I’m seated on my bed, no voluntary sound. The involuntary ones are message notifications from my Whatsapp, my old laptop heaving in its self-generating heat and what I suspect to be dust, and the adhan call from a nearby mosque. I wanted to use “Islam call” then Google was like, no girl. We learn something new every day huh. I’m overwhelmed, both physically and mentally. I have wanted to rant for the longest time but I just don’t have the words. Rather, coherent words. I have a lot of stuff on my mind and they keep coming at me at odd times of the day, in random sequence. Therefore, I have decided to just spew them one by one instead of waiting to have a collection.
This man sat the whole day waiting to be told whether he may get his payment or not. He did not even go look for food at lunch time. He just sat there, quiet in thought, waiting for a person who would not bother showing up. He had clean clothes that had seen better days, dusty shoes from walking kilometres to this high rise building, a faded baseball cap to protect from the scorching Nairobi sun and a face of despair. I’m sure if he told me his age, I would think he has lied. Problems have aged him. He really needs this money to continue with his livelihood. It is rightfully his because of the promise both parties made. He is told to come back another day. He is one of many who is suffering because of someone else’s greed. *bleep* them.
How does one speak of hope when you don’t have enough to keep you going? To the people in a certain circle, I’m in, this is what I feel like telling them: “I’m glad you don’t know what I know because you would be crushed. The duck tape, nuts, and bolts are coming loose. Titanic stood a better chance than this ship we are in. Therefore, if the lack of information will keep your spirits up, I’d rather not say anything for now. It’s sad but it’s my own form of protecting you from the bitter truth.”
I don’t want to eat. I just eat because a couple of weeks ago I felt weak and couldn’t stay standing up for long. I need the energy but don’t enjoy the consumption part. At my current weight, I can’t even donate blood. It’s that serious. Yikes! The funny thing is, I will gladly trip you to get to that last piece of meat. I never feel embarrassed when I’m creating a hill on my plate at a buffet line. I am a paradox in itself. A slender relative to Pumbaa. I can’t wait to get the groove that will get my foodie groove back.
Have you ever felt anything like this, and how did you get past it? Spew them down below.