The latest crop of people who need to paint boats with their nothing but their tongues are ‘dignitaries‘. Personally I deeply resent the attitude of some people’s time being more important than others. I deeply resent waiting for half an hour for motorcades to pass by It’s ridiculous for hundreds of thousands of man hours being wasted waiting for bigshots to pass by in jet black Mercedeses (paid for my us!) Things were at least better in the Moi days
Cop In Moi Regime: The president is coming. Get the hell on! Move it move it move it! Drive like your backside is burning!
Cop in Kibaki Regime: The president is coming. Park your car there the curb and wait there
Here are concrete alternatives
– Arrive early (like before 7AM)
– Arrive late the day before (like 9 PM, in time for dinner and a sauna. The more adventurous can even sample the wares of certain itinerant traders on certain well known streets)
– Use a chopper to go from JKIA to wherever
– Use a BUS to ferry everyone at a go in one convoy
– Build a conference center and 5 star hotel behind JKIA
– Sign Sudanese deals in Sudan, Somali deals in Somalia … there may be a pattern here ….
I should have known that there was a reason why it was the last seat in the shuttle. However the combination of being slightly late, and the shuttle revving in preparation to drive off had me in there after a Bekele-esque sprint and I took said last seat.
Now, I don’t pretend to be at the cutting edge of cologne, perfume and pheromone research but I can bet this month’s salary that if one smells powerfully of samosas he is unlikely to have females swooning at his feet. But then again I could be wrong, so correct me if I am. However I know damn sure that if I ran into Halle Berry and she smelled of samosas she would be summarily removed from her pedestal.
This chap was smelling powerfully of samosa. He exuded samosa from his every pore. The smell cascaded off him as if driven by a hurricane. The air was filled with samosa from east to west, north to south, left to right, and coast to coast.
From Kencom to Yaya Center is but a hop skip and jump, but today it seemed like a trans atlantic flight on a propellered plane. Every turn the shuttle made mysteriously saturated the air some more with greasy samosa aroma. I could have sworn my shirt was getting oily, and if my cufflinks where the type to rust, that gentleman’s oily atmosphere would have prevented any such calamity.
I got off feeling greasy and for some reason, extremely hungry….