pick-up checklist (at a kenyan morgue)

death certainty
check!
corpse identity
check!
public presentability
check!
private's availability
shock!

that thing

boys pursue it
girls deny it
men enjoy it
wife avail it
priests evade it
i could use it

granny dead

   My grandmother successfully died. I use the adverb ‘successfully’ because she had been trying to die for quite a while.

   Her first attempt was by the noose but she tied the rope too long and only broke a leg when she jumped from the tree. Because of it she had to be assisted to go to the loo. But being a geriatric with a weak bladder, her nurse elected to make a hole in the mattress and keep a kasuku tin under the bed.     

   From that, we coined a nickname for the poor old lady; nyanya kasuku. Of course the nickname was all hushed up. If she ever heard you using it she’d threaten to cast a spell so that your two buttocks would merge to form one large buttock. I shudder at the prospect of having a derriere without a cleavage or an opening for you-know-what.

   The second time she attempted using pills. See, with pills all you’ve got to do is take lots of them. A good choice would be, say, quinine tablets. That’s where my granny bungled up. She went into my grandfather’s drawer, took out a pack of pills and swallowed. Instead of dying, she started feeling flushed, strangely excited, her heartbeat elevated, her body felt young again, amorous…feelings she hadn’t had since she started losing teeth. Turned out she had taken grandpa’s Viagra.

   She didn’t die; instead she went looking for grandpa in their banana plantation. Believe me they started their second honeymoon right there in the farm and later that night broke their bed of forty years.

   This last time she took a sachet of rat poison, downed it with a bottle of cattle dip and then, for good measure, took a dive into a river. The old lady died. I didn’t really sob for her, but if you’re offering a drink I can pretend to be terribly devastated!

   While on the subject, I want my death quick; like an accident where I die on the spot. This is why I don’t eat when I travel. I don’t want to get constipation whilst in a coffin. Certainly not with the long burial ceremonies we have. You could suffer for days before you get the chance to soil yourself in the privacy of your grave.

   Come to think of it, if you guys buy my corpse a suit, what’s the use of pants?   

from the village with love

   I’m new in the city.

   I’m practically a village boy. I wash my heels with a stone, love fresh goat milk (I even tried milking the stuff straight into my mouth but the malicious goat kept kicking me in the groin,) and have a weakness for lasses who pluck tree leaves when you tell them about skipping heartbeats. My idea of a date is to sit on a patch of grass chewing cane with the girl whilst regaling her with stories of my hare hunting prowess. I’m suspicious of the WC; I’m more at home hearing my pupu swoosh down a 30ft hole to land in a thud. That’s just me, a guy born with a tooth and three chest hairs.

   I hope I’m welcome here despite my eccentricities.

   Anyhow, I find your city rather strange and your ways a tad peculiar. Yesterday I visited Jeevanjee gardens and found people eating right outside a pay toilet. Clever chaps! See, by seating nearby, you can always dash into the loo’s in case of a diarrheal emergency. City food cannot be trusted you know.  

    Oh, and the buildings…my, all tall and glistening with glass walls. I went to the KICC to take my souvenir taller-than-it picture and it was a thrill. However, when I took the elevator to go up to the roof someone farted and we had to endure 27floors in the stinking little cubicle. Everyone suspected I was responsible simply because I was wearing a yellow “Ng’ombe” t-shirt, blue Savco jeans and brown moccasins. It wasn’t me though; I don’t pass gas in public except that one time while swimming in a river to see if there would be bubbles.

    Guys, I’m so excited to be here. Next I’ll be visiting Nyayo House to see where Anyang’ Nyong’o lost one of his marbles –we’re lucky Lupita was born before his detention. Then I’ll go to the Nation Center and turn into a frog so that when Penninah Karibe arrives for work she will pick me up, kiss my lips and I will turn into her prince charming. After, just as Quincy did with Esther, I’ll make her quit her job, join a cult, sue her parents and get a very big pregnancy.

    How’s that for a village head in the city!