An Accident

I am scared. Very scared.

I have been concealing certain facts, acts. I have been lying. No, not to you, you’re not that important, been hiding it from me.

You see, I left that place 2 days ago. Today, I had 3 important meetings, and I just couldn’t be bothered. My intentions were all good from the beginning, pass by my old pal for many years and mechanic at Da Great Corner, fix my car’s indicators, then start the meetings from 10.00 am to 4.00 pm. My mechanic is very talkative and informative. I like this. He knows everything about everyone important. And he tells it to me. I doubt he tells people about me, am not important. But you never know. You never know.

Anyway, I get there and change my mind about everything, including the law of gravity. And the meetings. I suddenly realise life is short, I have known Mech since 1999, have only seen him twice this year, let me spend time with him. Am phoneless, so unreachable, the meetings will just unhappen. Very bad for me and for my meetees. But such is life.

So he tells me about all of you. What you have been up to. He fixes cars in posh places. And seems to know a lot about lifestyles of the rich, the almost, and the pretenders. He bought me nyama choma and told me about your bad habits. We laughed, nodded our heads, shook our heads, ate roasted meat, picked our teeth. Drank lager. A ritual as old as Kenya.

Then my mind, as minds often do, drifts to an event that happened three earlier. An event that I had pushed away, hidden from myself. It just came back, in black and white, slow motion, just like that.

The accident. The nasty road accident.

I was in country X. visiting, exploring the possibility of setting up a ‘Lost’ type tourist expedition. Country X is deep in Africa. I actually visited 3 countries X, Y and Z. Anyway, its 3 minutes to xmas, and its mad rush to get back home. Am competing with highly paid UN staffers from Pakistan, South Africa, Norway for limited seats on few planes, no roads, flooded airstrips, rebels, cattle rustlers, rogue government soldiers, Lebanese traders, Somali truck drivers. Contract workers from China and from all over East and Southern Africa.

Flashback to when we left governor’s palace. We left at 1pm, 11 Africans in a small European car, steering wheel on the wrong side of the car, driven on the wrong side of the road. We got our first flat after 16 kilometers, roughly 3 hours after departure. We replaced it, drove on. An hour later we met another car. They had a puncture, didn’t have a spare tyre, we gave them our 2nd spare tyre, jack and spanner and drove on. 2 hours later, we got a flat tyre. We had no spare tyre, no spanner, no jack. We were in enemy territory. We would spend the night here. In the car.

Am sitting alone in the back seat of the car. Looking at the ceiling. Reptiles and insects. The geckos here were raped by crocodiles. Of that am certain. Maybe not, when I put on my legal cap, the evidence is that it was consensual. The geckos here willingly conceived with crocodiles. If a male croc jumped on a female gecko, even doggy, surely it would kill it. Again, perhaps reptiles wouldn’t do doggy, a mammal style. Anyway, the offspring are giant geckos that behave like their mothers. Walking on walls, ceilings upside down. Chasing insecta and arachnids.

The group is outside by the fire. Talking animatedly in African. Cleaning their firearms. I would be much safer out there than with these reptiles. I join them. An insect, with GPS and night vision, flying at mach 2, took off from 10 feet away, straight into my ear. I suspect it is the stick insect that I once saw in the bathroom and I insulted it. Something going into your ear, against your will, there can not be a worse violation of your personal space. It went straight in. and is now doing some traditional dance. It’s a very very bad feeling, I thought I was going mad. I just sat and tapped my feet loudly and at high frequency. I consulted boy X.

‘An insect was being chased by a bat, it entered my ear, and was followed by the bat, now they are fighting inside my ear.’

‘ha ha, that is not possible, it is all in your mind’

‘yes, they are in my mind, at least very close to’

‘that is not possible. Can you feel them? How can a bat fit into your ear? Anyway, just put your finger there and they will die’

‘put my finger where? Am serious, something is in my ear. Don’t you have a traditional cure for this? A herb that kills insects and blind mammals that enter someone’s ear? I am sure it has happened before’

‘no, it has not happened before. Don’t think about it’

‘how can I not think about it and they are in my brain.’

After that they ignore me. They’re cleaning guns. We’re by the fireside waiting for nothing. They talk their language, exchange jokes and laugh. I feel like running and screaming. Like shaking my head. There is an insect in my head. I exaggerated about the bat. They ignore me. I turn slightly so that my ear is facing the fire directly. Perhaps the light would attract the bug to leave my ear. It is now quiet. But I can feel it. I feel like peeing, but nothing comes out.

The night is incident free. They talk the whole night. Roast meat, eat, talk. I have warm ribena and very old digestives in my bag. I think about them. I can also smell them I think.

Morning, 4 am, they decide we’ve got to drive on. So we driving on. With a flat. We’ll get help by 9am they say. We’re doing at most 10kph. They’re talking. We get a second flat, both rear wheels. We’re driving on rims. Argh. The most annoying sounds. Klucku klucku putttu puttttu forever, without moving. I see funny animals by the road. Tortoises. Giant snakes. Wild goats.

At 9-ish sharp-ish, we get to the rivers. 7 river beds in a series, dry one minute, flowing madly the next minute. No bridges. We also have them in Northern Kenya. I once had to wait 6 hours for a river to dry, before we drove on in our air conditioned white land cruisers. Oh, that was heaven compared to this. That was like being at the Carnivore, on a fully paid for end of year staff party, they don’t have Dasani, you have to drink Keringet. What an inconvenience.

By the 3rd river bed, luckily all dry, we see the truck they were counting on to rescue us. A large blue canter like pick-up truck, with an open back, full of construction workers. The truck is carrying big blue plastic water drums. Empty. They’re obviously coming to the river bed for water for construction. The Chinese driver is alone in the front cabin. Topless casuals smiling at the back. We’re also smiling. They’re gonna rescue us. We’re gonna join them in the back of the truck and drive way from these problems. I’ll be in Nairobi well before xmas. We’re on this side of the river, they on the other side. About 100 metres away. We’re both coming down to the river.

Suddenly every goes fast forward, then slow motion, then pause.

The blue truck is in flight. Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking, welcome aboard flight BT 101. The blue plastic drums are in the air. All is still. On pause.

Then god pressed the Play button. The one with a small triangle facing the right. Maybe heavenly remote controls are slightly different.

Screams. Grown men screaming. Not the ones in the truck, the ones with me. The ones in the truck are high in the air, screaming too, but only very loudly, with deep voices you don’t ever want to hear. Ever ever in your life. It’s the sound of your uncles screaming. Your older brothers. Your dad crying like your niece. Mucus flowing. UnAfrican. Topless black bodies. They believe they can fly, but they don’t believe they can touch the sky. One guy jumps quite well, much higher than all of them. This is a sky-toucher. Black men can jump. Shortly.

Shortly, another short pause. Like the distraction in a play when the actors would change the set and their costumes. Then press Play again. Now its screams of agony, pain, anguish, horror. Presently, the black topless bodies are covered with some white powder, white cement, the previous occupant of this truck was white cement. They look like ghosts. White faces with tears drawing black lines down unchubby cheeks. and strange sounds from their mouths. Sounds that we sinners will make in the hot flames of the clubs in hell. They look like wasinde, bukusu boys heading to or from mukhebi, the circumcisor, faces covered white with clay, but a msinde would never scream. Its almost funny, only almost.

Thanks to Sir Isaac Newton, these days we have gravity. 9.8m per second per second. Now they have all landed back into the truck, onto the blue drums, on the green grass. But they’re still screaming. The truck is parked on its side. Even graduates of Kenchic Driving School in Uthiru park better. Ghosts. Have they all died and are now ghosts, spooks, I am terrified.

We’re now running towards them. Actually, they all run, am sitting in the car holding my black bag. They come back with bleeding Africans. Move! Move! Be careful! Throw all bags out! Do you have water! Bring bring! My warm ribena and my old digestives.

Then I see the body. Actually, I only see the legs. It’s the black man who thought he can jump. His torso is under the truck. His legs are kicking weakly. He had jumped off the truck successfully, the truck fell on him shortly afterwards with equal success.

Then it is fast forward again. We’re, no, they, are running back towards the truck. They’re shouting. Balaba? Dolado? Baldo? Dlalo? Hal? Ok? Ok? Then they each hold tight, one, two three Lift! And they lift with all their strength. And the truck is being lifted, not resisting. They’re freeing the man from his heavy burden. Three of them are pulling him carefully from under the truck, the others are lifting the truck. His legs are not kicking now. Balaba! Dolado! Dlalo? Hel! Eh? Ok. We’re , no, they are doing very well.

Then a sound. A deep guttural sound from the man who was preventing the truck from touching the earth. He made a sound and a sudden movement. A wild strong jerk. Everyone was startled.

Not good.

The truck holders let go, the body pullers let go. I have no idea what they thought it was. They jumped backwards making their own sounds. Eiye! Walaldo! Reverse long jump gold medallist, all of them, chote.

They let go of the truck. The others let go of the man. The truck’s side met the man’s face casually. A casual meeting at low velocity, the papers would report. I heard only one deep hgruuuuuuugh from the man. They had pulled some of the body, so truck met head at low speed. When Sally met Harry. When Truck Met Head.

I hear he was a cook at the construction company’s camp kitchen, this was water for lunch. His head was smashed. Not a way to get ahead in life. He will never be the head of that kitchen. Some people thought he was too headstrong. Nevertheless am sure the pastor said he was a good man, now singing sad songs with MJ.