With people working from home, it felt so good to be at the office recently. The corridors and all the nearby offices were blissfully silent like a cave that ancient prophets would have loved to retreat into. So on I worked, and did all the things that people do when they know that nobody is watching or listening: Scratching loudly. A careless yawn. A more careless and bomb-like sneeze. A talented click when internet gets weak. Other sounds and clumsy movenents. Then an old friend called on my phone. I jumped up. Exclaimed like a boy. Talked at the top of my voice. It was a very long call. I told countless lies, including that I was not in Nairobi…I was inspecting a development project in Eldoret. Many exaggerations, including that my views are in the BBI report word for word. Now, contrary to female opinion, bald headed and potbellied men can actually multitask. Feeling sudden pressure in the bladder, I opened the door and headed to the washroom. Walking down the corridor while still talking on the phone, my left hand was unzipping and preparing the relevant departments for the launch of the Gulana Gulalu Irrigation Scheme. After all, I was all alone, and there was no need to wait until I was safely in the washroom. Just before I got to Canaan, the door on the office next to mine opened suddenly. “How are you, Mark?” The elderly colleague greeted. All I can say is that a lot of things re-experienced the Ice Age. The amount of sweat that ran down my body would have filled Khalwale’s bucket. I don’t know what froze me more. Was it what he saw, or what he had heard all along?
Posted by Mark M. Chetambe on Monday, 20 July 2020
A Kenyan writer or musician, after publishing one book or recording one monotonous chant: “I want to mentor young, upcoming artists.”
Posted by Mark M. Chetambe on Thursday, 2 July 2020