THE DETOUR

Writer's block is real, you guys. It’s like a demon that torments you through the night and spooks you during the day. You try everything in the book to get rid of it, but it’s probably worse than a demon because it will go when it wants to—not because you said so, or invoked the name of Jesus. In that effect, I’m taking a back seat today and letting someone else drive. Back left, in fact.

Anyway, while yes, I suffered from writer’s block—because some weeks back I started writing what I thought would shake the world and later lost it in the blue hands of technology—I have always wanted to have guest writers on my blog. The dream is to make this place a nest for writers: perch, lay an egg and go. If they want to brood a little, that’s fine. As long as, when we get hungry, they won’t mind us eating the hatchling, hehe.

So yes, the driver today is quite the shy one, but the girl can drive, guys. I had been asking her to whip something up for some weeks now in relation to the Scenes From Adulting series. I knew she is capable of much more than she likes to admit. And by the way, I have known her since she was in class four. It’s not my part to tell you that she was the brightest in class. It’s also not my part to tell you that her brightness—and personality as a result—has her seeing the world uniquely differently.

What I can tell you, however, is that she has been the biggest fan of my work since I started blogging 9 years ago.
And fun fact? She is my books plug. If I ever tell you I’m reading a book, that’s because she recommended it.

Lest I start taking over the wheel, let me let her and Jesus square it out. I’m sure you’ll be seeing more of her and others to come. That means if you think you’ve got something in you that can add some handwriting on my wall, my pigeonhole is mambovipi@themjangoseries.co.ke.

Give her a chance, will you? I mean, who doesn’t love a detour? Well, she didn’t at some point in her life. Yeah—oops! Spoiler alert.

You might hear the crack in someone's voice as they say what they almost did with their lives at one point. You may hear them reaching the edge of their voice, then a pause, a chuckle, and you could almost see the images of them being where they are actually describing—almost forming. A deep breath, then resignation: “But it's just how life is.”

Maybe you heard a few. One who always wanted to wield a scalpel as a surgeon—they almost did it, and then they did not. Another wishing that they had had the courage at twenty-one to ask out that person they had liked since they were nine. Instead of thinking that they were too young then, just maybe they would have found out what other alternate reality they would have lived in. It's now two decades later and they still think they should have taken the risk.

And I?
I did not want to be one of those people.

So, just like Alexander Hamilton, I asked to be given a position and to be shown where the ammunition is, because I was not going to throw away my shot. I was going to show the world what I could do.
I got one shot... maybe more than one as an incoming adult, but this was my one shot. I saw it that way.

Ahh, the blessing of having parents who tell you that you can do and be anything that you put your mind to is that you believe them. I know I did. (Thank you, Mr and Mrs My Parents.) At least I knew my mission and desire would be fully supported. The plan was not grand, but it was a plan nonetheless.

I was required to study for an entrance exam and pass it to be eligible for this school of my dreams, get my documents in order, clear with the embassy, and off to the Land of the Maple Leaf I would go. I would be embraced by this new world, get a job while I studied, travel a bit more, graduate, work some more...

I went for it. I locked in and studied for it, did the exam—which, by the way, was English but without set books this time—and waited.

Pause.

The thing about plans is that we plan based on what we know—taking into account all the possible pros and cons, and first finding a way to manoeuvre the cons, right?
Except for a pandemic! What a con! I didn't think that far. Now I know what else to be on the lookout for when planning ahead.

Time and time again, as Bwana Mutahi kept addressing the nation, I kept holding my breath that somehow my plan would be set in motion.
Then each day, like the previous one, I woke up to do house chores and somehow became engrossed in books by Susan May Warren, a seasoned author. If you don't know her work, you may want to check it out. I got them online from a site that is no longer up, but in case you want a few, I know a site—shoot me an email, or your shot. Your pick.

A month after lockdown, the results came in, and I had aced the test. I mean, yoh! I was in. Wrong. In a mask maybe, as they were part of the OOTD when outside those dark days.

Then another month passed. I started to get hints—akin to when you keep getting slow replies where they were fast before, then no replies. And you decide that this person could have been busier that day and decide—I say decide because it's a very conscious decision to believe that maybe they haven’t seen your messages yet, even if two days, a week, then another have passed and you still see them online.

I kept myself sane with: ‘Good things take time,’ ‘Good things happen to those who wait,’ ‘God cannot let me down...’ So if it would take a little bit longer, I was willing to wait.

Then the emails came, and there was no way I was going to report to this new school on time, with what seemed like an auto-renewable 30-day lockdown that I had not subscribed to.
Maybe online classes would do. Or maybe I would get rescheduled.

Sigh.

The time came to apply for schools here at home. KUCCPS was howling. I was faced with a process where I had to make serious decisions. I had to either wait out the pandemic and keep that dream alive or just be a little bit more realistic and go with being... here.

But surely, who likes here when they have an idea that somewhere else is better?

Thus, discontent took root and sprouted. I was stalling my applications and had to be 'sat down' by these same parents of mine who believed that I could still make a different choice that would still work out. I was not the biggest fan of their advice. But in that effect, I chose the farthest uni from home that I could. Or at least what I thought would be the farthest then.

This was like when all one wanted was to get 400 marks, but got 399 instead—depending on which era you went to primary school. That was back in my day. While that was impressive, it’s the gnawing thought that it was only one mark remaining to get it. Or like when acrylic nails break without prior notice, now that's painful, you can ask those who wear them.
Worse for some is when a lecturer awards 39 marks in an end-of-semester exam result, CATs included, yet they had the power to round it off and read between the lines, sparing you the retake paper because missing one point would cost a whole lot more.

I felt robbed.

I had it. My parents said so. I believed I did. That thing that people say you’re either born with or you're not—I had it. Born with it, in fact. I felt like I was owed a chance. I did not need anything rounded off, except the lockdown being lifted and travel being reinstated.

Entitlement much?

How many times have you done everything according to the book and still fell short? Drove carefully and still got paint grazed off the side of your car by another? Treated that person with dignity and cared for them, and they still walked away? Trained with all Cheryl Porter videos and then somehow not hit the E6 in the choir? Showed up early for practice, ran laps and put your body, heart, and mind into shooting that ball through the net—only for you to be cut off from the team?

Where do people put down the things they wanted with every fibre of their being and worked for—but didn’t see them come to fruition, according to their timelines, if I might add?

The farthest I got to go from home was Nyeri. While the scenery was acceptable and picturesque, it was never warm enough during the warm seasons. In fact, the cold weather was mocking my ambitions. Because no matter how cold it tried to be, there would not be snow in comparison to where I wanted to be.

But those who have lived there for a considerable period can attest that the weather really did try to take us out.
You can bet I was like that Form One student you may have had in your class that kept on saying they were transferring every term from the day they joined high school. Only this time, I was in my first semester as an emerging adult, and I did not say that ambition out loud.

The way we handle things given to us that we would prefer to exchange for something different - says a lot about ourselves. While I attended class half-heartedly, participated in group projects, went on one or two hikes, shaved off my hair—because I had thought long enough about it and could at least do something about it if nothing else—the constant reminder that I could have been elsewhere kept nagging.

I wouldn’t be in a neighbourhood where almost everyone was a native speaker of the language of this side of the mountain, and I could not fully understand what they said.
Where we had Wa Mugo, Wa Waitherero, Wa Muthoni, and another that I did not get how she was addressed, so Wa Who works for me.
They were addressed by the names of their children and wondered out loud why I would sleep until 9:00 a.m. on Tuesday morning, go to class, and be back by noon.
I would not feel compelled to greet them each morning if I saw them. I would not be running away from GSU officers from school after my first exam due to a students' strike caused by school fee increment.

What would I even know about that?
But I got caught in the middle and inhaled an unhealthy amount of teargas. That was a perfect opportunity kulia initoke—the hard-heartedness that stemmed from discontent and disappointment in life.

I also would not have had to re-do a CAT that I had seriously studied for because the scripts got lost after submission.
Scripts would never just ‘get lost’ where I had wanted to go in the first place. People who sweep maple leaves in autumn don't do that.

Muthoni the Drummer Queen's song Life says,
"Life is always changing, and how you take it, be still and you'll be free."

By the time third year was wrapping up, I had come to terms with plans being disrupted. Almost.

I got used to Wa Mugo announcing that she was awake on Saturday mornings at 6:00 a.m. by playing the same vernacular songs while singing out loud off-key. I said a bit more than a rushed hello and goodbye to those neighbours. Became well-acquainted with Wa Muthoni—or Msoo, as we called her daughter—who would keep on taking my clothes off the hanging line before it rained while I was away.

And raining it did.

‘Mathe,’ as we called her, would add me an extra avocado after I purchased groceries—not every time, but when she wanted to. And she did.

The world was not out to get me.

Sometimes, lessons in life are repeated to test whether we understood the last time. My graduation dates bounced thrice in a span of eight weeks. I had done my time in Nyeri. Sounds like a sentence, eh? Well, because it seemed like that to me at first. But this time around, I was keen enough to realize that I could not control that. I did not need to.

One of Wa Mugo's songs on her Saturday morning playlist, Amukira Ngatho, was the song I listened to on repeat on my way home from graduation. This time, I understood every word—we can only control what we can.

Then again, what is the shelf life of a dream?

The thought of what other life we may have lived if we made bolder choices or if life met our demands may not stop running through your mind. But what we have is the reality we have now. If we postpone living until we get to that thing, the years will still keep passing.

So how about viewing what we get as what we need instead of letting dissatisfaction take the day? Living the dream can happen, but let detours do what they are meant to do: take us on a tour, but in a different direction. Besides, isn’t adulting one big unending detour?
And aren’t we all tourists in this age, not well-versed with where we are going, but we go anyway?

So mjango, where you are now may not be the place you want to be, but maybe, just maybe, it may lead to it.