Simpler Times

Hi, it’s me! Pato! It has been a hot minute, hasn’t it? You must even have forgotten I exist LOL. Well just in case you are wondering. I have been doing fine. “Fine” is an understatement really, I have been doing great actually. Thanks for asking. I'm sharing this with you because you abruptly stopped responding to our conversations, you outrightly ghosted me, or we unexpectedly fell out of contact in some way. I am of course devastated beyond repair, as your attention was all that was sustaining me in these troubled times, but somehow, I find ways to soldier on.

I bet you' have missed my writing. Today, prepare to have your mind blown. But I haven’t been practicing. I have suffered writer’s block for sometime so also lower your expectations I'll be a little rough around the edges. 

Don’t you just want to catch a break or a hiatus sometimes? To be by the beach, with vast turquoise waters, eating fruit with someone special. Her, wearing little to nothing and you wearing sunnies and shorts with endless supply of golden hour sundowners. Being at your happiest as ‘Dumebi’ is playing in the background because it is a timeless song.

This has recently, led to finding solace in old memories, way back when times were simpler.

Remember when you didn’t have to pay bills? When stressful moments were reduced to picking a better lie to tell the Math teacher about your undone homework; it was either “I forgot my homework at home” or the cliche “dog ate my homework”. Either way, a whooping was impeding. You weren’t the sharpest tool in the shed because only a fool will believe a dog ate their homework.

Do you ever reminisce about the times when you channeled your inner Picasso but delivered low budget version after coloring outside the lines in animal drawings; or times when you used to think babies fell from the sky and you were convinced, Mrs. Jane teaching CRE had a big belly because she used to eat a mountain of Ugali. See, not the brightest crayon in the box.

You miss Ashley, your first crush. Back when a crush meant something. Not like today, when you take a leap of faith to text – I have a crush on you – only to receive the equivalent of an ignored wave. It hurts but not as bad as chances you never took; like that day you sat next to a damsel, so beautiful, that you wondered why she was in a matatu, was she in distress? And most importantly could you be her Knight in shining armor? But in the end, you make zero moves and as stride home without purpose you realize you’ll never see her again in this lifetime, sad! That was your soulmate.

Your ancestors watch with disappointment, but you counter their judgmental attitude because in fact they had it the easy way; back then, when match making ensured courtship barely existed. At age 20 your great great grandma showed up with Nafula, a girl from the neighboring village with big bosom. Legend has it that, Nafula was admired across seven Kingdoms, sons of kings would bow upon her presence as if she’s a deity. She had caramel skin, teeth white as snow, a smile as charming as a summer day and she was handpicked for your great granddad. And that’s how you exist with amazing genes that tricked down from beautiful Nafula.

Sorry for digressing, have I lost you? I hope not.

Back to Ashley. She was the life of the party back in lower primary, class three east to be precise. She was such an extrovert and you were an intense introvert. She was the ying to your yang, the apple of your eye, your ride or die. Ashley was your sunshine. You used to meet at the pencil sharpener station and you intentionally forgot yours at home so you could borrow hers. She would tell you not to blow her sharpener. A classic love story. Before you knew her well, she was the class prefect the class prefect and you used to appear on her naughty list of noise makers and she used to write “times two” and Mrs. Musau thought you were an empty barrel that made noise because you also struggled with math. You liked her regardless.

One Sunday you used up church offertory money to buy sweets. Mind you failing to give sadaka was thought to be a cardinal offense that was punishable by going to hell and being “mtoto wa shetani” instilled a great fear in you. You were willing to do anything and more for her… earlier, your aunt brought home Dairy Fresh, strawberry flavor, but you didn’t gulp down your packet because you were a boy on a mission. You had to endure brother’s endless teasing for saving up your drink for Ashley (man, the things we do for love!). You thought she’d let you off the hook after this gesture and it would show her you liked her and shift her focus to Maina the untidiest person in class who oddly enjoyed the taste coming down his running nose.

You sat two rows behind Ashley and you cannot quite explain the joy you had on Monday morning when you sneaked in class early and snuck the daily fresh packet and the sweets in her desk. You watched her open her desk, she peeped to the sheer surprise of her favorite snacks. She looked around the room and your eyes locked. You smiled; she smiled back. It was the kind of smile that would turn you bad day to a good one. She had an infectious smile, you know, one that brightens the room and spreads like a ray of sunshine (see why you call her ‘my sunshine’).

You still remember that smile, in a way it felt reassuring, that eventually, everything is going to be alright. It brought memories of the UB40 song that goes like… “you got a smile so bright you know you coulda been a candle, I’m holding you so tight you know you coulda been a handle, the way you swept me off my feet you know you coulda been a broom and baibe you smell so sweet you know you coulda been some perfume”. Man, you still feel that thing to date,18 years later, you still remember that single glance with a smile.

You lost the childlike innocence you used to have along the way. Heartbreaks, traumas and the test of time have slowed you down. And the taxes. Especially the taxes. It is only a matter of time before he subjects love to 30% tax and probably calls it “mapenzi ya thirty”.

But just before he does that, all you want to enjoy life. To go to Watamu where life slows down, soft as a whisper. Hang out with friends on sunny Saturdays, a feeling only beaten by ethylene from a juicy mango. You want to travel and enjoy what the world has to offer. You want to learn how to dance because last time a friend mentioned your ‘two left feet’ at a party but that didn’t stop you. So you dance again, still very bad but you are still enthusiastic.

You are riding in a matatu on a rainy day thinking about the year that had passed, watching lights and buildings as you pass. The scariest part is…when does it end? Do we just keep going until this unregulated desire consumes us? It was a promising year.

You asked for a captivating story so here’s a little 2024 present. I am sure the prose flows like a bumpy ride. I need to find a new north star soon… the one I was using turns out was just a firefly. Or maybe I’ll write a book… so stick around, don’t be a stranger! I hope you have a dope year that makes your heart feel a little lighter and dreams within reach. Adios.