Weekend at Shags Part one

Over the weekend I went to shags and when I say shags I don’t mean those back of the den places where electricity passes over the town and people huddle over 14 inch battery powered TVs to watch Man u play Arsenal, after all they know the premier league has those two teams alone. Ok, excuse my verbosity but my shags is the place one could take for an affluent suburb of a big city; shocker, it’s not. It’s just a place whose residents are majorly conservative with a few progressive components and that is what makes all the difference. Huge investments occur alright but most never go past near completion. Everybody sticks their noses in everybody’s business. This is a place where as much as you might think every child is yours the man, nay and woman 500 meters away know the factuality of that statement. They know whose son paiged (ask a 20 yr old what that means) whose daughter. They even know why you will never get the job promotion you have been hoping for. If that is not enough they even know how much milk your cow produces and how much water you add to the milk yet they will never cease to shower your cow with praise. This is a place where nobody claims to be related to Obama and people silently and in hushed tones discuss the atrocities and the betrayal of Uhuru and Ruto and they never cared whether the court said no to that. Here the court consists of a few elders, most of who didn’t go to school yet speak quite a number of English big-words. The old men who don’t care about the job you hold, what car you drive or the mansion you recently constructed in their village and you can’t bribe them either, at least not in public and not with alcohol because they don’t drink. They speak the language of Jesus and they quote verses in dialects of your mother tongue that only them understand.
Too much about my village so I took one of those buses that when they drop you in shags people don’t think you suffer in the city or that you’re doing well either. Interesting things happen when one travels with a lot of strangers and this trip was no different. In Narok we took the traditional 15 minute break that involves taking a piss, eating and for those who aren’t lucky enough just stand outside the bus until it honks to announce the resumption of the journey. Weird enough, I always start with taking a piss where I found the urinals so crowded that you had to line behind those who were already taking a leak and wait for your turn. While am anxiously waiting for my turn a guy whose spot has just opened courteously offers me the opportunity much to my relief until am halfway leaking when I remember he said, ladies first. Am a guy with a huge ego and that is not funny in fact it’s an insult even if it comes from the glamorous Jessica Alba whose attention I’ve been seeking for the last 5 years. Story for another time, right then am still searching for the idiot who had the audacity to call me a lady and as I face search my junk switches latitude and leaks on the shoes of the guy next to me; thank God he looks to the Heavens when the takes a leak. It’s only while am counting my minutes before he looks at his feet to see the mess I’ve made that I look direct into his face and realize that all this time he’s been checking at my junk. Dude, I shout and the water stops leaking like I his stare just pressed the pause button, I didn’t know I had that button either. Long story short this is definitely the first time I never slept on a night bus and am haunted and I keep looking over my shoulder hoping nobody would recognize me from that night.
Too bad, I already hit 600 words so I guess I would clear the story in part two coming this Friday.


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