Nights means dreams. Mostly I dream of the little girl in the coma, lying there, her small fragile hands in the hands of her mother, her face impassive, the face that lost a body.
For the past week we have had some problems with the website. It kept going up and down. I’m no IT guy, so I was lost. It’s like going to the hospital and telling your doctor that you have this pain in your hip area and he makes you lie down and he presses your hips while looking deep in the eye (hopefully to see if you wince in pain not because he likes the colour of your eyes) and he says you must have strained it while you were jumping a fence or climbing a wall.
Last weekend. The Lewa Marathon, location? Somewhere in the belly of Isiolo. I travelled down in a vanful of Safaricom customer service executives. Yes, I believe that’s how one of them introduced themselves;
He lights a cigarette – his twelfth in under an hour – and closes his eyes and takes a deep drag at it. Smoke fills his soul. He doesn’t open his eyes but lets smoke crawl out of his nose and into the cold chilly night in a lazy trail.
I called Njogu this morning; remember him the guy I almost killed? Well, yes, we haven’t talked in ages and so I decided to check on him, see if he is still breathing and all.