Of A Drunk Stranger

Yesterday, I had an average day, nothing much happened except work, but that is basically my typical day. That was until I went into town in the evening, you see, I am very lazy when it comes to doing girly things like styling my hair so I always go to my hairdresser and she styles it for me when I am tired with one style and sometimes I just go because she is like my second mother and we have a friendship of sorts, but I digress.

I leave the salon and I walk home because, I am a walker, I love to walk although July is changing my mind because sometimes I feel like my internal organs are frozen after five minutes, the air is so cold, it feels touchable. But, I still walk. Five minutes later, a guy comes up behind me and goes like, “Uko smart aje?”, for a second I am confused, I don’t quite remember the answer to that, is it Thank you, or do I not or do I justify why I am looking nice? So I did not answer.

“Watu wanaulizanga hivyo, lakini wanasema tu uko smart, “he says

I am silent because, number one, he is a stranger, number two, I was in no mood for conversation and number three and most important, I was just so tired talking felt like extreme manual labour

“Umekubali uko smart?”he just will not let it go

“Asante,”I say not quite wondering why this conversation was happening and he walks away, or so I thought.

“Sasa? ” he says and stretches fourth his hand for me to shake. For a mili-second, I stared at his hand and wondered what to do, I was so tired, I couldn’t really walk extremely fast but I wanted to walk, He sounded drunk and seemed to stagger, I wondered whether he was actually drunk and how much drama he would cause if I did not shake his hand, on the other more serious hand (pun very much intended), I imagined him not being drunk wanting to kidnap me and once I shook his hand I would collapse and never be heard of again. I decide to just shake his hand and see what happens, I did not collapse and he walked away, or so I thought.

As I walk past a maize roasting stand, I hear the now familiar yet annoying voice again

“Utakula mahindi,”remember how heavy my mouth is. And now thanks to shaking his hand it feels a thousand kilos heavy not because I thought his were dirty but because of the sadistic ideas in his head running in my head, if you get what I mean.

“Niko sawa, ” I said willing to run but my feet just would not get lighter.

“Wewe ni mkale?” In my head I am thinking, you this man, will you just fall into a manhole already. So what if I am a kale, what has that got to do with anything? But I say, “Hapana,”

“Utakula nini sasa?” This from a guy I just met, a guy whose name I don’t know and who does not know mine. A guy who has no idea how much I want him to fall into a manhole or have the pleasure of seeing him swallow his tongue, literally.

“Utakula nyama?” Did I mention we were walking down a street Nakuru’s Koinange street for those who know it, now that I said that, no need to go that direction, he couldn’t possibly, NO.

“Niko sawa, ” I was getting very close to pushing him into a manhole it would give me enough time to run since people would surround him, some just to look because people have that habit of just looking at someone who has been befallen by a misfortune and shaking their heads, and while they stare and shake their heads, I will run.

“Sasa umekataa kula, twende home basi,” luckily I knew a guy with a stall nearby who was six feet tall, if this thing decided to follow me any further, he would have it.

He got pressed mumbled something about how I should go, he will be right back.

Strangest five minutes of my life. I have never planned to throw someone into a manhole before. Of course, I walked a way and did not look back, and he did not find me and I hope I never meet him again.

Dear God It’s Patricia, Do you Know Me?

I started this blog to revive my writing skills but I just could not because I read other people’s work and it was amazing. I tried but all I could think of was how good everyone’s work was and how interesting their lives were. I never wanted to be a writer, I just found myself in High School having a lot to write about and I had a wild imagination which was great until I realized life was not what i thought it was and I could never write again.

You see, I wrote romantic stories in High School and they were well, very innocent. Me imagining that what the movies showed was true, that we all got a chance at it, and it was blissful, until one day my heart was broken and I vowed to never again in my life trust a human being but I am very gullible. To this day, I cannot say I have ever been in a relationship.

I was always good in School until high School because I did not know how to study. I thought about it and I think what helped in primary School was multiple choice questions and well, I have photographic memory. I remembered everything. I did not do as well in High School but after that I was pretty good. My parents are not rich but they sacrificed all to give me education. All through my tertiary education, I had dreams and I prayed, I passed exams but that was it. I guess I never had the drive. I wanted jobs, I applied, I walked into places and asked people and I wrote letters to people. Hoping that I would get discovered.

I remember at one time bargaining with God and I said, I will not ask for a husband or children I just wanted a robust career. I am on my second job but it is not even close to my dream and things are not working out for me in any way. My blog is not working, my brand has not picked up and I am at that age where I cannot blame anybody but myself but the truth is, I am out of ideas. All I ever wanted was to make my parents proud and now I do not know how to do that.

I prayed, I asked for direction, I came across a myriad of people saying if you find a problem to solve, you have found wealth. Don’t go after money, find your purpose and you will prosper, and try I did but no, there was no finding. I smiled, I prayed, I said thank you everyday until I thought, I guess you have to be special. There is nothing special about me.

I tried to write, well, it did not work. Until I thought maybe I do not know how to pray as well as all those people who testify on facebook and other places about how far they have come. I haven’t moved and that seems to be a me problem because everybody else is put together and creating businesses and excelling in their fields and travelling and living and being inspirational.

Somebody told me to sit down in church and look at the altar ( I am Catholic) and ask God if he exists. for weeks I have lived in grateful but it just seems to make things worse. If I knew better things were coming I would continue but it is exhausting and nothing is changing at some point you realize hope will not pay the bills, hope will not pay for your masters and hope will not propel your career.

I sat down I cried all I want to know is, God, do you hear anything I say or am I one of those people who don’t matter because. If I should not compare myself to those doing better, I should not also compare myself to those doing worse. So, I am not any more blessed than anybody out there, I just do not feel like I am where I should be.

It is said that when you haven’t gathered your shit together by the time you are thirty, it is over. I am almost there and I am freaked out. Don’t I also deserve to have a testimony because frankly, mine is pretty basic.

Dear God, do you even Know me?