You have never
been a morning person, always had trouble waking up in the morning. It takes
you two cups of black coffee with lots of sugar to actually feel like doing
anything constructive with your life. You just moved to a coastal town, traffic
is lighter here, you never have to be up earlier than half past six in the
morning. You have never experienced fairer weather in your life, the sun is
always out before you are up. Cool winds blow against palm trees in the warm
morning sun, it feels like spring. Ravens are already up going about their
morning mischief, rattling and cawing. You do not cover up while sleeping,
weather is just too damn hot, clean sheets and clean pillow covers are all you
need. You never switch off the television at night before you sleep, you always
hit the mute button, switch off the lights, turn your back against the T.V and
drift off to slumber land.
Before the alarm
goes off you’ve already been up for the last thirty minutes watching the local
news channels. You never read newspapers, they contain old news, yesterday’s
occurrences, so you always prefer to watch the morning news shows and read the
online newspapers. The alarm always signals it’s time to hit the shower, you
lazily stretch before jumping from the bed, straightening out the sheets,
grabbing your towel and jumping in the shower. Unlike Nairobi, there are not a
lot of instant showers around, there has never been a need for them since the
water is never that cold. You quickly finish your business in the bathroom-shower-dry
self-groom (deodorant and lotion) and grab your clothes from the wardrobes.
Look- you are
22, it’s your first job earning decent money, a guaranteed salary so the only
thing you’ll be grabbing are some ironed khaki pants, a shirt, some boxer
shorts and a clean pair of socks. You never wear a vest because your dad never
taught you to wear one (story for another day). You hastily dress, right leg
first then the left for the boxer shorts and the pants, then comes the shirt as
you quickly button it and tuck it in, next comes the socks as you quickly scan
the room for the location of your only belt, you grab it by the laundry bin and
tie it around your waist. You stand in front of your dressing mirror (came with
the inbuilt wardrobe, cause real men don’t own mirrors), satisfied with
yourself, you grab your shoes switch off all the gadgets in the house including
the TV where some local leaders are busy discussing current issues giving out
brilliant ideas which no one will ever implement- douchebags.
7.00 am, you are
out the door of your bedsit, a servant’s quarter you rented from a nice Arab
family in a porsche neighbourhood, you never see them much, you have your own
small gate away from the main gate which you share with your neighbour- a
fellow bachelor who works at DT Dobie, nice chap, always has the best Motor
magazines. He always leaves earlier than
you do. You lock up the gate, plug in your earphones and start your daily
routine, walking under the huge jacaranda trees, past the huge gates, huge
electrified perimeter walls, the houses all look deserted except for the few
gate keepers and drivers rushing the Who's
Who of Mombasa kids to school, mostly brown Arab and Indian. Yellow
buses from Ivy League schools wait at designated bus stops for more kids, there
are more road signs around than in the capital business district, talk of
privilege. Public Service Vehicles are not allowed on all roads, some – those
that lead to the public beach- but not all. European machines zoom past, 10
minutes later you get to the public roads where public service vehicles are
allowed and board one to town.
7:15am Traffic
is easy, Maina of Classic FM is saying something, you are not paying attention,
you lean your head against the glass and stare outside. A siren rings from far,
few minutes later an ambulance is racing on the pedestrian sidewalk, the person
seated next to you says something, you don’t talk to strangers before your
morning cup of coffee so you adjust your earphone are politely smile to
acknowledge whatever the hell they just said. By now you’re racing over Nyali
Bridge, the water looks calm, a few fishermen throw their net in the water, you
stare at them long enough fascinated by the difference in lifestyle. You still
think of them long past they’re out of sight. It must be very calming to be in
the middle of the sea so early in the morning. Passengers start alighting at
different stops, they distract your train of thought. You finally get to your
stop, you are one of the few lucky people who get dropped outside their office
gate.
7:45am You’re
the second person to clock in after your line manager, you drop in his office
for a quick prattle-he’s a cool boss. You then walk over to the office kitchen
to make yourself a cup of coffee and settle on your desk. The coffee warms your
well famished stomach and your blood rushes as the caffeine hit the right
nerves, you’re finally alive. At this point no task is hard enough for you to
handle. You lazily go through your twitter feeds liking and retweeting, trying
to be funny or political, everyone has a political stand on twitter. Twitter is
the only place you can give the ruling class a piece of your mind, attaching a
harsh-tag to it and if your tag is relevant enough it will be retweeted by
twenty of your loyal followers. They always retweet and like your tweets but
they also expect the same from you.
8.00 am Enough
of twitter, you’re done with your cup of coffee, time to get some work done.
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