We’re all so different yet alike, barring the snakes

It then occurred to me that just as I wondered how she could be comfortable in an environment that made me want to jump at every imagined movement in the grass, there are those who would not live where I live. PHOTO| FILE| NATION MEDIA GROUP

What you need to know:

  • I had promised myself not to alarm him with snake stories, but I figured that telling him would scare him enough to keep him and his younger sister off the grass. I got the opposite reaction.

  • “Wow! Snake! Ilikuwa wapi?” he asked in excitement, looking around with wonder.

  • What is it with the male species and their confounding need to court danger?

At the weekend, I visited someone who lives in what you would call a leafy suburb though, if you asked me, she lives in a forest.

It was a bright sunny Saturday, so I did not bother to wear or carry a jacket, something I regretted five minutes after arriving at my host’s home. Hers is an extremely beautiful home, but I don’t think I would survive there for more than two days.

When we arrived, the host suggested that we sit outside, where it was more “scenic”, as she put it. It was scenic alright — the outdoors were littered with many healthy-looking trees, colourful flowers and shrubs, and a thick carpet of luscious grass.

Unfortunately, I have an irrational fear of snakes, a fear that was made worse when mid-last year a neighbour called to inform us that she had spotted a black snake coiled just outside our gate.

Before anyone could do anything about it, it had uncoiled itself and slithered through an opening in the live fence, into our compound. A big hunt for the snake was mounted, but it turned up nothing.

If you’re wondering, I didn’t take part in the hunt, no sir. I was safely locked up in the house, peeping from a bolted window. After that, I would panic every time my children went out to play.

After two days of watching them like a hawk, I forbade them from playing on the grass — snakes like grass, I think. After one short minute of obeying me, my son, frustrated that he could no longer run around, asked in irritation, “Mummy ni nini sasa?” He wanted to know what my problem was.

I had promised myself not to alarm him with snake stories, but I figured that telling him would scare him enough to keep him and his younger sister off the grass. I got the opposite reaction.

“Wow! Snake! Ilikuwa wapi?” he asked in excitement, looking around with wonder.

What is it with the male species and their confounding need to court danger?

MY HOST WAS OBLIVIOUS

I had hoped that he would be frightened enough to stay indoors until he moved out of home when he turned 20-something, but from the look on his face, he was ready to go snake hunting.

After that snake sighting, you can imagine how nervous I was, sitting under a tree with low-hanging branches. I expected a luminous green snake to drop from above, into my cup of tea, or one to slither up my leg from the ankle-length grass I couldn’t get my eyes from. My host seemed oblivious to all this, though.

In fact, I could tell she was thoroughly enjoying her forest-like outdoors, and that the sharp wind that made me sneeze and shake with cold did not bother her one bit.

It then occurred to me that just as I wondered how she could be comfortable in an environment that made me want to jump at every imagined movement in the grass, there are those who would not live where I live.

Though leafy, my neighbourhood cannot be described as a suburb. When born-taos visit me for the first time, the first thing they say is that the place is “too quiet”, but the way they say it suggests that this is not a good thing.

I kind of understand their reaction, my neighbourhood is so quiet and still, especially on weekdays, you’d think the rapture had taken place if you happened to pass by.

There is a pub about half a kilometre away, but it is as lively as a carving. I like it a lot here though, and were I to move, I would move to a place with a similar environment because chaos unsettles and destabilises me.

Several years ago, I visited a friend who lived in an estate on the outskirts of the city centre. No matter how I tried to, I was unable to sleep that night, thanks to the hooting matatus and general cacophony of urban areas where most people go to sleep at ungodly hours.

Human beings are alike in many ways, but we’re very different in many ways, too.

            

FEEDBACK

I read your piece on how you were cheering our atheletes on and I said to myself: deja vu! This can’t be happening again. In the Summer Olympics of 1972 in Munich, I was doing precisely what you described.

Only difference being that I was in Edmonton, Alberta, and my four champs were Charles Asati, Hezekiah Nyamau, Robert Ouko and Julius Sang, who all clinched gold.

Never before or after have we ever produced such a quartet! Your David Rudisha was my Kipchoge Keino in 3,000m steeplechase! This time around, I am not cheering but keeping a promise I made to myself: to do something for athletics in Kenya and that is partly why I started the Ndakaini Half Marathon, now in its 12th year.  Kimura

 

I am a fan of athletics but I never get time to watch. At times it’s good  to put everything aside, have fun. Dennis

Kenyan athletes are hard to celebrate. I think they need some image makeover. The self-styled celeb who can’t sing or the “comedians” who repeat tribal jokes all the time seem to fare a little better.    

  Edwin

 

Every individual has an inner character that only comes out when his or her favourite moments are on. Awita

 

For me the proudest moment is when our athletes have won position 1,2,3 and the national anthem is played. Macharia

 

I suppose every one of us has a hidden side. Mine is about football. You will find me jumping up and punching the air my team scores.   Bor

 

Your passion about athletes is hollow. Their success only  benefits individual winners. Period. You have zero share.  Karofia