Musee! Reke Gwere! Mwanaume ni effort!
Growing up is a scam. Meanwhile, in heaven, they must be on some good weed laughing their faces off when they see what us earthlings have to endure. As a baby, if I got a sniff that I’d be coming to earth hot and heavy on my soon-to-be mum, I’d throw a tantrum. And not those crying ones where you’re outcast to the corner until your moods take a chill pill. No! It would be historic. The praises and worship would turn to frustrated shouts; “shut that f***r up before I do it myself! I came here for peace, not this shit!!”’ I’d compromise if my parents were to be Bill Gates or this rich Amazon guy, but maybe these two are too old so I’d have to settle for Elon and have a weird name like XXE-007.
Imagine that! Being named after the James Bond movie. It would make the ladies wild. My name is XXE … 007. Shit! The sound of that is orgasmic. Then again, this last movie was a major flop. The cinematic experience at Anga Imax in Pangani didn’t help either. Halfway into the movie, I was dead asleep. And not those naps you take while daydreaming, I slept so much I snored. Who sleeps in a theatre? XXE-007. Funny thing is that no one complained. However, not all was lost, I did enjoy the tequila shots at the entrance coupled up with great caramel popcorns and a hot date.
Anyway, this piece is not about cool names. Lately, it’s come to my attention that I’m now an adult. For the doubters in the house wondering if a toddler has been venting all along on this blog? Yes, it’s a 2-year-old who knows how to write and utter big words like tranquility and namaste. Keep calm! Sometimes, I wonder if there’s a socket in our heads that flicks on and instantly makes you an adult. Is it the bills, the decision makings, the disconnect in brain waves amongst you and your friends that make you mature? Does playing the PlayStation seem like time wasted? Do peers come to you for advice? Should you get a house or start a business? House or car? Family or deadbeat dad?
If you were to ask me about an ideal man. The answer wouldn’t roll out effortlessly. I’d look through my ancestral tree plucking characters from each fella and still that mash-up would be hazy and detachable like Frankenstein. As a guy in Africa, it’s easier for all the continents to come together than it is to find a role model. Talking to our fathers or fellow dudes is placing your hand in an oven and hoping it comes out intact without the sweet smell of roasted steak. Moreso, if you have no mentor.
As a result, we only open up with a few beers and a double shot of whisky (make that two) which either makes you a drunkard or a guy about to tear up with released feelings. It’s at this instance, the ground swallows you up and you’re left floating in an ocean stuck inside a bottle. Thoughts invade your space like an eager lover leaving you dry and unworthy. Your future looks bleak and unreal. As a silver lining, it’s Oktoberfest so; waiter leta drink!!!.
