HEKAYA KUTOKA FACEBOOK
I’m listening to a radio station and a song starts to play. It’s the introductory instrumentation of the song and I have closed my eyes in strong emotion to appreciate the artiste and the song. Then the presenter turns down the volume of the song and starts speaking. They tell me the artiste’s name, their background, their age, the colour of their eyes, and why they wrote that song. I can hear the first verse of the song already playing in the background. I nod to what the presenter is saying.
“Okay, now let the song play.”
Then they turn up the volume when the song is already halfway through the first verse, but it’s okay because I don’t even know the lyrics well. I start nodding to the song, absorbing it. I tap my feet in rhythm to the beat. I start softly swaying my body to the promise of the rest of the song. God, I love this song. Then, unexpectedly, the presenter turns down the volume again and starts speaking.
“Yes, I would really love to hear about the traffic you braved this morning to get to the studio, but can you, please, let the song play first?”
The presenter then, after giving a phone number through which they can be reached, turns up the volume just in time for me to catch the last line of the first verse.
The chorus is fast approaching, so I prepare to belt my emotions out. I prepare to let it all out as the song washes over my soul. I clear my throat and hold an imaginary microphone. I can see myself on a stage with flashing lights and a crowd of fans screaming my name. But then, just as the chorus starts, the presenter turns down the volume again and starts singing the chorus.
“Wait. What the hell?”
The presenter is singing. I can barely hear the song in the background. I am confused. I was not emotionally and psychologically ready for this kind of interference.
“WHAT THE HELL?”
The presenter then lets me hear one or two words of the chorus before turning down the volume again and continues singing the chorus.
“WHY ARE YOU SINGING ON BEHALF OF THE ARTISTE? WHY CAN’T YOU JUST LET THE DAMN SONG PLAY, YOU MONSTER?!”
Then the presenter laughs a little, amused by themselves, as they turn up the volume when verse two is just starting. I hope that the presenter will not speak again. I offer living sacrifices and burnt offerings to my forefathers. I pray and fast and make promises to God. I repent my sins and even get baptised. I offer Max to God: For Wanja so loved the song, that she gave her only begotten son, so that whoever that presenter is can shut up for just 3 minutes, 3 very few minutes, so that she can enjoy the song.
I just want to hear the song, uninterrupted.I’m looking at you with an axe in my hand and an incredible thirst for revenge.
But my enemies are determined to finish me, because two or three words into verse two, the presenter turns down the volume and starts speaking again.
I am exasperated.
“Jesus Christ. I know what time it is, man. I know what date and year it is as well and I know all your frequencies around the country. Will you let the damn song play, for fuck’s sake?”
Then they turn up the volume and the song is already halfway through verse two. One and a half lines later, they start talking again.
I scream in immense frustration.
“NOOO! THIS IS MY FAVOURITE PART OF THE SONG! LET IT PLAY, DAMMIT!”
The presenter keeps on talking about things I don’t care about, and laughing, while my entire world is falling apart.
“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO A SWEET, KIND AND LOVING PERSON? WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU? WHY DO BAD THINGS HAPPEN TO GOOD PEOPLE?”
Then the presenter shuts up and let’s the first few words of the chorus play before turning down the volume and starts singing the chorus. Again.
And then that’s it.
They won’t even let the song end. You won’t even get a whiff of verse three. They will sing the chorus and then laugh at how amazing it is to sing a song instead of just letting the listener listen to it, then continue with their show as if they have not ruined my life.
I’m looking at you with an axe in my hand and an incredible thirst for revenge.