Written by Every once in a while when I can get off my lazy ass and finish the tens and tonnes of research snippets I have strewn all over, we sit by the camp fire and exchange stories of yore.
We shake our heads at our politics, our apathy, our blindness, the friendzone, and bananas. A lot of the time, we celebrate utter badassery and nongiveafuckery. We do this because heroes need to be celebrated, because if a guy takes a bullet to the groin and still drags a bleeding pair of testicles to deliver a message to HQ, songs deserve to be written about him. That man is a citizen of the world, no matter what his passport says.
We talk about the weird eccentrics who look social norms in the eye and go ‘Fuck that! Imma be weird!’ and they dye their hair, shave one eyebrow, eat moles, wear two watches, and make carrying bones stylish again. Ever heard about the guy who milked an elephant? Or the one we feted as a long-lost freedom fighter?
On other days we go and on about animals that might not be aware of our hubris that we are superior beings. We do this because conservation, we are nature’s spouses, and if we do not take care of her she will not seek a divorce, she will go all ape shit on us. Do you want to wake up with a knife in the throat just because you dehorned rhinos and maimed lions? I know I don’t…
We sit and imbibe as we share lists, get to know each other, learn a few things and support civilization. We do this because it’s never that serious, even when it is. We laugh when we shouldn’t, and suddenly become philosophical in the middle of jokes. We have been at home here for three years and the lethargy is showing: no one has brought new firewood for a while, the pile of trash is now a little mountain, the pet dogs are skinnier than me, and we keep growing, huddling over a small bonfire. Our inner children no longer play and laugh in the shadows created in the background, and catch a cold when the midnight breeze bends the flames. We are growing up, and someone needs to put a stop to this.
There are so many stories we can’t tell in this little camp. Our neighbors are odieros, and everyone here is so well behaved. We can’t make noise, we can’t scream epithets properly, and there are nosy neighbors who will not let the rhinos remain horny. There is the local stray that bit someone and now she has rabies, and the local madman who stole one of the little stories we share here. He chopped up our stories and mutilated them, hid them far far in the forest hoping we will not hear their dying screams as he replaces their eyes and drives nails through their fingertips. But we have big ears, so we send a drone or two, call them out, tell them that when you steal a mannequin, improve it at least. No need torturing poor stories and hanging them from spikes like they have done you wrong.
It is because this camp is free, and you know what they say about free things, no one really cares about them. Before long the government forgets about the slum upgrading and the free garbage collection ends, potholes appear everywhere, former street kids revert to being current street kids, the police land rover runs out of fuel, such and such. It is only a matter of time before a flying toilet crash lands on someone, and we will have none of that shit here. Crude pun wholly coincidental.
A bigger, better camp is coming – a nirvana of sorts – where we can throw more lists, dig up more hidden facts, scour Kenyan history together and eat lots and lots of the little yellow heavens. In that camp we can light a bigger fire, cause more havoc, maybe roast a swine or two, or a goat for those among you whose prophets of choice deem swine unclean. There we can call each other names and pretend we know how the world should run, even when the biggest thing we’ve ever run is this little camp. Our neighbors there are far, they make far more noise than we do currently so we need to sing songs of protest, and love, and desperation, until we outdo them or we lose our voices. YOLO, the kids say nowadays… Unless you are a feline then YOLNT!
Sasa ni kuhama, twende twende! Fold up your shuka and hold on to your poison, let us surge to www.owaahh.com, stop on the way and vote Too Late For Worms the Best Entertainment/Lifestyle Blog . Please carry a few cockroaches from here, someone. Our new camp will need a few insects. Leave the bananas, we have more than enough where we are going. Forward ho!
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Last modified: February 3, 2020
