A Fart Problem
I embarrass myself a lot. Most times, it always just happens unawares. You know, there are things that are beyond our control as Man – for instance, when you’re just talking to your Mum and she suddenly swings a slap at you. You didn’t see it coming, so it was out of your control, understand? – and then there are those things that I’d like to think that even God himself can’t control (all powerful and all.) Because if He could, then He would. For instance, why would God let His own very humble and obedient servant to fart in a boardroom meeting? Si that is something he should see coming miles away and halt? Ama? I’m just saying.
Speaking of farts, I think I have a fart-problem (I just made that word up, and Microsoft Word didn’t even underline it so it’s safe to say even they agree it’s legit.) I fart all the time. Literally. And I think it’s because of the Chapo-Madondo I eat on a daily basis but I’m not ready to let go of just yet so you guys are just going to have to help me come up with some other way of preventing these farts. Let me give you a few instances during which I have gravely embarrassed myself;
A while back I was lying in bed with this girl. When I say it like that I know it sounds like we were having (or had just had) sex (I wish) but it’s really not like that. I was just trying to have a normal conversation with her. It was in the afternoon and we had been engaging in a little day drinking (because I have nothing else constructive to do with my time) with a few other folk at my boy’s place and everyone else had blacked out leaving just us two and she was telling me how my happy socks were cute and I was stroking my hand against her hair and telling her how soft they were and she was telling me how she adores men with beards and broadened chests and chiseled jawlines and I was rolling my eyes all the way to Isiolo and telling her the only thing men with chiseled jawlines can do properly is grinding githeri and she was laughing and telling me how funny I was (folks, this is the first step to the friend zone) and she said something else after that and that’s when it happened.
I can’t recall exactly what it was that she said, but I remember it being so funny I burst out into a laughter so loud it could have awoken Michael Jackson. And, then, almost immediately, prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrpatapatapatapatapatapatatwiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikdhof! I farted. And I knew she heard it. Because it was long and unsettling and stank of warthog spit. But she acted like a sport na akaikanyagia chini. Still, I was so embarrassed out of my wits I pretended to have blacked out immediately and said goodbye to any chances or thoughts I had of smashing her.
Then there was the day I went to the loo while guys were in the sitting room listening to music. I hate taking a shit when there are girls in the vicinity so what I always do is grab a towel and act like I’m going to shower and while the water runs, I’m throwing down all kinds of stuff. Genius, aye? Not really. Because, as it turns out, there are farts with sounds that even running water cannot block.
Sasa si I’m in there and guys are thinking I’m taking a shower because the water is running and I have taken off my clothes and hung them up there? And, then, si you guys know how sometimes you’re trying to take a dump but shit just won’t come out so you push really hard and a massive fart comes out first, clearing the way for the actual main event? Yes. That’s exactly what happened to me in there. I’m busy trying to push and just when the fart – the curtain raiser – comes out, the music playlist that the chaps in the sitting room were listening to runs out and silence reigns just as prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrpatapatapatapatapatapatatwiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikdhof comes out! Those chaps laughed at me so hard I wished the ground would open up and swallow me. And you know it’s serious when it’s 2017 and I’m still writing shit like “…the ground would open up and swallow me…”
My farting has crossed boundaries now. It absolutely has no limits and cannot be controlled. I work at a media house and we have these weekly Friday meetings where we pitch stories to the Boss. A while back my turn came and just as I opened my mouth to say, “There’s this story idea that has been floating….” Well, something floated in the air alright. But it wasn’t a story idea.
I could be having a drink with the boys at the local one minute, then the next minute prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrpatapatapatapatapatapatatwiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikdhof.
I could be enjoying a meal of spaghetti and nyama in the house one minute, then the next minute prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrpatapatapatapatapatapatatwiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikdhof.
I could be riding a bicycle one minute, then the next minute prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrpatapatapatapatapatapatatwiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikdhof.
I could be cooking one minute, then the next minute prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrpatapatapatapatapatapatatwiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikdhof.
Hell, I could be having some sweet mind blowing sex one minute, then the next minute prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrpatapatapatapatapatapatatwiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikdhof. Jeso! Tho!
Dear Lord, you said in Matthew 11:28 that “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Well, I’m coming to you now. I – your humble servant – am coming to you with a huge smelly burden. I’m nothing but a sinner, but I ask only this one thing of you. Give me Rest. Take this curse away from me. Do that and I promise never to steal my neighbor’s thongs again.
Guys, also, if there’s even the tiniest bit of sorcery in your ancestry or bloodline, I beseech you. Help me. I will pay whatever you ask; I will harvest the thorns of porcupines and bring to you; I will bring you pubic hair from six virgins; I will harvest all the weaves and shambalas from Nairobi girls closets; I will bring you the heads of Moses Kuria and Miguna Miguna and Ezekiel Mutua and Fred Matiang’i for testing; I will write for you a thesis on what exactly is in tea that makes Luhyas tick; I will find out why and how village girls get accents soon as they step into the gates of USIU. I will do anything (so long as it does not involve leaving Chapo-Madondo, ‘coz there we gon’ have a problem.)
Just. Please. Somebody. Anybody. Help. Me!