I love middays. Just when the clock strikes noon sharp. Sauchiel meant every mother was in the kitchen preparing something for us, kids.
You’d hear a mother asking a pupil;
‘Omondi, iduogo chon nadi, en sauchiel koso oriembi?’
And Omondi would answer with a starved voice, chocking on his anger because he knows his mother depends on this woman for time. Omondi’s parents didn’t have a radio. It meant his mother wasn’t even back from the shamba.
Midday splits your day in half.
When I was a serious man with a serious job, it was the time to take stock of the day; what I had accomplished, and what more to do before the day ended.
Today, midday finds me too stoned to take stock of anything, but when I miraculously do, it will be about the pleasures of wasting oneself. It’s a mixed thing you know; on one side you want to take stock of the pleasures you’ve got and how you can’t sacrifice them for anything, but on the other, is a biting conscience that you had so much potential but smoked it all away! Still, midday is midday.
When Nelson Mandéla told me he was more scared of mosquito bites than Akoth’s parents, I knew I’d sweat that night. It was 9 in the night, and I thought it was too early to fish the girl out without being hit by a bible.
I was scared of that shit. It spelled death. Nobody we knew had endured the wrath of 66 books and lived. I was scared.
Rumors had it that the guy who had tried to fish Akoth’s elder sister had been struck by lightning just a few days after the Pastor hit him with the bible. It was a suicide attempt getting those girls.
I was scared but we had Mandela, the antidote to every huddle we had getting ’em girls. Mandela had curious genitals, so he began sexing ’em girls while still in lower primary. By class 7 he was sexing the teachers. A bad bad guy that one.
With Mandela on your side, you were sure to get laid. You had to be ready. If you could meet Mandela, then you’d know how sincere men are when they tell you they tripped and fell in a vagina. Mandela had the charm that swept girls off their feet, swirling them in the air and gently resting them on your genitals.
It was magic.
You never saw it coming. So we’re on our way to get this girl when out of nowhere somebody passing by on a motorbike calls him.
The guy is giving him details on how Belinda and her sister have come back the very evening. I didn’t even know Belinda, nor her sister, but I could hear the yearning in his voice when he interviewed the dude.
So when he said we head to Belinda’s place, I knew things were getting thicker. Maan, it’s only with Mandela’s connection that you can introduce yourself to a chic you’ve never known and 20 minutes later you’re banging pon the sofa. Nelson Mandéla, may God bless you.
And Yo, I’m the first person who evaded the bible and lived to tell the tale.