It Never Happens The Way We Think It Will Happen

That day at the Coptic Hospital along Ngong road as I lay on the hospital bed starring at the ceiling and thinking, “Am I not supposed to be dead or at least be in great pain?” I was saying that because I had just woken up and sobered up for that matter after being being rushed there at 3am by my neighbour, Wafula, and my wife after that grisly road accident on Waiyaki way the fateful night of March 14th 2015. I had seen on news before, read in the papers/internet, heard stories of how people either lost limbs, arms and for the unlucky ones they lost lives in road accidents. I had been once at the Kenyatta National Hospital’s casualty section entrance and seen firsthand how people were rushed in on stretchers from ambulances when the vehicle they were traveling in rolled on Mombasa road. I couldn’t stand the pain and agony the survivors were going through so I left and went back to the children’s wing where I had left Velma and my daughter Elsie whom we had taken to the doctor that night when she suddenly fell so ill.  At the time when my car had a tire burst and I lost control of it and started rolling, I remembered I didn’t even have my seat belt fastened and here am doing somersaults with the car on a highway! The only thing that came to my mind is “by the time this car is done with these gymnastics, I’ll be dead.” carNB: I was super drunk when it happened. We all tend to think life is a script and everything somehow goes as scripted but then we’re bewildered at just how things turn out the way we didn’t think they would. And that’s life. In short, contrary to my expectations, I escaped with no injuries at all save for a few scratches on my arm that were almost unnoticeable. The doctors gave me a clean bill of health and allowed me to go home after a few anti tetanus and pain killing jabs. That was after sleeping and snoring my drunkenness away. It never, actually, happens the way we think it will happen. The day before my accident, Father Anthony of Vincentian Prayer house on Amboseli Road Lavington had met my wife on a queue at their bookshop when she went to buy some christian literature and singled her out of the many people queuing. He called her and asked “Hi, are you married?” She said yes and he went on; “I can see your husband in an accident but he’ll be fine. Whats his name?” She gave him my name and he prayed with her over what he had just said. After that he wrote a note and gave it to her. The note read;
Dear Martin,
kindly come see me.
Father Anthony.
That was on Friday 13th. Being a Friday and #TGIF for that matter, I was not coming home any earlier than 4am the next day and super dunk for that matter. I reached home at 6am looking like I had just come from swimming in Kendrick Lamar’s swimming pool full of liquor. I was super wasted! I think I made the top two list of the most drunk people on our apartments where I live. There’s that girl like three doors from my house I’ve never seen no one as drunk as she gets. I am sure she was my only competition even though I didn’t see her that day meaning I could as well be the title holder of the day. My wife was so pissed she didn’t even give me the note from Father Anthony although I still don’t know if I’d get the time to go see him that day. It was a Saturday for God’s sake! The day for happening!!! Velma left me sleeping as she went to work. I was up by 10am and took the photo below. drunkIt almost became the last photo I’d ever take in my life. The rest is history, I went on to drink all day and night, hoped from bar to bar and when it was time to go back home at around 3am, I got into my car and started “flying.” I drove so fast at some point I remember overtaking a brand new Toyota Prado VX you’d think it wasn’t moving. Then came the loud bang of the tyre and the next thing I remember is opening the door to get out of the car. I was in one piece but I thought about my friend Matayo whom I had dropped earlier in the night when he thought he had had enough and asked me to take him home. I said to myself; “Kangekuwa hapa kangekufa!” to mean had he been with me at the time of the accident he’d be dead but again it never happens the way we think it’ll happen. My wife gave me the note from Father Anthony a day after the accident. I have tried ever since to meet this man of God without success. He’s one hell, sorry heaven of a busy man! But let it be known that I haven’t gone back to alcohol since the 14th of March. I haven’t and I’ll never! That accident was a turning point. It was God sent. I needed it! Alcohol had messed up my life. I was a wreck! I now know better. They say Don’t drink and drive, I say DON’T DRINK AT ALL!
In other news, my uncle Wasike Kumiri and sons is another classic example of it never happens the way we think it’ll happen. I always find myself laughing so hard whenever I retell this story. My uncle decided he had had enough of this night runner who keeps doing laps around his grass thatched house every night and so he decided to teach him a lesson he’d never forget for the rest of his sorry life. One day he decides to lay a trap for him with the help of his sons Namenge(a name traditionally given to women I still don’t know why uncle named his son the same), Johny, Matakho (No jokes! its his name!), Peter and Musa. My uncle “knows” how the whole thing will unfold. He knows the direction the night runner will come from and therefore places his sons strategically at several “check points” along the route the night runner will allegedly take the moment he’s accosted by uncle and decides to run away. matakhoUncle then goes and hides under that structure used to dry utensils in the sun after washing as he waits for the man from the ministry of sports and culture(Our Luo brothers from Ndhiwa taught us. See picture on the left) to start going about his business of night running. Where I come from we dry utensils out in the sun under that thing called esitalataliro. I have no idea whats its called in English.) As expected, the night runner shows up at the very hour he does daily. He goes straight to hide under the be sure no one was awake and walking around the compound before he deemed it safe to go ahead with his routine. He obviously didn’t know my uncle would be there too and he didn’t expect anyone there for that matter so he sat comfortably as he watched the compound. My uncle was scared to the bone! He didn’t believe the night runner had guts enough to sit next to him. He started sweating profusely and was so full of fear. He had told the sons that the moment they hear him scream they should get ready to give a sound beating to the night runner who’d be running towards their direction. When he couldn’t handle the heat under esitalataliro. any longer he decided to run for his life screaming and heading towards where his sons were. The night runner obviously took a different direction knowing he had been busted but Matakho(whose christian name is David) and the rest of my cousins were prepared of only one thing: Beat the hell out of the guy who comes running once father screams. Before they discovered it was their own dad he had been pounded properly.
Shit happens. But it never happens the way we think it’ll happen.


28th March. Exactly two weeks after the accident.

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