I have read of people who wouldn’t get out of their houses on an odd number day of a month or year, for example on any Friday 13th, lest they be stricken by thunderstorm even in the hottest and sunniest days of the year. I also read that some of the skyscrapers in this world have no 13th floor! Architectures who design these landmark buildings and the engineers who oversee the construction would rather name the 13th floor 14a or something that is not 13.
And how about the numbers 666? And Black Sundays?
Before I point to anyone in particular, I would like to reserve special mention to my elder sister. I recently stumbled on her diary. As I perused through the tiny handwriting, nothing caught my eye more than a capital lettered writing evidently screaming; I HATE JULY.
“Hang in there,” I interjected putting weight to her latter statement. “Are you tryna tell me that giving birth to my lovely niece was a bad thing?” She let out a flirtatious smile first, perhaps satisfied with my sincere recognition that my niece, who happens to be her daughter, is lovely. Men keep off.
Nevertheless, she was quick to refute my hurriedly conjured up conclusion, saying that having the child is the best thing that ever happened to her, but the events that transpired prior to the birth, and especially in July hurts her to the bone.
Seeing emotions running deep in her to the extent that veins were protruding her forehead, I decided to bury the topic into oblivion, lest her July come early and compel her to chase me out in the cold in the middle of the night. I couldn’t have blamed her.
So in recognizing this possibility, I instead involved her in a conversation on how wonderful her fingers of ingredients have always proved to be on top of fire as I drowned her R&B (rice and beans) cuisine into my commander-in-chief of good food. The stomach.
So to my sister, it’s July - a month that I only curse the cold weather and no more. To some, it’s in a March, May, November or an 11th, 13th, 17th 23rd or even 31st that they become weary of doom.
May be you must be wondering whether May – and particularly this one – has been my doom month.
On the contrary. It has been so good and faithful to me as Christians would say.
Though I don’t remember how my ‘Mays’ had been in years that preceded, the last three Mays have provided me with memories of delight that wont fade away anytime soon and will paint a lovely shadow on every step that I make. They will define my future till that Man who lives in hiding somewhere but knows the needs of man decides that I have sinned and misused His resources enough hence I should join Him and perhaps see how he keeps on supplying the world of men with absolutely delicioso Chiquitas who despite being different in physique, complexion and tone, they still make a man’s world turn around spontaneously. And am being sincere.
Just to mention but a few, it was in May 2008 that I got the opportunity to join the Kenya Broadcasting Corporation on a 3-month internship programme that actually lasted for 8 months. Reason for this being that the free but effective and efficient services I was offering were really making a difference at the station hence no one was in a rush to let me go. Within these eight months, I managed to meet, network and rub shoulders with top businessmen; both the avaricious and philanthropic, politicians, who were mostly egotistical, sports personalities, who at times felt like they were breathing an air of distinction, and people who are making tangible differences in this society.
It was during the internship programme that I believe my current boss got the one time ‘chance’ to meet me. He took my contacts which he duly utilized in January last year, another odd month.
All these, thanks to May; an odd month that someone somewhere loves to hate. To add spices to my already plush Mays, it was last year in May that I negotiated a new salary perk that saw me add a marginal increase to obviously, in my eyes perhaps, still paltry monthly collection - shh... read slowly, my boss might hear.
But May 2010 leaps above all. Though the month started on a very sour, tough and dull note especially with the struggles at work, things began to fall in place in the first Friday of the month.
You must have read my blog on the unrivaled lulu of the Masai Mara some scrolls down. This is where it all started. An all-expenses paid weekend expedition to one of the most talked about, written about and visited wildlife reserves in the planet is worth writing a thousand words for. If you want to feel the experience even without being there, I advise you get on with the reading here…
Then came the chance to secure my future. I have also blogged about this and you can get to know how I effectively achieved this right here…
Am also a proud owner of a voters card, which again, I secured in May. You probably have also heard many people talk about The Long Road to a New Constitution. The road here has been used arbitrarily to symbolize the tedious odyssey this country's old folks have taken in the quest to get a new constitution, dating back to the struggle for multipartism in the days of yore. However, getting my voters card applied this road term quite literally. Whatever I had been doing that meant I had to run for 6km to secure my electronic voters card on the last day and at the eleventh hour is still a mystery to me. But I have it anyway, though a certain colleague, whom I don't believe, says it's fake because the profile picture has people in the background and the face is masked by some ineligible writing.
But come the 4th of August, I’ll be participating in the national referendum and my vote will kick some Christian or political ass. Or will it? I have never voted before but victory is guaranteed to whoever gets my vote come d-day. And I can cockily say, that’s not a hoax. You want to know where my vote will be? Without fear of contradiction, or the Kalonzo-ic Yes No Yes No Yes Yes theory, I’ll not vote No for Yes or Yes for No but will vote Yes for Yes.
Chapter closed. So no matter what my Pastor Odulele or Bishop Endurance Ojokolo says, no matter how many errors ghost their way into the proposed constitution, no matter what the Placenta Party of Kenya political outfit think is nebula supanova, and no matter how many judgements are made by a reform-starving judicial system, my vote is already cast. And I go by the belief that sometimes, ladies and gentlemen, sometimes, we just need to get some of these things that waste 1440 minutes of our days out of the way.
Back to my May and then of course came the school. Inarguably my greatest achievement yet. Although the graduation is still some years ahead, I have always wanted to wear those brainy academic attires; ones that even Mama Sarah Obama aka Dr Sarah, US President’s octogenarian grandmother has adorned, albeit without having to peruse through even a single-paged book. Get more on this here
Talk of brains not encountering brains.
Through the help of God, I have given myself the opportunity that I never had before and which will propel me to wear those cream of the crop academic regalia in a few years time when I’ll be graduating with a First Class Degree in the course that am taking (though achieving this means I have to do a unit like introduction to computers!!)
Nevertheless, I’ll do all that I can. So help me God. There's one more success I would have liked to single out before I scribe down the last paragraph. But let me not consider it that much of a success because 'it's a work in progress' as one of my lecturers would say about our dynamising academic timetable.
But it's not like it has all been sparkle and contentedness, rainbows and butterflies without the gloom and doom and flies in the eye. It only that the latter has been few and far between. Besides losing my business card holder to a savvy kleptomaniac who I can recognize even in obscurity, my May can be mentioned in the same breath as success.
But not everyone can say the same of this month. Its odd-numbered nature has pushed some people on the dark side of life. And rightly so. If everyday were party-days for everyone, we would only have bartenders and brewers and drinkers and wrecked homes and divorces cases, side-road urinators, broken noses, Arthur Guinnuess's but no Warren Buffets or Donald Trumps. Who would love such life? Straightedges like some of us would be ostracized and excommunicated from this church because they have refused to take the holy alco-mmunion.
I know this article must have aroused a discussion within your brain whether you normally have a doomsday. Whether you find answers or not, just pray that the day never gets closer. And if it does, if you don't close your eyes for the entire period or hide under your bed - if you have one - read the article before this one. You MIGHT just find some solutions.
I'll miss you May. XOXO!
And that’s thesteifmastertake!!
And that’s thesteifmastertake!!