that every Wednesday it is customary to find the men who,
after visiting Mama Oti, hang outside the workplace in solitary one-man groups
(women rarely visit on Wednesdays, and should you find one, my friend, that one
is a keeper). Of course, we all understand the reasons why the men are solitary
on such occasions and we respect this solitary meditation with nature.
So,
on this particular Wednesday I had treated myself to avocado-ten-bob and
immeasurable doses of teargas (pepper). In any case, I also had a cold and, as
any man will tell you, pepper is good for colds (second only to horizontal
gymnastics).
Now,
there I was. I had already had my lunch and as usual I was at the farthest
corner of the open grounds pretending to surf the internet (I had no bundles,
but still while waiting for gaseous release - the 21-Gun Salute) and, thus, it
is important to look busy – it dissuades anyone from approaching. It is a
survival tactic. You do not want a co-worker, especially a woman, walking up to
you after the first ricochet and then she asks if you can’t smell the stench.
In such a case you would have to lie that your “olfactory sensors” died while
you were conducting a practical in the school laboratory years back and it is
for that very reason that you failed Chemistry and, as a consequence, the
reason why you work where you do.
No.
you do not want to re-live the pain of knowing that Kamaa, he who used to sleep
throughout the evening preps, is now your Boss. No. You do not want to pick
this scar. It is already too sore having to listen to your Boss tell everyone how
hardworking you are - just as you were back in high school.
Anyhow,
I am at my corner. The lunch break is over. The 21-Gun Salute is late in
coming, however, no cause to worry, there is always enough time to be idle and
take breaks in the afternoon shift.
Did
I tell you about Jecinta?
Well,
well, well. Where to start?
Jecinta
is my co-worker. Well, our co-worker since all the men in the workplace appear
to have an interest in her, even Boss Kamaa. I may not be a Boss and all, but I
can say that Jecinta has been eyeing me for some time now. I know when a woman
is interested in me. However, Wednesday is not a day to roll your eyes at any
woman, no matter what.
So,
the break is over. Back to work.
I
had noticed Jecinta on the left flank of the building, I am sure she was
waiting for me, but anyone who has read The
Prince by Gigolo Machiavelli will tell you about the laws of demand and
supply: make yourself too available and the woman will walk all over you, in
her heels and doll-shoes. I am no fool. Trust me.
There
she was and I was certain she was waylaying me.
So
I walked in hurried steps so as to avoid her and before she could utter my
name, I was up the first flight of steps into the building. However, as I was
soon to find out, I had miscalculated my chances of evading her. Luck was
against me.
Two things happened simultaneously:
Thing 1: As I was evading walking into the building without looking, I
bumped into Boss Kamaa and, throwing him off balance, he landed smack onto the
floor cushioned by his fat buttocks.
Thing 2:
Jecinta tripped on the first flight of steps behind me.
Pause.
I
know you are wondering what will happen next. Well, we will have to rewind a
few hours back….
Rewind…..
Earlier
that morning, I had done two things: one
I had put on my magnetic belt. You know
those belts with a magnetic clip that slides across a serated plastic surface?
Yes, one of those types that were claimed to cause impotence? Right. I had
that. There is nothing wrong with it, right? Wrong. Anyone who has been a proud
owner of this belt will tell you that the clip becomes loose due to friction.
That was the state of my belt. But there is nothing wrong in it? The devil is a
liar!
Two,
that very morning I had decided to put on one of my older boxers. Well, not that
I don’t have better ones, but it being a Wednesday, there was little chance of
sleeping on anyone’s bosom. So, there I was dressed in all the freedom and
liberty of a mid-month Wednesday. Something you should know: when I say older
boxers I do not mean that they were torn.
No. I am not that kind of person. Yes, I know of men who wear the underwear to
the point that the only thing left is an elastic string around the waist with
nothing else but an old piece of cloth hanging from it like a Khoikhoi-San loin
cloth. Troubles of men! How do I know this? Well…story of another day.
Meanwhile, focus here…
Now,
there I was. A slip-able belt and old boxers.
Clarification:
they were old boxers, in the sense that these particular boxers had been with
me through good and bad times. Good times, when I was 80-something Kgs, bad
times like now when I am…not thin but “fat-free”. So, you have to understand
that the boxers I wore were bigger than I was, they were the type that you pull
up higher than the trousers so that you can have the belt tighten around them.
Yes.
There I was.
Fast
Forward:
Mama
Oti’s: ugali, omena-avocado and teargas cuisine.
Belated
21-Gun Salute.
And
now, Jecinta trips.
Well,
every man dreams about catching a woman when she is about to fall. Movies have
taught us that. Save her from her fall and well…may be, later on, at her
place...a few naked body parts later on.
There
I was, stunned for having knocked down Boss Kamaa and then, out of nowhere,
Jecinta trips and is flung forward her hands grasping and grappling for
support. Well, let me say that her hands found support on my pair of trousers
and the belt could not support the two and, therefore, both landed on the floor
with a muffled thud.
Jecinta
is behind me, with my pants in her hands on the floor.
Boss
Kamaa is sitted on the floor staring sheepishly at me.
Slowly,
my boxers slip to the floor…gently, like a parachute from heaven, revealing
more than just my rungu-knees…
Whom
do I help up?
Is
it Jecinta?
Is
it Boss Kamaa?
Is
it my pants?
Well,
a decision had to be made fast. And quickly I darted to pick…
It
was in that moment of bending that I heard the silent murmur of omena in my
stomach, the slippery lubrication of the avocado and the gun-powdery pepper
take effect…
1...2...
hehehehhe spot on.
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