Over the years, inadvertently, I have oftentimes found myself on the verge of imminent peril. But by the Grace of God, I lived to narrate. For the few minutes pending my lunch hour meet, let me expose some.
Once, a young man of 23 on the foothills of the God mountain in a town called Kasighau, I sat on a stool holding in my laps the voluptuous behind of a dark berry hued Kambondian. This lady was a mama mboga in the desolate one horse town but had come to the end of her tither. She was packed and ready to move back to Kathosweni first light kesho morning. Tonight was her last night in Kasighau. This then was a faretheewell beer drinking miraa chewing coital party.
As she sat on my lap, in Haruns bar, most men in tye bar envied my fate. I had by a trick of nature managed to corner one of the most elusive women in the Town, and by all scripts, i was to mount her later in yhe evening. My tree was painfully hard both from the warm bottom wood, and her weight. At one point, I excused my self to.the loos, intending to use the intermittent, to both relieve the pint and pee. But once outside, I just kept walking… not aware of my actions to date coz I have never been known to walk away from a sure ass, I walked, straight to the Canter truck we had nicknamed Senge Yao, fired up the engine and drove back to the mines in Mangale… After a week, it emerged that all through the previous week, the lady had slept with about eight guys…and burned all… for green horns, burn means she had infected all with a very rare strain of gatego… syphilis.
Most of you might remember the mad girl I unknowingly climbed in Lower Matasia…and the mad one I almost climbed enroute from mombasa on a Chania bus. By God, I walked.
In '98 , I walked away from my office in Nhc house behind Co_op House minutes before Alshetani Blew up the Embassy. I walked.
Many other incidences have left me certain that there is an angel who watches over me. But friends, dear ones, I have never , ever, come close to imminent death as I did one day in '94 back in the Mangale Mines.
On this particular day, most of the essential workers were holed up in the open mine, planting dynamite sticks in the holes that we had drilled for two weeks. Today was the day to blast the godamned rock that hindered our progress to the elusive rubies. This was going to be a huge blast… a 1400 hole blast… a very huge blast. Only the skilled and very sane staff were allowed in the blasting site during the laying of chords and sinking of the explosives. Now, without elaborating much, the chords join all the sticks, and all the network is joined together. Then a fuse is attached. This is the fuse that is lit , using a cigarette and as the fuse burns, the blaster, an expert in the field, and the last to leave the mine, has time to walk away and find shelter before hell goes belly up when the spark reaches the chords. During the preparation period, no fire or smoking or anything that can cause a spark is allowed in the mine. Not even steel knives. We used aluminium knives to cut the sticks. If one he’s to smoke, you walked out of mine. Nìmùranyita hihi
On this particular day, around lunch hour, about 40 of us were dead silent, Bent on our waist, planting the sticks and joining together the network of chords that ran every which way. The Blaster, a Bukusu giant with a limp, was in charge… walking all over giving instructions and advise to everyone in the mines. His voice was a persistent drone that kept us at the sharpest of our wits. We were 120feet below, and it would take almost 5min to climb out.
Then, God help us all, In clear accapella Bukusu lament, we heard the Blast cry…“mungu wangu!!!” Panic stricken on the verge of insanity, we stood up intent on what was the cause of alarm. But nothing could have prepared us for what we saw. …standing in the middle of the yellow meshwork of chords, completely oblivious of the danger, a young boy who had recently joined the camp as a cook, was standing holding a framing piece of firewood… gìchinga,… kuni yenye moto… Ati… nimeitishwa moto… turned out one of the guys had walked out of mine to smoke , asked the boy for fire and entered the loo. The boy brought the fire to the mine … .
Jeez… most of us panicked and some screamed towards the exit and ascent. Most of us who knew what, knew that runnig away was no use… If one spark dropped from the fire to the chords, it was instant Kingdom come. That day, I wet myself… almost all of us did. The boy, on seeing the panic also panicked… and made a mad dash across the network…but one guy… Rhino… The guy I told you once used a 500ml soda to wash his hands…tgat guy… Rhino… he lifted the boy up… holding the Kuni firmly … and carried them both to the far end where he buried the piece of wood in soil before raining countless slaps on the boy… We did not intervene… We let him beat the poor boy to a pulp… The mighty God of old, saved us that day. And to date I honour His name.
The moral of this story is no young girl can withstand the temptations of a rich suitor… so give Sharon a break…