Once, I
stood in a queue at a bank when I
was going through a serious case
of diarrhoea, and one of those
people who try to look very
serious, diligent and hard working
in their over-ironed bank uniform
as they flit from desk to desk,
holding papers and making
customers dizzy, noticed that I
was squirming and making strange
movements in line, stepping on the
man behind me and sexually
assaulting the one in front of me
by (accidentally) touching his butt
(although he didn’t seem to be
bothered about it. He seemed like
he did enjoy having his butt
(accidentally) touched), and came
to me to confirm that I wasn’t
having a seizure, and that if in
case I were, he could throw me out
so I could die out there alone and
under the hot sun.
“Uko sawa, madam?” Sospeter
asked. The tag around his neck
announced that his name was
Sospeter.
“Eeh!” I replied with a little pitch
while I tried to stand straight.
“Na kwa nini unakaa ni kama
unaumwa?” he asked as he threw a
glance at my waist and saw it jerk.
“Hai? Hapana. Niko sawa,” I said
as I looked away feeling a little bit
embarrassed.
I could also feel my stomach churn
and my bowels preparing to launch
a rocket of excreta and shame. My
dignity was at stake.
“Kama uko sawa madam, hakuna
shida,” Sospeter said as he looked
at the perspiration above my
brows.
“Ai. Aki nataka choo,” I said with
my voice lowered so that other
customers wouldn’t hear about my
needs as a human being with a
functional rectum that wanted to
explode.
“Choo?” Sospeter asked a little bit
loudly.
Great. The entire bank heard and
now they would judge me by my
evident lack of bowel movement
control.
“Hatuna choo ya customers,
madam.”
I panicked.
“Hata ya staff?!”
“Ya staff iko, lakini…”
“Nipeleke! Twende!” I said in a
furious whisper as I held his hand
that was holding a pen and a
paper.
He couldn’t say no to my tight,
desperate grip, so he led me
through three doors and I was
finally in heaven. I took my time.
Diarrhoea requires all the time in
the world. I went straight home
after I had finished my deed in
there. They must have used
several cans of air freshener later
on.
Thank you, Sospeter. Much as I
have never (and will probably
never) mention(ed) it, I owe you.
You are my hashtag MCM.
Moral of this: If you find the
roadside kebabs that you bought 3
days ago and forgot all about them
when you hid them from your own
child because you are a selfish,
self-centered, greedy, mean person
who’s all wrapped up in their own
self, and you suspect that the
kebabs are long rotten because
they smell like garbage and flies
are clamouring for them, please, do
not eat them. Unless of course you
have a fetish for diarrhoea. In
which case, we need to talk.
Eat healthy, this afternoon. If you
can