Monday, October 21, 2013

Assuring The Parents


Don’t let me meet your parents for I have a habit of putting my foot in it.

I few years ago, Simon Kaheru, invited me to his parent’s crib on the outskirts of the city for Sunday lunch. I got lost and when the not-so-helpful directions that Simon was giving me over the phone didn’t help, he gave the phone to a man “who would be able to give me better directions.”

Man-on-the-phone didn’t waste time – not in giving me better directions but in assuring me. “How can you get lost?” And he went on: “Don’t you know where you are? Stop there and take a left and follow the road…”

I didn’t like his tone of voice. I mean who is this person assuring me? Obviously I lost my cool. Where I had entertained the idea of giving up and going home because I was hopelessly lost, I was now so determined to find the house. At the house, I demanded Simon point out Man-on-the-phone. He did. After assembling a tumbavu and other swear words to unleash on him, I marched towards him. Just as I was about to let rip, Simon added an extra line – “Man-on-the phone is my dad.” Ya la bi! Trying to substitute tumbavu and other swear words for polite words like “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you Mr. Kaheru” was no easy task. Suddenly I wanted to pee, my stomach was churning and I was dripping with sweat.

Eva works for Saturday Vision. Then, her mother sat on the board at New Vision, something which I knew though I had never met her. One night and for some unknown reason, and in a very, very blazed state, I was standing outside Club Silk when Eva was dropped off.

What happened next was unexpected. I thought it prudent to take myself to the ride and assure the lady driving it as to the values of driving at night and drink driving. I think. I really can’t remember because like I said, I was rather blazed. As I unleashed my tirade, I was oblivious to the tugs on my shirt from Eva. I was on a roll. I felt like M7 scolding his ministers. I was in my element.

On a harder tug of my shirt which got my attention, Eva whispered to me: “That’s my mum.” Yes, that is what I thought she said. First to go were my bowls. Then I thought I might pee in my pants when she recommends I get fired at the next board meeting. Then I thought I should run away and come back pretending I was somebody else.

There is Joy, an editor at New Vision. I assured her father who had come to pick her up on his Yamaha motorbike. I told him that if he dared confused her and take her to some dark spot he would have me to answer to. I put him in his place. However, if only I had known he was her father before I started the rant.

A few weeks ago, Guma picked me up. There were three other people in his ride and that should have been an indicator that there was a need to be polite. However, no sooner had I closed the door, I opened my mouth and let out a streak of f**k you’s. Guma did well to hold it together. He let me finish then casually introduced me to his dad who was sitting in the front seat. Ouch, ouch, ouch! I wanted to be out of the car and on a boda to the nearest clinic where I could have my mouth washed out.