You shouldn’t hit people. It’s a general rule. You are supposed to play nice and not stab them when you want to, because, thank God, the law states that assault is a crime and where you can potentially go (in Kenya, anyway) is a lot worse than the place you were in when you were hitting them.
Even when they deserve it.
I can’t remember the last time I hit someone. I can, however remember the last time I wanted to.
I can remember the last time someone hit me.
So it’s a chill sleepy Friday, and cooking is not feeling like being done, so I decide to head on over to the nearest Pizza Inn and get a pizza pie – because honestly, that’s like the only thing they do right – and so I’m driving, and I indicate, and some motherfucker on a bike takes the opportunity to hit the side of my car.
Right after I’ve been thinking happy thoughts about what I’m going to eat, how nice it will be, how much I love SB, how sad I was when he was on his crutches, and how weird the lady at the tyre place was about whether me and Slevin are brother and sister (??!???), too.
So we stop in the middle of the highway. It was one of those ones with a thin-ass feeder lane which is why the manoeuvering was a smidge complicated. I say a tentative ‘Sorry!’- facepalm, I know – and he launches into a driving lesson.
I shouldn’t have said sorry, Miss Admitting Liability All Over The Damn Place. It’s just that…I mean, he hit my side mirror and it moved, and that looked like it hurt a little. So I was like, woiye. Not, sorry I hit you. Duh.
Also I’m beginning to think there is something about that side of SB that likes to take out bike guys. This is the second one in under a year. The last one left a dent so huge, I still haven’t replaced it.
I realize that is unrelated but it wanted to be said.
So anyway, he goes why didn’t you indicate? And I’m like…um…I did…kwani you think aaaaall the other cars behind me didn’t see? And for once my Kiswahili did not falter (despite my A in KCSE, it has a tendency to just potea when needed. Yes, that is a standard I’m going to use. Yes, me. Yes, it was an A minus. But still an A). How do you not indicate on a highway? I’m not an idiot. I mean, there are times I choose to drive badly, granted. Like when I go way over the speed limit on my way to the airport. Or when it is midnight – because who drives at 50 km/h at midnight unless you desire robbery and sorrow? But this was not one of those times. I’m not a bad driver!
It turns into a thiiiiing (well not a thiiiiing. More like a thiiing). He keeps talking about how bikes don’t have emergency brakes (like it’s my problem) and how we should wait for the cops. At this point I’m getting annoyed like…motherfucker. You’re holding up traffic, AND I indicated. IF YOU WANNA START SOMETHING LET’S START SOMETHING! He’s all oooooh, sasa mtasema watu wa pikipiki ni wabaya (which, oh look, I am on this blog) and I’m like – nimesema nyinyi ni wabaya? Nimesema hivyo? And he’s all, sasa ka ungeniumiza vibaya, and I’m all, nimekuumiza? Kwani unadhani naendesha gari ili nikuumize? and people driving by are all, throwing out unhelpful advice because Kenyans just feel the need to commentate on bloody EVERYTHING (#KOT) and be like, si ni kitu kidogo tu? Si msonge mjadiliane? (they didn’t say mjadiliane. I was blocking them out. Because…yeah. And if I songa, how will the cops know HE was the shit endesharer?) Eventually, dude is like sawa lakini umefanya vibaya sana, and I’m like, um, I INDICATED, BYE FELICIA.
drives into Pizza Inn
they don’t have mushrooms
Guys after all that they didn’t have the pizza pie I wanted!…but at least they had pizza pies, which is progress, because I’ve gone to Pizza Inns where they’re like, oh, we’re out of dough.
But they’re selling pizza.
So it’s like…ok.
Ati it’s a different dough.
So after I get my pie and force a girl I used to go to school with to buy my book out of guilt because I am those authors now who are like ‘Omg I haven’t seen you in so long! You know I have a book now? No? You don’t? Where have you been? Under a rock? Ah, that explains it. It’s a good thing you met me today! Here, it’s 600 bob kthnxnbye’, I get in my car and think of the repercussions of that slight battery SB went through…what if this pikipiki guy has connections in high places? Or places that are further along from where I am, ie the roundabout, ie the coppers…what if one of them is his cousin once removed and he drives down to this guy and is like waaaaah, waiiiil, this chick in a K** just hit me, she’s such a bitch, going to Pizza Inn after hitting me, let’s take down the bourgeois man – or woman, waah waaaah waaaaaah, and they guy is like, oh my gosh cousin, I will support your cause and be on your side because Mafia-like family attachments, then they high five their super secret handshake though not so secret because they’re on the highway so I mean really they should like get a special like nod or something because which secret society even does handshakes anymore, and then they sit there waiting for me to drive by in all my innocent hungry glory and stop me and it COI’AINS for me…
And a cop came out at the roundabout, by the way. Thank God my imagination is just that, because I could have sworn he looked at me funny and not just my insurance sticker.
Oh gosh maybe they’re putting me and my tender kneecaps on surveillance!
You know what guys, if this is goodbye…thanks for reading.
Also, buy my book and keep my legacy alive, yes?
p.s. The chicken and mushroom pizza pie, IMHO, is the only one really worth it, to be honest.