Caroline Mutoko, the
self confessed queen of radio has been hoarding much of the media limelight for
the past fortnight. And it’s not because in her sensational style she picked a
quarrel with one cabinet minister or her favorite customer, Alfred Mutua but
for,wait,you not going to believe this………copy, pasting! Her inspiring ‘piece’ a letter to my twenty
something old self apparently had done its round on the net before it graced
our Nairobi Star columns. The letter has raised furore hitherto unseen with most
tweeps calling it a perfect epitome of plagiarism.
There
were others however who remained steadfast in their belief that Kenya’s version
of the iron lady is capable of no evil. Others in her defense used the famous
line “he who is without a sin cast the first stone”. I however refuse to judge
unless you execute the villainy I teach you. Who knows you might even better
the instruction. She must have however seriously underestimated Kenyans reading
culture.
She
has however inspired me to do something new, write a letter; not to my twenty
something old self but about my twenty something old self.
This got me thinking about the tones of letters
swiftly gathering dust in a certain metallic box in my father’s house. I
remember most of them were from some Angie of Moi Girls’ and others that am
having a hard time remembering their names. Unlike these ‘missives’ as we
called them then, this epistle is not of a hopeless romantic but rather of a sober
man. It’s not of a little boy who will tell the love of his life how food
tastes different without her. It’s definitely not of a man who’ll insert babe,
sweetie, honey, dear before every full stop just so as to be seen as romantic.
I know Macabre might be disappointed after all those preps in form two green
that we spent to fine tune that writing.
Dear Pals/ Acquaintances/ Family/sweetheart e.t.c
…... (Tick as appropriate)
Am just a young man trying to find his niche in the
society, when you see me try up different things like Yoga or Spanish lessons
or even aerobics, don’t judge me. Don’t ask me why I quit the Sarakasi dancers
just after ten minutes. Just take that as youthful energy without a solid home.
Am not writing to you so you would understand me
totally. No, I could never play such huge responsibilities on your feeble
shoulders for even I don’t understand myself at times. I don’t know why I do
certain things, I don’t know why I am the way I am some times, am writing to
you just so you would fathom where am coming from, my motivations and maybe what makes me tick.
Somebody once asked me why I like to complicate my
life, why a simple life wouldn’t just suffice for me. A life that involves
doing the regular things that normal people do. Never mind that normal is
relative. He wasn’t the first and am sure he won’t be the last, I ask myself
the same question too and just as it beats you, so does it me. So don’t ask me
that, when I get the answer that befitteth I assure you you will be the first
to know.
Sometimes you look at me and shake your heads in
disgust at the boisterousness and noise that accompany me. You don’t understand
why instead of taking advantage of the free texts on my android device to alert
somebody 200 metres in front of me to stop, I’d rather shout at the top of my
voice to achieve the same effect. You don’t understand that where I come from,
that is how we used to call that guy who passed by our village to hawk
‘mang’ich’ (fresh fingerlings from Lake Victoria). It’s not like am trying to
be loud and unruly; my past is just catching up with me.
You wonder why I stop to greet virtually everybody I
meet on the streets of this institution of higher learning. You don’t
understand why instead of saying a simple hello, smiling or doing that quick
shuffling of the eye, I have to bend low like Mulo Mutisya during those that
days that ‘alikuwa anafuata matako(sic)
ya baba’. Our people say that it’s only a man that you deeply revere that you
greet while staring at his manhood. Maybe I respect you a lot or maybe am just
laying ground for my quest to be the Sec. Gen of Kenyatta University next year.
You definitely don’t understand my fascination with
the female folk, you think just coz I sometimes stare at what their mamas gave
them for a second longer, am definitely a playboy whose favorite banquet is
these lasses’ asses. You look at me and see the devil incarnate. I don’t deny
that once or twice I fall into temptations, who doesn’t? Just because I fell
for Maron doesn’t make me a Moron. When I call you sweet, dia or babe, it’s not
that I want you for myself, I just ooze sweetness. If I call or text you
regularly don’t read between the lines, just pick what you see from the lines.
I may cut the impression of a confident man,
sometimes profoundly overbearing, I may act as if am a brave man unperturbed by
the challenges I face. It doesn’t mean that my path is straight or I have all
the answers, it’s just a façade I wear to scare away my tormentors. Maybe deep
down am just as scared as you are, may be more. So before you think of me as
that guy, see me as a normal man who is scared of something and is just putting
a brave face for show.
Above all, if I expect less from mere mortal men, it’s
not that I consider them inferior beings. It’s not rocket science that great
expectations make frustrated beings. If I think less of you don’t take it
personal, I think so of everybody including Mzee Varaq. It’s just my insurance
against panache, heartache or disillusionment. I fear am not well equipped to handle
disappointment. Am not of course saying you’ll disappoint me but then again,
you could.
Am not what I say, am not what I do, I am who I am. Every
day I strive for perfection, every day I strive to be a better person,
sometimes I fail miserably, other times I fall just short, other times I just
make the mark but one thing is for sure, I do try. So before you rank me, just
try to understand where am coming from.
Yours faithfully, yours truly, yours affectionately,
yours sincerely….
(Once
again feel free to tick where appropriate)
Mzee
Varaq
