Those who have unwisely drank two litre or so of assorted sodas and juices and been unable to access the necessary facilities to unload the same will appreciate the delicate predicament it places one in. Any vigorous motion is impossible because one slip will set you back a dozen or so years in terms of self esteem.

Which is why after you have gingerly alighted from your transport, one has to employ all of one’s will power to resist the temptation to make a sprint for relief, otherwise a careless motion will cause it to rain for 40 days and 40 nights.

So I find myself gingerly walking, almost moon-walking, forwards, desperate for relief. In fact, given a glove I’d have looked exactly like a black Michael Jackson.

At the gate of the estate I ran into a harassed looking gentleman who was departing as anxiously as I was arriving. Events proceeded as follows:

• I stepped smartly to my left and he stepped smartly to his right
• We mumbled “pardon me” and “excuse me” to each other
• I stepped smartly to my right and he stepped smartly to his left
• We mumbled “pardon me” and “excuse me” to each other
• I stepped smartly to my left and he stepped smartly to his right
• We mumbled “pardon me” and “excuse me” to each other
• I stepped smartly to my right and he stepped smartly to his left
• We mumbled “pardon me” and “excuse me” to each other

Finally, I realized that I was dancing with a fellow who had not even bought me dinner.

I’d have loved to stay and chat but pressure was building by the second so I grabbed his shoulders, shoved him aside with an “excuse me dude” and moon-walked forwards down the path into the estate.

The first sight that greeted me was the ample trousered bottom of Wambua the estate watchman protruding from under the perpetually stalled jalopy that the people of House 15 refused to admit was their property.

“What the hell — Wambua!”

Upon hearing my voice Wambua and his trousered bottom disappeared completely under the jalopy and within seconds he was calling for his mother and pleading for mercy.

With pressures still building, there was little time for niceties.

“What mercy, nitwit! What are you doing hiding under that car?” I demanded. Hiding! The man tasked with maintaining law and order was hiding!

There was rustling and a cautious face peered from under the car.

“M? Is that you?”

“Well, if I’m not, I want to know why! What’s going on?”

Wambua let me know what was going on.

Apparently, my haste in getting home was nothing compared to the haste of the gentleman I had just met at the gate.

Whereas I was trying to get back to get rid of twenty or so litres of water, he was trying to get away to secure twenty or so thousand shillings that he had just convinced to local supermarket to give him. His persuasion agent of choice — a very large pistol, with which he had fired in the air.

PIC OF THE DAY

President Kibaki: Say, what’s that big bright light over there?
Mayor Taib: Oh that? That’s called the sun

John Legend – Ordinary People